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But maybe this time…
“Shit!”
Lightning shot up Raana’s arm when she wrapped her fingers around the rust-splotched door handle. She pulled it back, shaking away the pain and redness as she glowered at the entrance. She should’ve known—
Iron.
Every damn door here was locked and made ofiron. And even if they appeared to be crafted by wood, somehow the cursed metal laced them.
For a little while, she thought Nerissa had been responsible for every obstacle she encountered, but the elder witch hadn’t been hiding out here long enough to install doors of solid iron. At least, Raana didn’t think so. Which meant they’d been installed long before her time, back when this place was still brimming with life rather than decay.
Five hundred years ago.
The ghosts of the past would be happy to know their enchantments and protections clearly meant to deter magic still held after all these centuries.
Her shadows hadn’t seemed to learn from her mistakes. She watched, brows drawn as they struck the barrier like asps, recoiling the moment they touched the surface in a trembling smoke.
“That was foolish,” she scolded. She wasn’t sure if they were only protecting her or if they were equally curious about what lay on the other side.
At that thought, the ground shifted, and a low, steady groan reverberated through the walls.
Raana stumbled back as the stone beneath her feet shook so hard she wondered if it would give away, and a gust of wind rushed down the corridor. She threw up a hand, the shadows curling around her as rock and debris hurtled by.
That was the other thing. This palace, this former Pack Hall ofPhobos, as wolves had once called the kingdom, was haunted. Or rather, it was cursed, imbued with the dark magic that had destroyed all else around it.
It was another reason Raana found exploring so difficult. Doors and hallways were constantly changing. Just yesterday, a trip to locate the decrepit kitchen area had her walking in circles before she gave up andcircled morebefore relocating her dusty bedroom and heading back to it. Good thing she hadn’t really wanted to eat, anyway.
Though, despite the inconvenience, she couldn’t deny her fascination. Whatever this magic was, it was unlike any other she’d ever sensed. Different from any witch,too powerfulfor any witch, and different from her, too. Nerissa hadn’t done this either.
A rasping squeak drew Raana’s attention to the door she’d once stood before. Only now, it was different. It was no longer dark wood but a lighter hue, and the knob was now a handle. She wouldn’t need to touch it, thankfully, with the entrance open a hair. But perhaps the hall presenting something like this to her should’ve made her more cautious.
She stepped just as the source of the squeak came scurrying out of the room.
A twisted, sad little thing that Raana imagined was once a rat before the corrupted nature took hold. It swept through the mist of darkness at her feet, running for its life, and her shadows, either wanting to play or just be assholes, clung on.
The rat writhed, screeching in pain and terror as a tendril coiled around it and squeezed.
“Enough,” Raana snapped, and the shadow released its grip, spooling back into the others around her feet. They all seemed to collapse into that area, reprimanding it for falling out of line. For a moment, she nearly smiled.
She would admit, always having them there helped her to feel less…lonely.
She lifted her head to the ajar door, a curious thought taking hold.
Now, what was that rat running from?
Raana angled her head, tuning into her fae senses—her enhanced hearing, sight, and smell. Even the air felt different along her skin. Slowly, she’d become more accustomed to her body, her true body, the speed, the strength of it, along with the heightened senses. Everything that her iron ring and enchantment was no longer hiding away.
Oh.
Raana grimaced.
Shewas here.
Raana walked forward and carefully,so carefully,pushed the entrance open the rest of the way. No wards or lightning this time.
The scent of rotting flesh hit her like a slap to the face, and the room pulsed with a noxious smoke whose source seemed to be the cauldron Nerissa hunched over. She wasn’t wearing the scarf that she used to cover the scarring of her face, scarring that Isla bestowed the day Nerissa tried to capture her.The near-queen had certainly left her mark.
This room had once been a ballroom, a grand, sweeping, spacious place now with crumbled high ceilings and a floor of shattered glass. From the fallen chandeliers that had once dripped like starlight, but also—
