Page 97 of An Oath at Midnight

The temperature inside was frigid, the air musty. Mags rubbed her arms and looked around the open cavern. The cave went deep into the rock, and I stared into the darkness. I couldn’t see a damn thing, but still the hair lifted on the back of my neck.

There was a dais to one side with dried, rusty-colored blood staining its rough stone surface. Mags froze in place as she looked at it, her eyes wide. Willow had almost died right there, and I could see the horror of that in Magnolia’s eyes.

“Where’s the book?” I said low, trying to pull her from whatever living nightmare was filling her mind.

Mags jolted and turned to me. Her teeth were chattering. “I—I can feel them, the crones. They were at rest here, for so long, but not anymore, and they’re…they’re so angry,” she whispered.

I went for my knife on instinct, even though I knew it was utterly useless. “What do we need to do? We need to move, baby.”

Mags turned to the cave wall, where linen-wrapped corpses were tucked into gruesome stone bunk beds. “The book is with a crone named Frances. She was one of the first brought here a really long time ago.” She strode to the wall. “Which means she should be at this end somewhere.” She slid her hands under one of the bodies, wincing as she felt around, then pulled her arms free before lifting back the linen covering the witch’s skull. Shaking her head, she re-covered the bones, then moved to the next.

I tried the one beside her. Nothing. Then lifted back the linen. “What am I looking for?”

“This book is powerful, dangerous. They would’ve concealed it. Look for unusual markings on the skull.” She moved to the next and cursed. “Where the hell is it?” She tilted her head to the side and all color drained from her face.

“What is it?”

Her gaze sliced to me. “They’re coming.”

Fuck. I moved to the next corpse, jostling it to check underneath. The linen draped across its face fell away. Hollow skeletal eye sockets stared blindly ahead, its jaw hanging open—and there was a symbol carved into the bone. “Here.”

Mags rushed over. “This has to be Frances. That’s a concealment rune, not one I’ve ever seen before, but I’m sure that’s what it is.”

It was the darkest kind of magic, and witches who adhered to their rules and laws wouldn’t ever have occasion to see anything like that. Magnolia was walking a dangerous road right now, and I had no idea how to help her. How to keep her safe from what might come of this.

“It’s here, it has to be,” she said.

Whispers echoed from the shadows, rising from the dark caves beyond the cavern. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but the voices were clearly angry. I heard it, felt it. “What do we do?”

She pulled something from her bag and handed it to me. “Surround us with this.”

It was a mix of salt, herbs, and cemetery dirt. I quickly did as she instructed as Mags pulled her blade from her pocket and sliced her finger, then traced the rune carved into the skull with her blood.

The scent of my female’s blood had the predator in me screeching, clawing to be released. There was nothing my crow could do, though, no physical form to attack, no body to claw. Nothing to kill. I was used to the feeling, the drive to protect when Mags cut herself, but that roar inside me was at a whole new level now. It was so fierce that it was almost impossible to control.

She started chanting.

“Reveal your secrets to me, I command you, show me what I cannot see.” Her eyes were wild as she again traced the rune etched into the skull. “Reveal your secrets to me, I command you, show me what I cannot see,” she said again, her voice rising, her body shaking harder. “Show me what I cannot see. Show me what I cannot see,” she cried as wind whipped around us. The whispers turned to screeches as the spirits of the crones exploded into the cavern. They flew at us, screaming louder when they reached the salt line protecting us, battering it over and over again.

The rune smoldered, then short flames ran along the lines etched into the bone, scorching it.

Magnolia thrust her hands under the body, and this time when she pulled her hands back, she held the book.

“How did you know to do that?”

She glanced at me. “I didn’t.”

Shit. “How the fuck are we gonna get out of here?” I roared over the crones’ furious screaming.

“Overlapping salt circles,” she said, quickly and carefully turning the pages of the ancient book.

“Take the book and let’s go.”

She shook her head. “We can’t take it. It’s too dangerous.” She turned another page, then another.

The salt beside me was slowly being eaten away by the crones’ constant attacks.

“Got it,” Mags said and pulled out her phone and snapped a picture, shoved the book back where it came from, and covered Frances’s skull with linen. Then she held out her hand for the bag of salt.