by Chris Cannon
“This book is boring,” Ivy complained.
“Agreed.” Keegan picked it up and flipped it open to the middle page before turning it face down so they could see the front and back cover and the spine. “The most interesting thing about it is the cover.”
The green leather was stamped with golden ink, letting everyone know it was a book about the medicinal use of plants.
“It’s a pretty straightforward book,” Garret said. “We still use plants to make some of these medicines. Some of them are fused with Quintessence to increase their healing properties. That’s not a secret.”
“I guess every book can’t have a secret treasure hidden inside,” Bryn said. “Although it would be cool if it did.”
By the end of the school day, Bryn was bursting with curiosity about the unknown root cellar at Valmont’s cabin. She and Valmont, along with Clint and Ivy, headed to the faculty parking lot. Miss Enid waited for them alongside Mr. Stanton, who leaned against a large black SUV. Large didn’t even cover it. It was more like a trailer. There were two rows of back seats and a huge storage area, which held a green duffel bag, and something underneath a tarp.
“We could go camping in that thing,” Valmont commented.
Bryn pointed at the storage area and its hidden contents. “Are we stocking up on provisions, in case we need to excavate a tunnel?”
“No,” Miss Enid said. “We are taking supplies, in case we run into anything interesting. Better safe than sorry. Let’s get in, and I’ll show you what I’ve found.”
Which meant she didn’t want to talk out in the open where anyone walking by could hear. Whatever she was about to say seemed far more interesting.
Once they were all seated inside the car, Miss Enid put on a pair of white cotton gloves and then unrolled a parchment, brown with age. “This map shows all the locations where cabins were built.” She pointed at an outer ring of cabins. “Valmont, I believe this represents your home. As you can see, on this map, there are no tunnels connecting the structures.” She rolled the parchment back up and stuck it in a protective case. Then she opened a large manila envelope and pulled out a modern map. “This schematic shows all the Directorate-sanctioned cabins still standing. There are tunnels under some of them. Valmont’s cabin,” she tapped the area on the map where his home was located, “isn’t listed as having a tunnel, but it may have been added later, or the marking you discovered on your map could delineate a footpath or a shortcut.”
“Which are you hoping for?” Bryn asked.
Miss Enid grinned like she was going on a grand adventure. “I’d prefer a tunnel because there’s the possibility of finding an archive of information.”
“Everyone buckle up.” Mr. Stanton started the SUV and drove toward the back gate. After the guards verified their identities, they were allowed to exit the campus. They drove down the main road, which lead to Dragon’s Bluff—the same road they’d driven to rescue George.
“Amazing how peaceful this drive seems compared to the one we took the other night,” Bryn said.
“I guess your destination can change the mood of the journey.” Valmont paused and then he grinned. “Maybe I should start writing poetry.”
Bryn laughed. “Maybe.”
They took the turn-off that led up into the forest. Light filtered through the greenery, giving it a magical appearance.
“It’s beautiful here,” Ivy said.
“It is.” Valmont’s tone sounded wistful, like he missed living out here, which, of course, he probably did. “There’s something about living among the trees that’s so peaceful.”
“Until rebels emerge from your root cellar and take over your house,” Clint said.
Valmont snorted but didn’t comment.
When they pulled into his driveway and got closer to the cabin, the lights in the living room came on.
“Is someone housesitting for you?” Clint asked.
“No. There’s a motion detector in the driveway, so I never have to walk into a dark house.”
Clint grabbed Ivy’s hand. “Great idea. When we’re married, we’re going to have one of those installed in our driveway.”
“It is a cool idea,” Ivy agreed.
Clint and Ivy were so perfect together. Their parents were best friends and had petitioned for their children to be married. Clint had worked to win Ivy over, but in the end, it had all come together. Bryn envied the simplicity of their life and the happily ever after, which was their future. Her own future, featuring a nightmare of a marriage to Jaxon, probably wouldn’t hold as much happiness.
