Page 59 of Dance in the Stones

Every second. Redford’s mental voice was wide awake despite him having been asleep when Damon had left the bedroom. The castle was testing you and making sure you meant what you said.

And?

It believes you. Warmth flooded their connection. We passed, love. Both of us. Separately and together.

Chapter Twenty

“I think the castle’s locked us in again.”

Redford turned from where he’d been testing the cottage door handle that was refusing to budge. Damon stood at the back door wearing the same frustrated expression.

“Both exits?” Redford crossed to check for himself.

“Both exits.” Damon jiggled the handle. Nothing. “The window latches are probably fused shut too. Remember last week?”

Redford did remember. This time felt similar with that same playful-but-serious awareness pressing against the edges of his consciousness.

“We have residents to check on.” Redford pulled out his phone. “Finn and Kara…”

“Are fine.” Damon leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Kara’s been talking to the castle for days now, working out what little repairs it needs. If something was wrong, it would tell her.”

“So we’re just supposed to stay here? All day?”

“Looks like it.”

Frustration spiked through Redford’s chest. The west wing had been officially completed three days ago. Malcolm and his crew packed up their equipment with cheerful promises to spread word about Duncarrick’s restoration. Since then, Redford and Damon had thrown themselves into the endless paperwork it was going to take to create a proper sanctuary for paranormals of all types who might need refuge.

It had been a busy time, and Redford’s to-do list hadn’t gotten any shorter.

“There’s got to be a way out.” Redford strode to the window, running his hands along the frame. His gargoyle senses detected the castle’s magic woven through every seal, every latch, every possible exit. “We could break…”

“We’re not breaking our own cottage.” Damon chuckled. “The castle will let us out when it’s ready.”

“But when will that be?”

“Whenever we pass whatever test this one is.”

Redford spun around. “What test? For fart’s sake. Haven’t we already proved ourselves? You gave your oath in the crystal chamber, the castle accepted both of us as keepers…”

“Maybe it’s testing something else.” Damon moved to the coffee maker, which had helpfully already brewed a fresh pot. “It could be worse. We’re warm, fed, and the plumbing still works.”

“That’s your response? Could be worse?”

“What do you want me to say?” Damon poured two mugs, adding cream to Redford’s without measuring. “Fighting it won’t change anything. The castle does what it wants, when it wants.”

“That’s incredibly frustrating.”

“Welcome to living with ancient sentient magic.” Damon held out the coffee. “Drink. Sit. We’ll figure it out.”

Redford took the mug but didn’t sit. His gargoyle prowled beneath his skin, uncomfortable with confinement, without knowing why, which was a sharp contrast to Damon’s hound, who seemed to be settling in for a nap.

“How are you so relaxed about this?”

“I spent thousands of years guarding the Underworld.” Damon settled into a chair with his own coffee. “I learned early on that there are some things you can’t control and fighting them just wastes energy.”

Redford paced to the window, staring out at Duncarrick’s tower rising against the gray sky. The castle looked the same as always, which meant he had no clue what the castle was looking for now.

His phone buzzed. It was a text from Wilson about the pharmaceutical case they’d wrapped up last month. Redford read it, thumb hovering over the keyboard to reply…