It was dangerous, feeling that way in this place.
The tunnel ended at a red-brick wall with a white double door in the middle. Our guide reached into the pocket of her coat and fished out a large, rustic bronze key like one might see in a castle. She held it out for me.
“This is your collection of rooms,” she said. “You may assign the rooms as you wish. I was instructed to tell you that the lock and key can’t be relied on for security. Any decent mage, of which there will be plenty, can open a locked door. Inside, on the table, you will find a few spells for warding your space, generously created and offered by Elliot Graves himself. You would do well to pick the spell outlined in red, as that is the most powerful, and besides him, you’re the only one who should be able to do it. He’ll look forward to testing your work.”
I narrowed my eyes but said nothing. I wasn’t in the habit of shooting the messenger.
“We have a commercial kitchen on site,” she went on. “If you would like to order meals to be brought to you, that is no problem. Otherwise, the kitchen in your quarters is fully stocked, and if you need anything, or have any dietary restrictions, please let us know so that we may accommodate you. You will find only one item on the schedule so far, and that is dinner tomorrow night. Details are enclosed in the packet. At dinner you will get a new schedule, based on your choices.”
Based on my choices? I didn’t like the sound of that.
“Your luggage will arrive shortly. Please let us know if you need anything.” The woman bowed, slipped around our group of people, and hastened down the hall.
“There’s no magic on this door,” I said, trying the round bronze handle above the old-fashioned keyhole. Both matched the look and feel of the key.
The handle turned easily, but Austin stepped forward as soon as I pushed the door open, his front against my side and his hand taking over the handle. His other arm curved around me, pulling me in close, creating a protective layer around my body.
The shifters walked up the sides of the group, having stayed in the back to watch our six. Now they filed to the front and went through the door.
“Let them have a quick look,” Austin murmured, his voice low and rough. “They’ll be able to smell it if people have been tampering with things.”
“What about magic? They can’t see if any magical traps are laid.”
“Elliot Graves wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble to kill you so quickly. We’ll be safe until the dinner tomorrow night.”
Cyra walked through the door, followed shortly afterward by Niamh.
A few moments passed by, and I could feel Cyra and Niamh having a look around the room just beyond the door.
A moment later, Niamh called out, “Uh-oh, Earl, the bad guy has shown you up.”
“What is she talking about?” Mr. Tom pushed his way to the front of our group and walked into the room.
Cyra’s disembodied voice floated out. “I volunteer to sample everything first, as the official poison control.”
“Oh, heavens,” Mr. Tom said, and I could tell he was deflated.
I couldn’t wait any longer. I wiggled out of Austin’s grip.
A large room opened up before me, with a couple of conversation areas formed by cream couches and chairs clustered around coffee tables, a pool table, and darts in the back, next to the open-concept kitchen. There were little side tables throughout the room, accompanied by more stools for sitting. Every available surface, it seemed, was laden with goodies, from the chocolate-covered strawberries I’d craved on the plane, to cantaloupe wrapped in prosciutto, a selection of breads and cheeses, a platter of sandwiches, nuts, other fruits, and a bowl of what looked like truffles that Cyra was currently sampling.
“Mmm.” She tilted her head back and looked at the arched ceiling. “This is delicious.”
A long table was pushed against the brick wall that held the doors. The spells were there, ready to lure me into some sort of trap, probably. An engraved invitation informed me of the details of tomorrow’s dinner, including where and when, the number of people I could bring (one guest and a food taster), and the dress code. The last item on the table was a manila folder with the label “maps and accessible areas.” It held details about our quarters, directions to a garden, exits (with a note about how heavily warded they were), a bar, and other amenities, like something you’d see in a huge hotel at a vacation destination.
“Here, Jessie,” Niamh called out, opening the fridge, “maybe ye better have Elliot Graves stock the plane on the way back.”
“I make one simple mistake…” Mr. Tom murmured, looking over the selections with an expression of abject horror.