He jerks a thumb around the dark corner. “Led deeper into this maze. Your gut said to get the others, and I think your gut was right.”
“Let’s head back. Radio silence until we get there.” I tuck the penlight under my shirt nearly dousing the light. “Can you still see?”
He nods, and we set out.
I have no idea what’s going on here. Which has been my general state of mind for the past twenty-four hours. No idea what happened back at camp to turn a youth leadership conference into a bonfire with front-row stakes for werewolf and vampire guests. No idea why there is a demon—and hell hound attendants—in the forest. No idea why that forest also contains a faux abandoned cabin, warded by a spellcaster who knows about the demon . . . and still decided this was a fine place for a vacation getaway.
And now, to add to it, I have no idea why a) there’s an extensive tunnel system under the cabin and b) footsteps seem to be luring us in deeper, but there’s no scent to indicate someone’s there. There are spells to hide a witch from sight, but that shouldn’t affect scent. There are also ghosts in our world, but only necromancers can hear them.
A thought tickles at the back of my mind. I’m about to chase it down when we turn a corner and there’s the door just ahead.
“Did you close it?” Elijah whispers.
I shake my head. I’m not overly concerned. It opened easily with no catch or lock, so it would swing shut just as easily. Still, I pause outside it and sniff. Then I drop and sniff the floor. No scents except ours.
I put my fingers to the door and push. It opens with a creak loud enough to make me wince. We’re almost out, though.
As I’m pushing open the door, I turn to Elijah. He’s watching over his shoulder. When I turn, he glances back at me. Then he blinks.
“Kate . . .” he says, gaze fixed over my shoulder.
I wheel, expecting trouble, but there’s no one there. Just the cold cellar with shelves of . . .
“Those are not onions,” Elijah murmurs.
I yank the penlight from under my shirt and shine it on a jar of off-white globes with trailing tails that look like the withered stalks of onions. Onions with dull blue irises and pupils.
“Those—” I whisper.
“—are eyeballs. In a jar.”
“But they were onions. I’m sure of it.” I step into the room, light sliding over the shelf. It stops on a jar of fingers and then on one packed with yellowed teeth.
“Not pickles,” Elijah murmurs. “Not corn.”
They were, though. This is the same shelf. We came down right . . .”
I swing the flashlight beam toward the ladder. Toward where the ladder had been.
There is no ladder.
And no hatch above.
“It’s a different room,” Elijah says, exhaling. “Which means we’re not going crazy. The first one had regular preserves. This one . . . irregular preserves.” He shudders. “The witch’s secret stash.”
“This makes no sense,” I whisper under my breath.
“Hmm?”
I shake my head, pushing the niggling thoughts aside for now. “We need to get back to the proper room. I was sure we came the right way—we stuck to the left again, and logically that should take us back—but, clearly, I messed up.”
Elijah strides off down the tunnel, leaving me jogging after him. He stops in front of the last turn we made.
“A passage on the left.” He takes the penlight and shines it ahead. “A fork in the passage down there. That’s exactly what we found before. Same shelves. Same door. Same tunnel.”
I shake my head. “I could believe that someone switched out the jars—or we somehow screwed up—as unlikely as both seem. But there’s no ladder and no hatch. You can’t disappear those.”
Or can you?
I hurry back to the room and wave my arm where the ladder was. I expect it to hit wood hidden under a spell. It doesn’t.
I recall the ladder being a solid fixture, but I still check with Elijah, who says yes, it was screwed into the ceiling and floor.
“Any chance you can hold me on your shoulders?” I ask.
He pops a bicep.
I laugh and shake my head. “I know you can lift me. The question is whether you can hold me. Balance and strength. We’ll give it a try, but don’t be afraid to say it’s not working. I’d rather hop down than fall.”
He boosts me up with the wall for support. Then he moves into the center of the room, and I give him full props for taking it slow. I help by bracing my hands against the ceiling as we move. When we reach the right spot, I feel around, unleashing a rain of dirt.
“Sorry for the shower,” I say.
“You’re getting it worse than me. Anything there?”
“Dirt, dirt and more dirt. I could try punching just in case. Are you steady enough for that?”
He widens his stance. “I think so. Don’t put too much into it, though, just in case.”
I slam my fist up into the ceiling. Clods of dirt batter my head, and when I give it a shake and look up, I see only a depression in the earth ceiling, complete with grub-like pale roots.
“So this definitely isn’t the same room magically disguised,” Elijah says as he reaches up to help me down.
I make a noise that he should take as distracted agreement. Instead, as he’s lowering me, he pauses, holding me with my feet still above the ground, my face on level with his.
“You still think it is.”
I scrunch my nose. “That makes no sense.”
“Which doesn’t answer my question,” he says as he sets me on the ground. “Or, actually, it does. You aren’t sure, and you don’t like that because it’s not logical. Your gut tells you something’s wrong, though.”
“This clearly cannot be the same room,” I say. “And the longer we debate the obvious, the longer it’ll take us to find the way out.”
I head for the exit, penlight in hand. When I walk out, the door swings behind me, and I look to find myself alone in the hall.
I nudge open the door to see Elijah there, in the dark, peering around, frowning. When he notices me, I lift my brows in question. He shakes his head and jogs out to join me.
Chapter Seven
Logan
I burst into the living room where Mason is at the window, peeking out.
“Have you seen Kate?” I ask.
“No, thank God. She’s as annoying as you. Must run in the . . .” He trails off as he catches my expression. “What’s up? Sorcerer boy was just in here asking the same question. Like I said to him . . .” He waves around. “Small room. The only place for her to hide would be under the blanket with me, and your sister’s cute, but not really my type.”
I’m already striding out. When he comes after me and catches my shoulder, I spin with a snarl that sends him staggering back, hands raised.
“Whoa, pup. Everyone’s on edge, but there’s no need for that. This place is the size of a New York apartment. Kate can’t have gone far. Did you check the attic? I heard someone up there.”
“That was us,” I say as I head into the kitchen. “We found the body of a man murdered in ritual sacrifice. Paralyzed and plastered into a mummy.”