Valmont leaned in close and whispered, “Why are you scowling?”
“Just contemplating the odds of finding anything good hiding in your root cellar,” she lied, because it was easier than discussing the truth. And it wasn’t like talking about it would change anything.
Mr. Stanton put the SUV in park and turned off the ignition. “Let the adventure begin.”
“The root cellar is around back.” Valmont climbed out of the vehicle and led them around the side of the house. The cabin had been a part of the forest for so long it seemed to have grown up from the surroundings. The wood was pale with age, and vines climbing up the side seemed to be one with the structure.
They kept walking until they reached what appeared to be a large patch of dirt about a dozen feet behind Valmont’s back door.
“This is anti-climactic,” Clint said.
“Did we bring shovels?” Bryn asked.
“Let’s try a little wind first,” Mr. Stanton said. He breathed a twister onto his hand and then let it grow until it was about a foot tall. He directed it to the center of the dirt patch and then moved it back and forth. Where the twister touched down, the dirt was sucked up into the funnel. The funnel grew in size and darkened as it ate more dirt. After five minutes, Mr. Stanton directed the twister out beyond the tree line and then let it dissipate, releasing the dirt in a circular spray.
“I bet that startled some birds,” Valmont said.
Bryn pointed at the faint outline of a square made up of planks embedded in the ground. “Is that the door?”
“Where’s the handle?” Clint squatted down and knocked on the exposed wood. It made a metallic ringing sound. That wasn’t right.
“Knock again,” Bryn said.
Clint repeated the action, and once again it gave off the sound like he was knocking on metal.
Weird. “Why would the door be made of metal but disguised to look like wood?” Didn’t most root cellars have doors made of wood? Her experience with root cellars stemmed from old television shows. Who knew how accurate those were?
“Most doors would have been made of wood given the materials available to the home owners at the time,” Miss Enid said. “Metal would have been reserved for swords and tools.”
Valmont knelt down and knocked on the disguised metal door. “Definitely not wood.” He stood and turned for the house. “Let me see if I can find something to use as a crow bar to pry this thing open.”
“Not necessary,” Miss Enid said. “I have one in the SUV.”
“In case you needed to pry open a treasure chest of books?” Ivy asked.
“Exactly.” Miss Enid retrieved the crowbar and then ran it along the edges of the door, making the outline more distinct. “Better to clear more of the debris away. I’d hate to miss a latch because it was hidden by dirt and leaves.”
When no latch appeared, Miss Enid worked the crowbar into the seam created by the edge of the metal. “On to option two.” She put all her weight behind the crow bar. Miss Enid was as strong as any dragon, but the door didn’t budge.
“There must be some sort of locking mechanism.” Mr. Stanton paced around the door looking at it from different angles.
“Good thing you didn’t want to use it,” Bryn told Valmont.
He rubbed his chin. “When I bought the place, the bill of sale mentioned the root cellar, but I never bothered to investigate it. If it’s locked, maybe there�
�s a way to release it from inside the cabin.”
“Like an automatic garage door opener?” Clint asked sounding skeptical.
“Something like that.” Valmont strode toward the back door and opened it with his key. “You’re welcome to come inside. My grandfather has been taking care of the place for me, so it shouldn’t be too dusty.”
How long had it been since Valmont had stayed in his own house? Four months? That old guilty feeling rolled over Bryn. No matter how much he claimed he didn’t mind putting his entire life on hold to be her bodyguard, she didn’t one hundred percent believe him.
Chapter Nine
Not much had changed since she’d last visited his house. The back door led into a small kitchen with a table and chairs he’d “borrowed” from Fonzoli’s. The front living room held a couch and a coffee table. The one small hallway led toward a minuscule bathroom and a single bedroom.
“As you can see,” Valmont gestured from the open concept kitchen to the living room, “there aren’t a lot of places for a builder to hide a switch or a key. Feel free to poke around. Help yourself to a glass of water if you want one. I’m not sure what else there is to drink at the moment.” He walked over to the refrigerator, opened the door, and laughed. “My grandfather has stocked up on ginger ale.”
