My glass slipped out of my hand and smashed into shards on the floor.
Everyone ignored the crash and remained focused on the situation.
"And?" Shane pressed. "Is he okay?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "He's silent, just staring. It's as if he's in a trance, just sitting in his room." Her voice shook with tension.
"Why would it target Tommy?" Shane murmured as if speaking to himself.
"I don't know," Ms. Kelly said. "But I was able to cast it away from him before it could take full hold. If I hadn't felt it coming, I have no idea what might have happened." She cleared her throat as it tightened. "I had to make sure the two of you were okay."
I shook my head in frustration. We'd put Tommy in danger by treading into the labyrinth. And who knows who else might be affected.
"Wait," I spat. "You mentioned something about Ms. Harrison. What was it?"
Shane leaned closer with full attention.
"I can't be sure," Ms. Kelly said. "But at the exact time the wailing cries of the curse surged through my house, I heard Elizabeth's voice. Like she was warning me. I'm sure of it. Saying something about a loop. A repeat."
Chapter 8
So it was true.
Ms. Kelly was able to communicate with Ms. Harrison on some level. Even if it was unclear or clouded, they were still able to connect through time.
Ms. Harrison had reached through and contacted Ms. Kelly with a warning—something about a loop, like events were going to repeat. We'd processed the possibilities until utter exhaustion, leaving us with one clear understanding.
There was a true opportunity for communication.
The concept shot my mind in a wild frenzy of possibilities.
I wanted to know how Dom and Courtney were. I wanted an update on Millicent and Gertie. These were things that typical people had to live without, but we were far from typical.
My wandering thoughts made me miss half of what Shane and Ms. Kelly had been talking about. And I barely said a proper goodbye as she left for home.
There was just so much to process. I had to break it down to the most critical pieces.
One, the death curse had been released in our time, so we had access to it now—maybe a way to end it.
Two, Shane had a key that held secrets to our past, and we intended to use it.
And three, there'd been possible contact with Ms. Harrison, and this opened a world of possibilities.
I blinked my eyes open as dawn broke over the horizon. Stretching my arms over my head, I hit the back of the couch, realizing I'd fallen asleep and spent the night on it. My eyes flickered over to the armchair and found Shane slumped into it.
At least we got some sleep.
I reached for my phone and touched it to life. The group chat had filled with responses from everyone, and their replies proved they were clueless about what had happened. Poorva and Blake, anyway. Ms. Reed's avoidance of anything of interest told me she was well aware of what went down.
The UMAs would have to get together as a team at some point, but for now, it left breathing room to remain apart.
My heavy lids blocked out the light of early morning, and it wasn't until a couple hours later that I truly woke.
And as I glanced around, pushing my grogginess aside, I noticed Shane was no longer in his chair.
Jumping to my feet, I searched the place until I was sure.
He was gone.
In a panic, I bolted outside and confirmed his RAV to still be there. And then my eyes trailed along the side of the manor.
He'd gone in. I had no doubt in my mind.
And there was no telling how long he'd been in there.
Grabbing my phone from inside, I texted as I speed-walked to the front of the estate.
Where r u
With no reply and no sign of him anywhere else, I stepped up onto the splintered porch and pushed open the massive front doors. They moved freely without needing to be unlatched, which convinced me that Shane was inside.
And I knew exactly where he'd be.
Without hesitation, I barreled to the kitchen area and hurried up the narrow stairway. Feeling the presence of the unnerving passage to the crypt behind me, I refused to look down into its gullet. Instead, I kept my focus forward and flew toward the children's rooms.
Passing ancient framed maps on the walls and faded portraits, I kept my eyes on the double doors that led to Shane's old room. As I got closer, the arched windows with a multitude of panes came into view, and then the large fireplace. Stepping through the doorway, I adjusted to the low light as dusty beams came in through the boarded windows. One crooked board that had fallen away allowed in most of the light, as well as a view of the balcony.
I scanned the room, passing the finely carved chairs and a wardrobe that still had time-period clothing hanging. And then my eyes landed on a hunched figure, sitting in the corner of the room.
"Shane?" I whispered.
He lifted his tired gaze to me and then lowered it back to his palm. He held the key in his open hand and stared at it.
As I moved closer, I looked at the wall he was facing, wondering what he was doing there.
"What are you do...." My words stopped short as my eyes landed on the subtle details of a hidden door.
Camouflaged into the ornate molding, the passage’s only indication of existence was the small keyhole hidden at the edge.
If it weren't for Shane sitting right in front of it, it would have gone unnoticed for another century at least.
"The key?" I murmured.
He bounced it in his hand. "Yup."
"Have you gone in yet?"
He shook his head. "Nope."
His lack of affect told me he was terrified. Frozen in his spot with the key to enter his past, but too afraid to even move.
I sat next to him and studied the door. Whatever was behind it held secrets that Shane felt profoundly within his being.
"Do you have any memory of it?" I asked.
He filled his lungs with air.
