Page 97 of Bewitched By the Djinn
She fiddles with one of the wooden slats, and with a soft click, the wall shifts. Stone grinds against stone as a section slides open, revealing a narrow, hidden passage.
We slip through the opening one by one. Helen closes it behind us, then snaps her fingers. A golden flame sparks to life in her palm, casting flickering light over the close, shadowed walls. “This way.”
We follow her through the winding maze, the air growing cooler and more oppressive the deeper we go.
At a fork in the path, Helen nods toward a branching corridor. “The dungeons.”
Darius peels off without a word, the shadows swallowing him whole as he disappears down the dark hall.
The three of us continue on, up a set of stone stairs, through dusty passages. Every creak and distant tap sends my heart into overdrive.
The passageway tightens as we head up and into the wing where the bedrooms are, forcing us to walk single-file and ease our steps to avoid banging into the surrounding walls.
Lord Hugh will be keeping the ring close. We don’t know where he will be, somewhere in the castle, maybe asleep in hisbed, but we have to start somewhere and his room is the most obvious place.
If he is sleeping, Helen plans to spell him into a deeper slumber while we search his room—and his fingers. If he’s not there, she’ll keep watch while we locate the ring with our magic.
Helen stops, motioning for us to wait while she eases open a slender door and slips through into a dark bedroom.
We hold still, barely breathing.
A long moment passes. Then another.
She peeks her head back out and shakes her head. No Hugh. That means it’s our turn. We go inside, leaving her in the corridor.
The bedroom is huge and empty. Heavy velvet curtains block the moonlight, and the fireplace is cold.
Bennet takes my hand. “Let’s find it.”
I nod and reach inward, calling on the thread between us. As always, the magic rushes to meet me—but it’s stronger when we’re together, sharper edged, like a current flaring with contact and heat and want. I focus through the arousal, drawing on my gift.
A golden thread unfurls in my mind. I follow it, tracing the magic signature: ancient, searing, unbearably bright. A flash behind my eyes, a pulse in my chest. The ring is close.
“It’s here,” I whisper. “Not in the room, though, but near. It’s moving.”
Bennet inhales sharply. “He’s coming.”
I stiffen, eyes wide.
We both spin toward the door—too late.
“I wondered how long it would take you.”
I whirl around.
From the shadows, a figure steps forward holding a lantern.
Hugh.
I knew those shadows weren’t right.
His white beard is neatly trimmed, his fine robes dark as wine, gleaming with gold thread. His eyes glow faintly in the low light. With stolen magic?
Helen stiffens. “How?—?”
“I have more magic than you and your brother combined now, and eyes everywhere. Not to mention, of course, the curse.” His gaze lands on Bennet and me. “It’s practically a beacon. I picked it up the moment you stepped into the lower halls.”
Bennet steps in front of me.
