Page 9 of Broken Shadows

“Lorcan,” Ezra calls.

“Yes?” I question as I keep walking.

“We should check every room, just in case,” Ezra says, then folds his arms across his wide chest, his ridiculous purple hoodie stretching taught against his muscles. He’s right, but any delay, even a necessary one, feeds the anxiety bludgeoning my ribs.

My boots scrape against the stone floor as I stomp back to my brother. A screech rents the air as he pushes a rusty iron door open, the hinges complaining excessively. Curling my upper lip, an irritated growl rumbling in my chest as I maneuver past him into the mostly vacant space beyond.

Dust rises into the air with each of my breaths. I cough once as I wave away the offending substance. The bond between my little witch and I tightens the deeper I move into the room, as if every step I take is farther away from her. I spin on my heel, scanning every inch of the barren cell. Piles of moldering hay dot the ground lining the damp walls. My fingers trail across a patch of encroaching moss above a bucket of something vile I have no desire to examine further.

“Nice place. I see they spare no expense for their captives.” Ezra whistles and glances at me. “Oh, look, they even sprang for the Cadillac of shit buckets. It’s got a lid to sit on and everything.”

I inhale deeply, my nose scrunching as I breathe in the putrid scent—mostly bodily fluids—expelled here. “I doubt this dungeon is used very often, judging by the level of decay.” I jut my chin at a dismal hay pallet. “But it does further prove the lengths The Order will go to.”

He nods, picking up a metal shackle hanging from chains secured to the wall. Ezra rotates the worn metal in his tattooed hands, the corners of his lips falling. My nails scratch lightly against my scalp as I run both hands through the longer strands on the top of my head. We need to move on. I prowl toward the exit. Metal curls inward and groans as I kick the iron door, a crater forming in the stone frame, on my way out for good measure. Ezra’s quiet laughter follows me as I delve deeper into the gloom. Ignoring my brother’s earlier suggestion, I speed past several more cells bracketed by even rows of skulls padding the walls and grip my bond with Evie as tightly as I can. There has to be some trace of my little witch. I just need to keep searching. The black spiky mace of anxious energy gnaws on my stomach, lining harder and harder as more time passes.

Ezra strides lackadaisically down the macabre tunnel beside me, commenting on anything and everything around him, his voice growing distant as I pick up my pace. “Shit, their headquarters is much larger than I thought. Although, I quite like the alternative material used to replace basic bitch stone. Such a delightful pattern of alternating skulls and humerus bones. Don’t you think?” For a few, blissful moment's silence reigns, but my shoulders stiffen as it’s swiftly disrupted. “Brother, you have to check this out.”

I rub my temples as a headache drills into my skull. “What could you possibly need now?” Ezra points a thick tattooed finger at a huge marble slab pressed into an arched cut out of the stone wall. We’ve passed dozens of arcosolias along each twisting turn of the catacombs. What makes this one different from all the others?

Ezra’s nostrils flare, and the dark, sinister magic of Wrath glows like obsidian embers in his eyes, their pastel green nearly obliterated. “Seriously, just fucking listen to me for once and take a godsdamn look, Lorcan,” he growls. Seems like our time together is finally wearing on my dear brother too—about godsdamn time.

“What was it you said earlier? Ah, yes. ‘Calm your tits,’ Wrath,” I coo, not giving a single fuck. I’m provoking the monster. My brother balls his hands into fists at his sides, the tattoos straining across his knuckles. I chuckle and stroll over to him. Shadows condense on my skin, sliding around the edges of the smooth marble. “The fuck?” I mutter under my breath. The shadows on the left side of the slab vanish, while their counterparts on the right, top, and bottom probe and wreath along a thin crack between marble and stone. A loose pebble skitters against my boot as I step closer, flattening a claw tipped hand against the marble edge and grunt. Scraping consumes all other sounds as I force a slender opening, no wider than the width of my shoulders from the side, to appear.

“Told you,” Ezra declares, his anger swiftly evaporating.

I poke my head around the slab and glare at his smirking face. “Smug bastard. How the fuck did you know?”

“Unlike others in my present company, I take my time to explore shit. My shadows have traced every single crevice, nook, and cubicula carved or worn into this damn labyrinthine. Sooo, when something unusual came to my attention, I stopped to inspect it.” He gestured to the north. “You can only see the gap when coming from that direction, and the shadow created by the slab makes it appear like any other shadow,” Ezra explains proudly and grins.

My spine straightens, and something bitter and ugly prickles beneath my skin. I would not have noticed the cleverly disguised opening if my brother had not forced me to listen. No. I refuse to acknowledge those vile feelings. I slip into the gap, my chest and back just barely fitting as I move through it at an angle. “Good luck getting through that,” I chuckle as I emerge at a set of steps.

Grunts and groans echo off the walls as Ezra squeezes into the gap. He makes it nearly all the way through, then huffs and throws a hand toward me. “A little help?” he asks.

I roll my eyes and uncross my arms. “Use your godsdamn shadows, idiot.” He glares at me, but I smirk and tug him forward before he can free himself. Ezra trips, then rights himself.

“Not cool,” he grumbles.

I laugh. “I was just doing as you asked.”

“Mhm,” Ezra hums, and rubs his chest. “We’ll have to find another way out. That was too tight for my liking. I thought my sternum would puncture my heart. It’s not like I can suck in my fucking ribs.”

I groan as yet another bone lined corridor stretches before us. However, there is one difference. Doors peek through gaps in bone and stone walls at odd intervals, as if the size of the rooms behind them vary greatly.

Ezra claps a hand on my back as I pause and poke my head through an open archway made of the same stone as the floor, walls, and ceiling. My heart lurches into my throat.Evie.I stumble into the open chamber, my eyes drifting to the massive archaic chandelier on the vaulted ceiling. It’s made with tibia bones connecting four levels of metal rings—each rimmed with skulls—by chains from the round, vaulted ceiling.

My nose wrinkles as the ghostly scent of roses tinged with blood cloyingly permeates the surrounding air.

“What is it?” Ezra asks, eyes the same shade as mine narrowing on my face. My palm slaps the nearest wall, sliding on mildew as I lean against it heavily.

“She’s close. I can smell her.”

The breath stalls in my lungs, and my eyes dart around the dim space. My little witch’s bond tugs sharply, the slightest twinge of pain reverberating down its length. Fuck.Where is she?Panic crushes me beneath its icy waves, yet anger buoys me from the dark depths below. I shiver as the sound of my molars grinding reaches my ears. I struggle to regain any sense of calm, pinned beneath the two opposing emotions.

I sprint forward, my feet sliding on the dingy, unkept floor as I search the entirety of the circular wall. The bond tightens again and my head whips to the center of the room. An old, weathered table—no, a gurney of sorts—stands sentinel. I creep slowly toward it, my little witch’s scent strengthening but still muted as it always is on this side of the mirror. My head tilts to the side as I assess the innocuous object as if it’s a threat, then step onto the metal drain juxtaposed to the gurney. My witch’s essence, her signature stamped in time and space between our realms, envelopes me.

Shock encompasses every thought and emotion as I whisper, “Little Witch.” Bone clacks against stone as my knees collapse under me. “I fucking found her.”

Ezra inhales sharply. For a moment, I stare at the drain, splashes of a rust-colored substance and bits of what could be human innards litter the pipe beneath the grate. What manner of fucking Hell have they put her through? A steady growl rises past my throat, transitioning into a roar of unfiltered rage. It’s even worse than I thought.

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