"Some," he said. "I think my parents used it as our safe room, to keep their important things out of sight." He paused. "But I used it as my secret playroom. I could do or be anything I wanted when I went in there."
I swallowed hard. "I hope it's as you remember it."
He pressed his lips together in a fine line. "Well, only one way to find out."
He held the key out in his fingers and reached it toward the hole.
My heart pounded in my ears with each passing second. We had no idea what might be inside the secret room—maybe nothing, maybe everything.
As Shane pressed the key into the hole, he turned it, causing a clunk within the wall.
His eyes widened in wonder. "It worked. It's unlocked."
Shane pressed his fingertips along the molding above the keyhole and pushed. With a crack of old paint, the seal broke, and a dark line formed along the edge.
Holding our breaths, we leaned in closer and peered into the darkness as Shane pushed farther.
A stench of mold and vermin wafted out and tickled the back of my throat. My eyes itched as my body rejected the foul air.
"I'll try to open a window," Shane said as he crept through the small passage.
I followed him in, crawling on my knees at first, then stood as we entered the storage room. My eyes adjusted to the low light as much as possible, but it was still too dark to see any details beyond shapes.
The room appeared to be filled with covered furniture and other stored items, looking like a grandmother's attic.
"There's a window over here," Shane said, shifting past an old chair. "I used to spy on visitors from it."
With a few pushes, the window popped open, like the porthole of a ship, and Shane punched at the board that covered it. With a crack, the board broke away and plunged in a free-fall to the ground below.
In the blink of an eye, the secret room illuminated as morning light flooded through the window. Streaks of dusty bea
ms filled the space, and I stepped back in amazement.
What had first appeared like stored furniture and random items now widened my eyes as I stared at a perfectly-preserved time capsule. It was like standing in a museum of pristine condition artifacts.
My jaw fell open as I soaked in the numerous works of art, barreled muskets, ancient maps, and exquisitely carved jewelry boxes.
"You played in here?" I whispered, moving around with caution.
He shook his head in disbelief. "It was all so normal to me at the time. Just a bunch of junk."
"It's like a treasure chest of the past," I muttered. "Some of this stuff looks really important. And really valuable."
I studied a portrait of a man in a wide hat. It was signed with the name Rubens.
"Did you know this man?" I asked.
Shane squinted as he studied the portrait. "No," he murmured. "I don't think so."
"I wonder why your parents kept these things hidden, instead of displaying them throughout the house." I lifted the corner of a heavy fabric covering from another painting.
"It's like, their most cherished possessions are here. Like they were trying to keep them safe," he said.
"Makes sense." I pulled the fabric more. "They probably knew they'd become a target at one point or another."
Shane paused and lowered his eyes. I immediately felt awful for saying it out loud. It sounded so callous when the words hit the air.
He looked up at me and saw the horror on my face.
"No, it's okay," he assured me. "I actually think you're right."
With an exhale of relief, I pulled the rest of the covering off the painting and stepped back. With a gasp, I smacked my hand over my mouth and stared into the eyes of a small boy. He stared back at me with a familiar smirk.
"Shane," I choked.
He stepped closer without blinking, gazing into the face of the boy, and then at the man and woman who stood on either side.
Shane's shoulders shook as his body trembled. His breath became louder as it forced its way in and out of him.
"My parents," he gasped.
Stumbling back, he hit into a bureau that held him up as he stared into their faces. Tears streamed down his cheeks from his unblinking eyes.
I looked from him to the painting and back again.
There was no way I could understand the emotions that surged through him, but the beauty of the family depicted in the painting was enough to crush me.
"Oh my god, Shane," I whispered. "I'm so sorry."
He struggled to swallow, then cleared his throat.
"It's okay," he strained. "It's the most wonderful thing I've ever seen."
He gazed into the eyes of his mother, then his father, as his lower lip trembled. Then he took a step closer while looking into the face of the small boy. He reached his hand to the painting and touched the boy's cheek. The blue of the boy's eyes radiated into the exact hue in Shane's eyes, and a huff fell from Shane's mouth.
"I fidgeted that day," he said. "I had to stand in that one spot for hours while my parents threatened no playtime and no dinner if I didn't stand still." He shook his head in disbelief of the detailed memory.
Tears filled my eyes and fell down my face in heavy drops that splashed onto my feet.
Shane swiped at his face and then carefully covered the portrait with its fabric protection. With a sniff, he turned back to the bureau and studied it.
"This was my parents’,” he said. "My father kept his official documents in it. I remember how protective he was of them, telling me to never touch." He ran his hand along the surface and then pulled open the top drawer.
I swallowed hard, knowing how difficult it must have been for Shane to be this close to his family, yet so far away. His trembling fingers proved his emotional overload, but he didn't slow. His curiosity kept moving him forward.
Flipping through stiff parchments in the drawer, some tied in cordage, he studied the numerous documents and then froze.
His jaw dropped open, and the only words I could make out were, "Holy shit."
I stepped closer and peered over Shane's shoulder.
