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Nothing.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with this thing? It’s too big and weighs a ton. I can’t move it, and I don’t see how I can take it down.”

I hadn’t considered this obstacle, but he was right, and no matter what my typical strength, I couldn’t touch the cross without suffering crippling burns and supreme agony. Potential death if it went on too long.

Hence, I couldn’t help.

“What if I hold it out of the way?” he suggested.

“Impossible. You can’t be down here when I wake him.”

“Well, what do I do?”

As I scanned the underground chamber, mind racing and grappling for a solution, my gaze fell on a coil of electrical cords running from the mounted UV lights to their power supply. An idea took root. I panned the walls, looking for a potential anchor.

The chamber was constructed to contain the elder; that much seemed clear. Out of the way on an eyot thought to be uninhabited. Poured concrete floor and walls. A project that must have taken a long time. Funded by Valerius, no doubt, while the citizens of Owen Sound remained oblivious.

Although intended as a prison, an element of care had been taken to provide for the hunters who would spend many hours guarding the sarcophagus. A nook on the far side of the room attracted my attention. A social area. Coat hooks lined the wall, drilled into the cement. A storage shelf for personal belongings hung above it. A beer fridge, a microwave, and a functional bit of counter space made it possible for them to prepare food or make coffee. A four-person table.

The hooks were my only option. Their height wasn’t ideal, but they might do the trick.

I collected one of the longer lengths of coiled electrical cord and followed the tangle to the end to see which lights would be extinguished if I disconnected it. Ensley wouldn’t be able to complete the task in total darkness, and although he had a flashlight, it wouldn’t be ideal. Plus, we didn’t want to cue Cristofer too soon. That would be disastrous.

Confirming the cord supplied power to only a section of the lights, I unplugged it, dimming the room by half.

Ensley, who had been rotating the cross in circles while glowering at the ceiling, likely trying to loosen the hook or snap it free, whipped his head in my direction.

I held up the coiled cord. “Use it to tie the cross back. Secure it to the hooks over there if you can.”

Ensley didn’t hesitate. He jumped from the platform and approached. He reeked of garlic, and I balked, stepping back with a sour expression I failed to hide.

Hurt crossed his face until he realized why. “Oh shit. It’s all over me.”

“It’s all right. Keep going.”

He took the tangled mess carefully, so we didn’t touch, and did as I instructed. It wasn’t without challenges. The hooks were about level with the base of the cross, so they didn’t provide a steep enough angle to keep tension. Each time he heaved the cord taut, drawing the cross out of the way of the sarcophagus, the loop he tied around its base slid off, sending the massive beam swinging like a pendulum.

It was Ensley who came up with a modification. After several failed attempts, he passed the cord over one of the extinguished UV lights that was mounted high on the wall next to the nook. He’d created a pulley that would give him the angle required so the cord didn’t slip free. Once in place, he heaved, putting his full weight behind it, and the cross cleared the sarcophagus. The cord held.

“Fucking right.” He tied it securely to the hook.

“Will it hold?” I asked.

Ensley plucked the cord in a few places to see what would happen. “It seems secure.”

“Okay.” I scanned the ground, my concern over the wet patch escalating.

The entire room reeked of garlic. It was enough to set my nerves on edge, but the smell alone wasn’t debilitating. Contact was the problem.

As I approached, I immediately felt its repulsive energy pushing me away. I could endure some pain, but standing on it for any length of time would be impossible. It would cripple me. I wouldn’t be able to finish the task.

“I can’t cross. The mist soaked into the concrete. The ground is tainted. I need…” A bridge. A plank of wood. “A barrier of some kind.”

“Will this work? Can I wash it away? Dilute it?” Ensley drew two gallon-size jugs of water from the beer fridge and held them up.

“It might.” His discovery ignited a spark of hope.

Ensley brought them over and uncapped the first, dumping it in a path along the concrete so it washed the floor clean of residue. Would it be enough? He used the second jug to go over the same patch a second time.