“It’s a universal truth that all grandparents drink ginger ale,” Clint said.
Bryn wasn’t so sure that applied to Blues. Maybe their refrigerators were always stocked with fine wine.
“Where is the electrical box?” Mr. Stanton asked.
“In the hall closet.” Valmont waved his hand indicating they should follow.
Mr. Stanton and Bryn were the only takers. Maybe because everyone realized there wouldn’t be much room to investigate. Across from the bathroom there was a set of wooden louver doors, which ran on a track. Valmont opened the doors and pulled the string for the bare light bulb, which hung from the ceiling. An apartment-size heating system and a tankless water heater took up most of the space with the breaker box squeezed between them on the back wall.
“Was this closet original to the house?” Mr. Stanton asked.
“Yes. I widened it and took out the shelf that used to be here in order to update the water and heat.”
“Did the house come with any mystery switches?” Bryn asked.
Valmont’s eyebrows came together. “I don’t understand the question.”
“Our apartment had a mystery switch in the hallway that did nothing. Either it wasn’t connected to anything or the connection had been broken accidentally, or on purpose, when the previous owner remodeled.” The memory of her dad flipping the switch and making up stories about what it did, like letting Santa know she was about to go to sleep so it was okay to bring in her presents, or signaling the tooth fairy that she needed to come collect the tooth from underneath Bryn’s pillow that night, made Bryn smile even though her eyes filled with tears. She blinked rapidly and sniffled.
Valmont took one look at her face and wrapped his arms around her. “Memory ambush?”
She nodded and focused on not crying. His warm sunshine-and-leather scent helped calm her. After a few deep breaths, she was okay. “Thanks.” She stepped away from him.
Mr. Stanton was in the closet peering into the electrical box. “Mind if I play with the breakers?” he asked.
“Just don’t knock out the power all together. I’m sure my grandfather has the freezer loaded with lasagna.”
“We’ll try one at a time. Why don’t you two go look out the back door and holler if the root cellar opens?”
“Okay.” Valmont grabbed Bryn’s hand, and they headed back into the living room where Clint, Ivy, and Miss Enid sat on the couch.
“We investigated all the cabinets and under the sink,” Miss Enid said. “But we didn’t find anything.”
Bryn filled them in about Mr. Stanton playing with the breakers, and then she went to watch out the kitchen window. Valmont came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Pulling her back against his chest he said, “Sometimes I think about us running away from the Institute to come and live here at my cabin. We could be a normal couple, doing normal things, living a normal life.”
“I’d love that.” And she really would. It would be her fantasy life. “But I’m afraid normal isn’t in my future.”
“Maybe we could sneak away for a weekend,” Valmont said.
“Maybe.” She doubted it. But rather that burst his bubble, she kept watch out the window.
Nothing much happened except for random squirrels scurrying across the lawn. One squirrel darted onto the closed door of the root cellar, and in the exact center of the door, it started to dig.
“What’s that squirrel doing?” Valmont asked.
“Maybe he’s confused.” Dirt flew from the spot where the squirrel dug. He unearthed an acorn and then scurried off with his prize.
“Either that’s a Wolverine-type squirrel who can slash through metal, or there must be a recessed handle we didn’t notice.” Valmont headed out the door. Bryn followed. They both examined the door, which appeared as flat and smooth as it had before.
“Where did he find the acorn?” Bryn walked around the door. It appeared to be solid and flat.
Valmont got down on his hands and knees and felt his way across the surface. In the center, he stopped moving his right arm mid-swipe. “I can feel a depression here, even though we can’t see it. It must be concealed by magic, like the maps in the books.”
“Is it a handle?” Bryn asked.
“No. It feels more like a small metal steering wheel.” His brow wrinkled in confusion. “I bet it’s like one of those hatch doors on a submarine where you have to turn the metal wheel to open the hatch.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have all your weight on the door while you’re messing around with the handle,” Bryn said. “Just a thought.”
