Sometime during the night Nick had migrated across the bed. While Damon had remained sleeping soundly on his side of the mattress, his breathing shallow and almost nonexistent, Nick had awakened to find himself lying on his side next to him, his cheek on the edge of Damon’s pillow, his face mere inches from the back of his head. Briefly, he pressed his forehead into the nape of his neck, inhaling deeply. Damon’s scent: familiar and comforting, flooded over him. It always had a calming effect on him. It made him feel safe, and it was the scent that he most associated with home.

He was content to lie there in the dark, with the warm covers pulled up to his chin and Damon sleeping by his side. He would have assuredly like to have remained there, possibly even allowing himself to drift back into a lazy slumber, if the need to void his bladder hadn’t trumped his desire to remain hidden within the sheets.

He sat up and winced, sucking in breath as a sudden stab of pain jolted through his shoulder. It was a reminder that things were not right in his world. He glanced over at Damon, wary of disturbing his sleeping bunk mate as he slid out from beneath the covers. The thought that Damon might put him on lockdown was a very real possibility. With his sheltering and overly suspicious nature, the previous nights events would have him circling the wagons; battening down hatches; and conducting fire drills. Damon’s recipe for survival: a perpetual state of distrust, blended with a seasoned helping of paranoia and a generous pinch of luck, could at times feel overbearing. He could hardly argue however, with the results. He had kept them alive (and at times prospering) while they fled Britain to the new world, dodging wolves and vampires alike, escaping religious zealots, deadly diseases and enduring not one, but two world wars.

The room they shared was enveloped in darkness. Two heavily draped windows, between which sat an antique writing desk, were completely void of light. Thick velour curtains: a dark emerald in colour, concealed from the interior the fact that the windows behind had been bricked up nearly a century earlier. Crossing the bedroom, Nick quietly released the door latch and slipped out into the hall.

Now that Nick was gone Damon no longer had to play possum and rolled to his back, pandiculation overtaking him as he did. He tucked his arms behind his head, enjoying the space as he stared up at the ceiling. He’d had to make a lot of concessions while raising Nick. While he had once been human, the same could not be said of Nick. He was wolven born and as such, had many quirks specific to his species. The fact that he turned into a mindless killing machine three days a month was just the start of it.

Wolven were pack animals. They required companionship, in the way he required blood, and it wasn’t something that could be taken lightly. The personification of the lone wolf as being strong, confident and in general an all around badass, was a human narrative only. To the wolven, the pack was everything. Death was preferable over excommunication. If you did happen upon a lone wolf, it was more than likely they were simply seeking out a mate; looking for a new pack to join; or perhaps setting out to establish a pack of their own.

They had removed Nikolaus from his pack when he was still a child and consequently Damon (and eventually the entire clan) had become a surrogate, whether he appreciated it or not. Overtime he found it simpler to regard Nick as more of an overgrown puppy, than anything else. Nick had issues with personal space in that, he gave him none: his bed was Nick’s bed; he thought nothing of using his lap as a pillow; and a dogpile of one, was indeed a thing. Privacy was something that other people got to enjoy. He supposed it really was a little thing to contend with considering what Nick had given him in return: his humanity.

He glanced at the clock on the nightstand: It was just after 2 pm. Early for him but still lots of time for Nick to get into trouble. He had forced Nick to relive the story of the hunter because their survival depended on it. This bit with the wolf pack, whatever had taken place, although of great concern, was much less his business. After all, Nick was entitled to his wolfish ways. That didn’t mean however that Damon had to make things easy for him. He threw off the covers and headed to the kitchen, deciding to brew a pot of coffee. Nick, he happily realized, was still in the bathroom.

The refrigerator lacked anything resembling breakfast food (or simply food, for that matter) so he turned to the freezer instead. He found a pound of bacon and some frozen OJ, and that led him to the cupboard where a bag of buttermilk pancake mix awaited. Crisis averted; he turned his attention to other things. His laptop was resting on the island, so he hopped up on a stool and was working on a grocery order when he heard Nick approach from behind.

“I’ve put coffee on,” Damon tried to catch a yawn as Nick reluctantly joined him, “and while there’s not much in the refrigerator, there is pancake mix in the cupboard and bacon in the freezer, if you’d like me to whip you up some sort of breakfast.”

“Coffee’s fine.” Nick mumbled, sliding up onto the seat next to him. His blue eyes were downcast as he avoided his gaze. Someone was grumpy and with no full moon in sight either.

Damon wondered smugly if something had disrupted his plans.

He closed the laptop and turned all his attention to Nick. “Take your shirt off.” He wanted to see how much damage remained. After all, he’d heard the painful gasp that Nick had attempted to stifle before climbing out of bed.

Nick sighed but did as he was told and quickly stripped the garment off.

Damon immediately removed the bandage; without warning, and none too gently.

