Chapter 11

Fiona’s steps faltered as she hurried down a dark, crumbling tunnel and deep into the forbidden cave.

“Hurry, Fiona!” Aunt Celia murmured, and Fiona jumped.

Her newly appointed spirit guide kept fading in and out. Moreover, the ghost’s resemblance to Fiona’s mother was unnerving. It was like having a twenty-year-old version of Delia at her side. Celia had died six years before Fiona was born, so they had never met until Celia came to Fiona at Siren’s Call after an encounter with the demon.

Ignoring the swell of energy at the front of the cave, Fiona pulled a candy bar from her backpack and ate it in three quick bites. Casting the spell that opened the cave had sapped her energy, so she needed to fuel up.

“Keep going,” Celia urged.

Fiona studied the flickering image of her aunt in the light of her small flashlight. “In the family photos, you and Mother didn’t look so identical.”

“Delia was always the pretty twin, so vibrant and alive.” Celia flashed ahead of Fiona and peered around a jagged rock. “I was quiet and shy.”

“But you’re the one who came home pregnant from college and wouldn’t tell anyone who Eva Grace’s father was.”

Celia faded again. Fiona knew Celia had been away for more than seven months and had told no one she was having a baby before she returned to New Mourne. She and Delia had delivered Eva Grace and Brenna at the exact moment on a stormy February night twenty-eight years ago, as the coven celebrated the festival of Brighid. Celia had died only weeks later, her generation’s tribute to the Woman in White.

Fiona jumped again when Celia snapped back in front of her as a full-bodied entity. “Fiona, dear, you must concentrate on why we’re here. We need to find out if this cave is related to the Woman; if there are clues here, they could help end the curse.”

Digging out another candy bar, Fiona nodded. She chewed nougat and chocolate as she followed Celia, her feeble flashlight illuminating rough walls and a path littered with dirt and debris. The air was dank and damp with a hint of rot.

“I guess I thought we’d find something right away since this is a ‘forbidden’ place,” she said as they rounded another curve. She yearned for her infrared camera, even though she’d decided it would be unwieldy on this search.

“A place that a ghost won’t even inhabit is a bad place.” Celia’s form evaporated into the shadows once more, but her voice continued. “I understand why no spirits ever come here. It’s very difficult to remain. I don’t know that I could without your strength.”

Fiona closed her eyes and opened herself, hoping to capture a glimmer of a spirit other than Celia. “The only other time I’ve felt a place so empty was during the height of the demon’s visit.” She paused, her arms out in front of her as energy pulsed through the air. She heard another sound behind them and turned, frowning. “Is someone there?” she called out.

A glimmer of light appeared, and then faded.

“What is it?” Celia’s disembodied voice spoke from the darkness.

“I feel something behind us.” At the same time, Fiona realized she was connecting to something ahead of them, too. A faint flicker.

While Celia remained invisible, Fiona walked into another tunnel that became smaller and smaller. There was that stink in the air again—like a dead animal. When it felt as if she were at a dead end, she crawled over a tumbled pile of rocks and into a larger cavern. A fire pit was in the middle of the room, and the top of the cave disappeared into darkness overhead. She could feel fresh air, so she imagined the chamber acted like a natural chimney when there was a fire.

She stepped toward the pit and a vision flashed, causing a sharp pain in her forehead.

“What was that?” Celia was an opaque shadow near the wall. “Did you see it?”

Fiona nodded. She’d seen a smoldering fire with glowing coals, a man standing over another man who was bound hand and foot, and two more men watching from the left side.

Hands at her temples, Fiona concentrated, and the scene became clearer. An older man stood over his captive and pressed a glowing brand into the bottom of the younger man’s foot. The young man’s screams echoed through the cavern and cut through Fiona’s skull. She staggered under the weight of his agony. Then the vision was gone, and she stood once again in an empty cave.

“What is this place?” Celia murmured. “What happened here?”

“Could that have been Albert Connelly who was torturing that man?”

“He didn’t look like a Connelly.”

“No, but—” A whisper of sound drew Fiona across the room toward a small opening. She could sense something there, just beyond the wall, a spirit of some kind, almost blocked, but with the tiniest bit of energy coming through. She turned back to her aunt. “Should we go this way?”

Silence. Aunt Celia had disappeared again.

Taking a deep breath, Fiona entered the narrow space alone. After ten feet or so, she had to lower her head. A little farther in, she found it more comfortable to crawl. She looked behind her but found no sign of her spirit guide. Keeping her breath slow and steady, she moved forward until she reached another opening. Though she hesitated for a moment, she finally crawled through and cast the light around her as she stood.

