Page 148 of Traitor Witch
I unfold myself with a mental sigh of relief and carefully replace the lid of the barrel. Erasing all traces of my presence.
I've done it. I'm the first Shadow in over a century to make it past the walls.
There's no time to celebrate as I stretch out the kinks in my muscles, using the time to examine my surroundings
There are lots of shelves, but most of them are empty. The smell of damp, ash, and mildew lingers in the air, and charred blast marks are visible on the stone. The empty shelves look brand new and they're sitting on a carpet of ash and charcoal.
What happened here? It almost looks like a fire of some sort.
"Sweet Goddess,”Opal curses."Nilsa, over here."
I follow the direction she disappeared in, only to gag as I make it past the mostly empty shelves.
It looks like a butcher's shop.
"Petra said that siren scales and fae dust weren't the only ingredients," I whisper, staring at the six bodies hanging by their ankles from hooks in the ceiling.
Mercifully, their faces are covered in black hoods, so I'm spared the sight of their death-glazed eyes. There are blades sticking out of their bodies like pincushions. Beneath each one, huge bowls slowly fill with the blood draining from the wounds.
The floor beneath is rust coloured, the red mixing with the blast marks to paint a macabre picture of death and violence.
Goddess, this is horrid. The worst kind of desecration.
"Someone's coming."
My agility sigils flare with the burn of magic just in time for me to jump up onto the top shelf.
I press myself down against the wood and send more power to the camouflage sigils on my spine just in time to watch the first glimmers of light descend from a trap door I hadn't noticed earlier.
When white robes make their way down, I shove my fist into my mouth.
A Solar.
A fucking Solar.
White robes cover every inch of her as she walks straight up to the mini abattoir and twists one of the blades.
Blood drips faster, and the body releases a moan.
Sweet lady, they're still alive?
They must be immortals. There's no way a human would be able to survive this.
"Shifters,"Opal confirms, though I still can't see her."I'm upstairs, she's obviously the one preparing the Mortal Cure. It... it only gets worse."
How could a Solar do this? They're committed to protecting life. This is the complete opposite.
I don't think this is Lily either. Her delicate face and dark skin don't match the description Petra gave me.
But there's no way to deny she's involved. It's written in the casualness with which she twists each dagger, replacing the bowls and tipping the contents into a jug.
The witch doesn't react to their moans and whispered pleas. The moment she finishes her task, she heads back upstairs.
I drop to the floor soundlessly and follow, dagger at the ready.
We emerge into a light, open laboratory. There's a cauldron hanging over a fire in one corner and shelves crammed with books and plants. The fire hovers in mid-air, a deep blue transmutation circle underneath keeping it burning without fuel or smoke. It's not too dissimilar to my own workroom, and the similarity sickens me.
One of my own kind is responsible for this.