“Afraid I’ll fall into a deep dark tunnel and never be heard from again?” Valmont asked.
“Yes. Let me try fire and ice on the door to see if the handle will reveal itself so we can see what we’re doing, instead of going in blind.”
Mr. Stanton came out the back door. “I’m guessing nothing I did with the electrical box had any influence. Did you discover something?”
“A squirrel dug an acorn out of the middle of the door.” Bryn pointed at where Valmont had his hand.
“I can feel a depression and a way to open the hatch even though I can’t see it.” Valmont stood and wiped his hands off on his jeans. “Maybe one of Bryn’s breath weapons will reveal what’s really there.”
“The same way it worked with the books?” Mr. Stanton nodded. “It’s worth a try.”
Once Valmont was out of the way, Bryn let the heat build in her chest and then huffed out a small fireball, which landed on the metal door and faded away. Nothing changed. Time to try ice. She inhaled and thought about cold and snow and winter, and then she exhaled sleet onto the door. Nothing happened.
“Clint or Ivy, it’s your turn,” Bryn called out.
Her friends and Miss Enid came out the back door. “Our turn for what?” Ivy asked.
“Zap the door to see if it reveals a handle, because right now we can feel it but we can’t see it.”
“I’ve got this.” Clint held his hand palm out and sent a blast of lightning at the door. The entire door crackled like it was absorbing the electrical charge. When the glow faded, hinges were visible on one side and there was a recessed circular handle in the middle of what now looked like a hatch for a submarine, if submarine hatches were square.
“I win.” Clint moved closer to the door and knelt down. “Does that mean I get first crack at opening it? It could be a giant safe full of abandoned treasure.”
Mr. Stanton chuckled. “I’m not sure what we’ll find. You should all take a few steps back, and I’ll open it.”
“It was meant for a Black dragon,” Miss Enid said. “I think you should let Clint open it. Not that I think it�
��s rigged with poisonous darts like the cases in the vaults, but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”
“I have no valid argument against your logic,” Mr. Stanton said. “Clint, go ahead, but be careful.”
Clint cracked his knuckles and squatted down by the door on the side with the hinges. He grasped the wheel handle and turned it to the right. It didn’t budge.
Valmont cleared his throat. “I think righty tighty, lefty loosey is the standard.”
“Forgot about that.” Clint grasped the wheel again and turned left. It gave slowly, metal screeching against metal like it hadn’t been moved in years. After turning the wheel one full revolution, something clicked and the hatch popped up half an inch. Clint tugged on the handle, pulling it open like a trap door.
Unconsciously, Bryn and the others moved closer to the opening.
And then the stench hit them. It was like nothing Bryn had ever experienced before. A rotten foulness, like spoiled meat that had been left to putrefy in the hot sun. The foulness crawled up Bryn’s nasal passages and down her throat. Gagging, she doubled over, clasping her hand over her mouth to keep from vomiting. Dry heaving, Valmont grabbed Bryn around the waist and dragged her backward toward the house smacking his hand over his own nose and mouth.
Ivy turned away and vomited. Clint stumbled over to her, gasping for air. He shifted, grabbed her in his right talon, and launched himself straight up into the sky. When Ivy stopped retching, she shifted and glided down near the far side of the house.
Miss Enid used her wind to blow the smell away from them out into the forest. Once he stopped dry heaving, Mr. Stanton created a twister and directed it at the metal door, sliding it underneath and lifting it up until it slammed shut.
Clint and Ivy shifted back. He wrapped his arms around his girlfriend. “Worst treasure hunt, ever,” he shouted.
Bryn laughed and then gagged. The foul smell was still in her nasal passages. She closed her eyes and focused on heat, igniting the fire inside of her. The welcome taste of smoke crawled up the back of her throat, neutralizing the vile smell. She exhaled smoke from her nostrils to kill off any lingering stench.