Here, the rot was so bad she choked and put a hand to her mouth. This chamber was smaller than the last, with a table in the center. The table’s marble top rested on a gilded frame with scalloped edges and curved but sturdy-looking legs. In the middle of the table sat a small blue vase.

“How odd.” Fiona walked a circle around the table. She felt the same flicker she had on the other side of the wall.

She stepped closer to the table. On the vase, a blue floral pattern outlined a Japanese garden scene with a Geisha standing in the middle. Like the table, the vase looked antique. Fiona stepped away and took a photo with her cell phone. Dagen should be able to date the table and possibly the vase from her picture.

For a moment she considered taking the vase with her.

Though her instinct urged Fiona to pull back, she felt drawn to the vase. She could sense the magic. In the dead silence of the hidden cave, she could hear a voice.

Open me.

The purr made her reach out.

“What do you suppose is inside?”

Celia’s voice made Fiona drop her flashlight, and it went out. She scrambled around on her knees until she finally touched the cool metal shaft and turned it back on.

“Where have you been?” she asked her aunt.

“It’s not easy to stay here.” Celia looked around, shuddering.

“Should we open it?” Fiona asked her, drawn back to the vase.

Celia hovered near the table and reached for the vase. Her arm fell back to her side. “I don’t have the strength to move it.”

“I’ll do it,” Fiona said, moving closer.

“Be careful. It could be a trap.”

Fiona glanced at her. “You sound like Mother.”

“Really?” Celia smiled. “That’s nice.”

“But I’ve explored enough places to know you can’t find out what you need to know without opening a few doors and windows.”

“Minnie said you’ve been opening too many doors.”

Trying not to think of that warning, Fiona gently placed two fingers on the top of the vase. She lifted the lid and stepped back.

Nothing happened.

“That was anticlimactic,” Celia said just as a voice roared throughout the cavern.

A gray mist spewed from the vase. Celia snapped out like a light. Fiona dropped the porcelain lid and backed up to the rough wall of the cave. The gray mist became drops that merged as they fell to the floor until the ghost of a man appeared.

“By the gods, I’ve been in there a long time,” he said and his spirit brightened to light their surroundings. “Thank you for setting me free.”

Shit, Fiona thought, staring at the red-haired, green-eyed entity. It’s Albert Connelly.

Near the entrance to the room, a small whirlwind began and knocked her to the floor. Albert laughed like a mad man, and a red glow pulsed like a heart and grew larger with each beat.

The creature that appeared before them had white wings tipped with gold. Her dress was a regal, rich scarlet, heavy with ornamentation stitched in gold. Above her lovely, bare white shoulders, her face was long and oval, her eyes lined with tiny jewels, the lashes thick and long. A gold crown trimmed with rubies rested in long black hair with bountiful waves.

An old, important faerie, Fiona surmised. It could only be—

“Stupid witch! Do you have any idea what you have done?”

Fiona’s stomach clenched with fear. She may not know this creature by sight, but she’d know that voice anywhere—Willow Scanlan.

Albert drew their attention with another round of maniacal laughter. “Forever just ended, you crazy faerie! I’m free.”

He raised his arms, closed his eyes, and yelled, “Take me now!”

A black, oily substance poured out of the walls. The smell of rot made Fiona gag. The demon she had hoped never to see again rose in a black cloud and melted into Albert’s ghostly form, making him corporeal.

Willow’s scream bounced off the walls like a banshee’s wail. She threw a ball of fire straight at Albert, but fueled by the demon, he shot through the narrow passage and out of the room.

“Damn you stupid Connellys!” Willow yelled. “You’ve opened the wrong door now, and you’ll pay the price.” Her wings flapped. She rose off the floor and disappeared.

The faerie’s screams echoed from the front of the cave, followed by Albert’s laughter. The walls around Fiona began to shake.

Celia’s voice whispered low and urgent in her ear. “Run, Fiona. Now!”

Fiona pulled herself up and out of the room, crawled through the passage, then dodged falling dirt and rocks in the larger cavern and raced down the corridor she and Celia had followed into the cave. Her flashlight was little help, and she fell, tearing her jeans. She chanted a shielding spell and wished for Brenna’s power in her magic, power to keep the cave from collapsing around her.

When she tore around the first curve in the tunnel, Albert blocked her way. He raised his arms and lightning flashed from his fingertips. “Boom,” he said, insanity gleaming in eyes that were now as red as fire.

The ceiling crumbled, and Fiona pushed back with magic. It held as she ran to the entrance. A movement to the side caught her eye. She watched in horror as the rocks tumbled down on Bailey, who lay just inside the entrance.

There was only one thing to do.

Fiona called on the magic that coursed through her veins, the ancient magic that had bound Connelly witches together since before time was measured. “Grandmother. Brenna. Help me.”