The ancient documents were yellow and faded, but the ink-scrawled signatures were perfectly preserved, along with each certificate’s purpose.
The United States
The bearer is entitled to receive
Continental Currency
My eyes widened as I stared at the ancient bank documents and official certificates.
Shane moved his finger along one of the signatures.
"That's my father's name." He flipped through the papers. "His signature is on all of them." He studied them closer. "And there's my name. As the next of kin."
He ran his hands through his hair and stepped back.
"Brynn, it's their fortune. Their savings and bonds." His voice caught in his throat.
I closed my eyes as the protection of Shane's parents washed over us. They had done everything they could to ensure Shane's safe future.
Then he let out a strange kind of laugh and stepped over to the drawer again.
With a shrug, he said, "I just have no idea how to explain that these belong to me. Who'd believe it?"
My brows pinched together. He was right. It would be impossible to prove his true connection to these things, but as the last remaining descendent of his family, he would still hold the rights to it.
He lifted the papers and glanced beneath them. With a cough, he stepped back.
"Shit," he gasped.
I moved to the open drawer and lifted the papers. Whatever was hidden beneath them had knocked the wind out of Shane, and I couldn't imagine what could have such power.
As I peered beneath the documents, my eyes filled with the bright glow of shiny gold. Brick after brick, the drawer was lined with bars of gold.
Shane sank down, placing his elbows on his knees.
"Shit," he said again. "I bet they scoured the place for these after hanging my parents." He shook his head as if to avoid the thought of his parents being murdered for the greed of others. "But I refused to give the fuckers that satisfaction. I hid the key on them." He chuckled quietly. "I bet they searched for days. Until the questioning began. Saying my parents harbored witches was their only way out of being hanged themselves."
I closed my eyes. "I'm so sorry," I muttered, not knowing what else to say.
Shane's parents had been murdered in cold blood, and Shane knew the guilty never paid for their crime. Instead, his parent's good name was allowed to perish in the flames of the burning witches.
As we stood in silence, surrounded by the items of Shane's earlier life, a rustling sound came from the far corner of the room.
"What the hell," I spat, jumping back.
Shane smiled from my nervous reaction. "Probably a squirrel or something."
He closed the drawer as he kept an eye toward the sound.
With slow, calculated steps, he moved closer, and as I watched him, I noticed more details of the room around him. Strange vines grew through the walls, creeping along the edges in search of light. They gave the appearance of a vascular system with a multitude of veins bringing life into the space.
I imagined the room breathing with its own life-force surrounding Shane's family. And then I heard it.
Breath.
Not mine.
Not Shane's.
But a third source.
The sound of the breathing grew louder as Shane moved closer. As he closed in, it became more rapid as if panicked.
A squirrel would never make such a loud sound. Only something larger.
I froze. Imagining a huge raccoon or some other creature with claws and fangs.
"Be careful," I whispered. "Don't corner it. It's not worth it."
My worst-case scenarios pictured a frothing beast launching its fangs for Shane's throat or a wailing banshee tearing out his eyes.
Then the sound of scampering shot my attention along the far wall.
Someone or some
thing was trying to hide.
Chapter 9
Passing a stack of leather-bound suitcases, I stared into the corner of the secret room, following the sound of heavy breathing. An old-fashioned rocking horse swayed back and forth on its curved base, and its shiny glass eye gazed back unblinking.
"Something's hiding behind the horse," I whispered as Shane crept closer.
Then a slight whimper rose from behind a seamstress' mannequin.
"Is someone there?" Shane called out.
His words and their tone sent terror down my spine.
How could someone be in there? The door was sealed, and the window had been boarded over.
But he was right, the sounds coming from the hidden corner were human.
"Show yourself," he demanded.
Shane's posture moved from a rigid defensive mode to one of curiosity and intrigue.
"We won't harm you," he whispered, stepping closer.
As he inched farther in, a book fell from the top of a wobbling stack and slammed on the floor. The loud smash made me jump with a gasp, heightening my flight response.
With wide eyes, I stared as Shane moved closer, and then there was a strange wobble. It was like looking through a fishbowl as movement caught our attention.
As I focused on the motion, my breath froze, and the blood drained from my head straight into the pit of my stomach. Screaming was my only natural response, but my terror had me frozen as I watched a young boy step out from his hiding place.
Fear radiated from his eyes as he nervously stepped into our view. He kept his gaze fixed on Shane and studied his every feature.
"It's okay," Shane whispered. "We won't hurt you. Who are you? Why are you here?"
Shane watched the boy's slow movement as he lifted one arm. Stretching it out toward Shane, he moved his fingers as if searching to find if what he saw was real. The boy's eyes narrowed in disbelief, and a look of confusion covered his face.
Shane turned to me, to be sure I was seeing the same thing, then looked back to the boy. He reached his hand toward the boy's extended arm, and as their fingers grew closer, the boy changed slightly in appearance.
Urban Mystic Academy: Graduation (A Supernatural Academy Series Book 6) Page 7