Page 54 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
On the back of Atlas’s volt, it looked like a majestic palace with its mosaic windows and glass ceiling.
“Look!” She pointed as they streaked by its splendid visage, though she doubted he could hear her over the crush of music and magic. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
She didn’t know if Atlas responded, but he grabbed her wrist and linked her arm back around the security of his waist. Then he held her in place, steering thevoltwith one hand. Everinne tilted her head, resting it against his muscular back. She should’ve asked him for a ride years ago.
Unfortunately, the speed of thevoltbrought them to the Mystic Obscura much faster than Everinne anticipated and before she knew it, Atlas was parking outside of a dimly lit alley where a thick veil of glamour throbbed in the air. In one easy movement, he lifted her off thevolt, keeping his hand protectively fastened to the small of her back.
Atlas flicked his wrist and their helmets vanished.
Everinne gaped up at him. “Seriously? Why didn’t you just do that in the beginning?”
Mischief glinted in his eyes and he winked down at her. “It was more fun to watch you struggle.”
Together they walked through the glamour, and the wisps of intense magic tickled her cheek yet pricked along her spine. They approached the back of the alley, where the door markedwith whorls and runes kept the otherworldly festivities of the Mystic Obscura hidden away from the rest of the world.
Atlas reached for the handle but Everinne caught his arm. “You can just walk in?”
She knew Jarek could do the same, but it was different because he worked there. It seemed wrong that anyone who looked too closely could simply enter through the glamour and waltz inside the Mystic Obscura without being met by some kind of barrier.
“I told you, I’m a member.” Atlas flipped his hand over and showed her his forefinger, where a tiny white scar marked his flesh. “The Mystic Obscura goes beyond the norms of exclusivity. Only those who received an invitation can open the door, but in order to do so, they also have to forfeit a drop of blood.”
Everinne reared back. “What?”
“A drop of blood for access to an elite parlor boasting the finest exhibitions and the most extraordinary experiences. Seems like a small price to pay, doesn’t it?” Atlas nodded toward the stone exterior, his gaze trailing from the door up to the highest point of the wall that lacked any windows. “Except our blood is imbued into the runes on this door. Granted, we can come and go as we please, but at what cost?”
Apprehension prickled the hairs along the back of Everinne’s neck and goosebumps pebbled across her flesh. She rubbed a hand up and down her arm in an effort to rid herself of the troubling sensation.
“Blood magic?” Even she knew that sort of magic should never be trifled with. “Isn’t it dangerous?”
“It can be.” Atlas pulled open the door. “Yes.”
She peeked around him, then hesitated, drawing back. “This can’t be right.”
Instead of billowing curtains of bronze silk that seemed to move and shift of their own accord, the entrance of the MysticObscura was draped in wide ribbons of black velvet that tumbled down from the high ceiling, diminishing the light. They crafted a new labyrinth, fluttering in time to the haunting strains of a distant, sinister melody. Ornate daggers with jeweled hilts were embroidered onto every panel with silver thread, each one different, like snowflakes falling from the sky. At their feet, a thick fog swirled, crawling along the floor and curling like bony skeletal fingers ready to pry her soul from her body.
Atlas nudged her forward, but Everinne dug her heels into the uneven cobblestone, wary. “It’s not the same as it was last night.”
“It changes based on Reine’s mood.” His tone was even and cool, unfettered despite the chilling welcome.
“You know Reine?” she asked, stepping slightly closer to his side.
“We’ve met once or twice.”
Everinne glanced up sharply, one brow arched in silent question.
“Not likethat,” Atlas muttered, grabbing her hand. Then he tugged her into the Mystic Obscura.
He led her through the winding passage, but whereas Atlas was able to move with ease, Everinne found it difficult to keep up. The unusual mist thickened around her, making each step feel as though she was trying to wade through a bog of sludge. Dampness settled over her skin, harrowing and chilling. Warning fired through her as the mist intensified, choking her with the stench of dank air and decay. Her eyes watered and she stumbled forward, tripping as the opaque murk tangled around her limbs like bestial vines. Raw panic climbed up her throat, slowly awakening the dark magic lurking in her veins. Atlas’s grip loosened, and her clammy hand slipped from his hold.
“Atlas!” she shrieked, gasping as the foul air tainted her lungs.
He spun around to face her, and the disturbing wall of fog evaporated.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Everinne launched herself into his arms. He caught her by the waist, pulling her close. She clutched his shirt, fisting the soft fabric with both hands. Gently, he brushed a fallen strand of hair from her face while his free hand slowly slid to her hip. “What’s wrong?”
Everinne swallowed around the knot of fear lodged in the back of her throat. “The mist…it…it vanished.”
