I just want you to be safe, sweet girl.
Floating those petals hadn’t felt dangerous. It had felt fun and . . . light. Easy.
But her mother’s face had been so serious, and Vivi had never forgotten it, had never fully been able to detach the idea of magic from danger. She shivered now as the car descended, not from cold but just from the anticipation of what they were about to do.
Or maybe she could already sense the magic in the air.
“I see why ol’ Gryffud picked this place,” Rhys murmured to himself, sitting up to peer out the windshield.
“You can feel it, right?” she asked, and he nodded.
“Are we close?”
“Just around this bend.”
The car came to a stop at the side of a stream, the water burbling and sighing over rocks as it flowed from the mouth of an open cave just in front of them, the entrance yawning and dark in the glow of Vivi’s headlights.
She shut off the car, plunging them into deeper darkness, and in the gloom, Rhys turned to her, holding one hand out. “Well, Vivienne,” he said, “shall we?”
Chapter 9
It really was unfortunate how much of magic took place in dark, dank places.
As Rhys helped Vivienne step over a particularly large rock just inside the entrance of the cave, he wondered why his ancestors couldn’t have laid down ley lines somewhere warmer, somewhere a little less damp. Beaches needed magic, surely.
But no, his ancestor had apparently been the sort of grim fucker who preferred caves, so now Rhys was dodging dark puddles of water and slime-covered rocks.
Although, he admitted as Vivi once again placed her hand in his, the little ball of light she’d conjured hovering over them, the company certainly wasn’t bad.
“How far into the cave are the lines?” she asked now, dropping his hand to reach up and push her hair back from her face.
“Not far,” Rhys said, peering into the gloom in front of him. His father had drawn him a map, probably using ink made from raven’s blood and five-hundred-year-old parchment, but Rhys had pointedly left the foul thing behind, fairly certain that he’d be able to find the lines on his own.
Now, however, as he walked farther into the cave, the walls becoming narrower around him, he wasn’t sure that had been the best idea. He could feel the magic, of course, thrumming like a second heartbeat underneath his feet, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, but where exactly was it coming from?
Not quite as clear.
Pausing, Rhys looked around him. The main chamber of the cave came to a dead end a few yards away, and all he could see was solid rock on either side. Had his father’s map mentioned a secret entrance? Or was this more of his bad luck mucking things up? His father may have sworn he wasn’t cursed, but Rhys couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that something wasn’t right. Maybe this was part of it.
“St. Bugi’s balls,” he muttered, and Vivienne paused, looking up at him.
“Are you lost?” she asked.
“No,” he said, entirely too quickly, and she narrowed her eyes a little.
“Rhys.”
“I am not,” he insisted, and then turned in a circle, the light drunkenly trailing after him. “I just . . . need to get my bearings a bit.”
“Mmmm,” Vivienne said, crossing her arms. “And do your bearings tell you there’s a hidden opening just past your left shoulder?”
Rhys spun around, squinting into the darkness, at first seeing only more slick, wet rock.
And then . . . there it was. The slightest shadow in the midst of all that darkness, cleverly hidden against the rock.