Page 59 of Bewitched By the Djinn
“That was not your question. Would you like to pay more for it?”
Bennet exhales. “No. We’ll find her ourselves and ask.”
The figures lower their heads. “Then go. But the veil has closed. You must stay the night.”
I glance around at the cold, damp cave and the unsettling blue firelight. “Here?” I’d rather pluck my eyelashes out while walking on Legos than have a sleepover in a damp cave with the three creepiest witches to ever exist.
The one on the left tilts its head. “Follow the golden lanterns.”
The blue flames blink out, plunging the cavern into total blackness.
I suck in a sharp breath, grasping for Bennet’s arm. He’s already reaching for me, our hands colliding, fingers linking effortlessly.
We shuffle back the way we came, moving slowly in the darkness.
Then, from behind us, the voice whispers, the sound echoing in my ears like the words are being delivered straight into my head.
“The ones you lost have crossed the veil, but not to Hades. Not to death. To the plane of light and magic.”
My breath catches.The ones you lost? Helen and Delores? They haven’t crossed a veil, they’re in the Garden District. What are they talking about?
A single golden lantern flickers to life ahead, illuminating the way out. I glance behind us, but the cavern is empty.
They’re gone.
Bennet nudges me forward. “Come on.”
We follow the golden glow back to the surface.
Chapter
Sixteen
Following the lanterns, we circle behind the giant tree where a stout wooden cabin sits, surrounded by trees.
I stop in my tracks. “That wasn’t there before, right?”
Bennet steps up beside me, his expression unreadable. “No.”
It’s small, barely more than a shack, its wooden boards warped with age and moss creeping up the sides. The porch is so frail it might collapse under the weight of a strong breeze, and the whole thing leans slightly to the left, as if tired of standing upright. A single window glows with warm, golden light, almost inviting.
We approach slowly, our steps creaking as we navigate the steps and porch.
The door swings open on its own, a slow, creaking motion that sets every nerve in my body on edge.
I glance at Bennet. “That’s not ominous at all.”
But he’s already stepping inside.
The interior is simple. One single room. A fireplace crackles, casting flickering radiance over the space. A narrow wooden table runs along one wall, holding a tray of bread, cheese, and a carafe of water with copper cups. There’s no couch. No chairs.
The center of the space is dominated by the bed.
It’s raised on a platform, draped in a thin, white net, the material shifting gently in the breeze from the open door. The mattress is decent enough, plush with thick blankets folded at the end.
One bed.
Bennet crosses his arms. “I can take the floor?”
