Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 49441 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49441 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
But, hey, I was only doing this because other witches before me had done so as well.
And, you know, for the two million dollars.
I reached for the handle, glad that there was no sizzle of a ward on my skin.
The door was heavier than I’d anticipated, taking all of my—admittedly reserved—strength to pull it open.
The inside had the faded scent of incense—frankincense and myrrh that likely wafted out from the censer as the bishop swung it around—and the chill that came from stone walls and too-tall ceilings where the heat dissipated.
Shaking out the tension in my shoulders, I made my way down the nave, glancing up at the darkened stained glass windows. My mind flashed back to Nathaniel’s brownstone, wondering if he’d been alive to see this cathedral built.
He’d suggested that I might feel the key, but I felt nothing but the general feeling of awe that I imagined everyone felt when faced with such intricate architecture. The attention to detail, the hours and days, weeks, and years that went into the wooden embellishment, the statues, the painted dome thirty feet above my head.
I passed by a Mary statue with a table of half-lit votive candles spread before her, evidence of prayers uttered by those in need at all hours of the night.
I walked past the high altar, imagining no witch would place a magic key in such a sacred space.
I moved into the choir, looking and feeling around but finding nothing but bibles and hymn books.
Stiffening at the idea of someone being inside, I made my way into the sacristy, finding a surprisingly bland room housing the alb and chasuble as well as sacred vessels and books of parish records.
Generations of bishops had stood in this very room, preparing for mass. It was another space that just felt wrong for the placement of the key.
But with a moody vampire waiting for me and a life-changing sum of money on the line, I was committed to finding what I was after.
Nothing in either the north or south vestry had the hum of magic, though, so I made my way back out, moving through the pews, checking under and behind statues.
Sweat was pebbling on my forehead as I found the steps up to the gallery that, in other times, was where they stuck the children. Now, I guess, people just sat there if they wanted a better view or when the lower level was too full on holy days.
I found a particularly crude drawing in pencil on the backs of one of the pews, taking a moment to wipe it with the edge of my shirt until it was at least not so visible before I made my way to the second balcony, a space that was likely reserved for the nuns from the convent that, according to the pamphlet in a holder on the floor below, was situated in the cathedral’s basement.
I hoped that I wouldn’t have to sneak down there to look around.
Down below, the massive oak doors creaked open, making my heart stammer in my chest as I dropped down below the half wall of the balcony, only peeking up after the doors closed, watching as someone walked toward the votives, stood there for a moment, then lit one.
His head bowed, lost in whatever pain was weighing down his soul, and I couldn’t help but feel like the whole display was to show me how unwelcome I was here, how wrong it was to be sneaking around looking for a hidden key to hand over to an evil creature sitting on the street in a town car.
Still, I had a job to do.
Once the man let himself back out, I climbed another, smaller, set of stairs to the tower where recording equipment was strewn about to capture and play sermons for those who could not make it to mass.
I dropped down onto the hard seat, exhaling hard as I glanced hopelessly around.
This was the part where everything in me said to give up. To go home. Eat some chocolate. Watch a show. Get a solid nine or ten hours of sleep.
Even the money wasn’t motivation enough to overcome my innate laziness.
The one thing that had me getting back to my tired feet, though, was the vampire expecting me to pull through.
Sure, he was counting on me right now.
But if I didn’t come through, I doubted a man who drained the life source from people would hesitate in killing me.
No, I wouldn’t make it easy for him.
But what could I possibly do to him? Make his stupidly perfect hairline recede a little? Give him a patch of dry skin on his cheek that refused to ever go away?
And that was assuming I could even try to work a spell before he killed me.
No, my life wasn’t exactly, you know, grand. But it was mine. I liked it. I wanted to keep living it. I really wanted to know if the witches on that reality show started casting spells on each other like the trailer for the next season suggested.