“Ow.” Nick stated flatly.

Damon, choose to ignore him and instead began inspecting his injury. The wound from the arrow was of no consequence. It had healed up nicely. It was the torn shoulder that was of concern. A bite meant bacteria. Bacteria could cause infection, and the stitches meant to help piece him back together could also prevent said bacteria from draining, causing pockets of pus instead. The skin here was inflamed, angry and upset. “You got this wet last night.” Damon complained, as he dunked the corner of a clean towel under hot water. He took his time cleaning up the area around the stitches, wishing he had peroxide to flush the wound properly and making a mental note to add it to the grocery list.

Nick shrugged as if he couldn’t care less. His blasé attitude necessitated a lecture.

“You need to take better care of yourself. You may be a fast healer, Nick, but you’re not immortal.” And that, in all truthfulness, was the crux of Damon’s fears. That one-day Nick would succumb to death and leave him and there would be nothing he could do about it. He would live on of course in his eternal youth, but as a husk of his former self; with all the humanity he had managed to reclaim dying along with Nick, as he was unable to imagine any viable future without him.

That, however, would be a long time off if he had anything to say about it. For the time being he would take great pleasure (and much diligence) in dispatching all which endeavoured to make Nick dead sooner rather than later.

When he was satisfied with his work, he applied a clean bandage, before indicating that Nick could put his shirt back on. “Your skin is really inflamed. You need antibiotics.” For that he turned to the Tupperware container within the cupboard. Rummaging through he came up with a pair of white opaque bottles. He contemplated each label before choosing one. “The dating’s still good.” He said as he tossed the bottle of pills towards Nick. “Take two of those, three times today, and after that, one pill three times daily.”

Nick caught the bottle. It was the kind you’d see the pharmacist dispensing pills from when filling prescriptions. “For how long?” Nick asked as he unscrewed the cap and dropped two of the capsules into his palm.

“About a week,” Damon brought him a glass of tap water. “Or until I say otherwise.” Nick tossed the pills in his mouth before downing the entire glass of water.

Satisfied, Damon returned to his laptop and his incomplete shopping.

“You’re up early,” Nick commented nonchalantly. “Still daylight.”

“Yeah, well an early start to the evening isn’t going to kill me.” He’d glanced at Nick from the corner of his eyes as he spoke. “There.” He exclaimed as he pushed the open laptop across the counter towards Nick. “Let me know if you want anything else.”

Nick quickly skimmed the webpage Damon had been ordering from. “Groceries?”

“And anything else you might need. Just hit send when you’re ready, and they’ll have it delivered by supper time.”

Nick smiled. “Looks good to me.” Happily hitting send, he pushed the laptop back towards him.

“Nope.” Damon gave it a quick shove back in his direction. “Check out the next tab, first.”

“Ugh. Clothes shopping? Do I have to?” Nick whinged as his ten-year-old self made a sudden impromptu appearance. He ducked the cuff that Damon intended for the back of his head.

“Says the man who walks out the door fully clothed and comes back naked.” He shook his head. “Far better for you to lose your clothes th—”

A knock at the door, silenced him. He glanced at Nick; his laughing eyes having gone dark. “Are you expecting anyone?” Nick asked hopeful, as Damon stood to answer the door.

There was a dampening spell on the apartment. For as much as Damon detested magic, he had found certain wards a necessity and once becoming reliant on them, wondered how he’d ever managed without them. Having ears that were far more sensitive than most, the dampening spell had become one such requirement. He’d hired a warlock to cast it decades earlier, and it worked simply enough: it kept sounds that they made in and sounds that others made out—it saved them from having to listen to the guy with the CPAP issues two floor down, or the chick who played her music in endless rotation at the end of the hall, or even simpler still, buffered the sounds of traffic from the street below, or children playing in the courtyard. The downside was that they couldn’t hear anyone approaching until they were already on top of them. So far it hadn’t been an issue. Anyone that was foolish enough to start any shenanigans with a vampire and a full-grown werewolf usually got what they deserved.

Nick moved to follow, but Damon placed a firm hand on his shoulder as he passed. “Stay.” he cautioned, before making his way to the threshold. As he glanced through the peephole, he relaxed. Turning once more towards Nick, he raised a silent finger to his lips before releasing the deadbolt and stepping out into the hall closing the door behind him as he did.

Wes Williams stood looking at him meekly. The older caretaker was wearing a blue plaid dress shirt and a pair of jeans that perhaps fit him once, but now hung down low upon his hips. He kept them up with a simple brown leather belt. His blue eyes searched Damon carefully. He had probably decided that it being Sunday and afternoon at that, that a knock on his tenant’s door was fair game. It would be a personal matter, Damon mused, as any business pertaining to the apartment was dispatched to the bulletin board in the lobby or in the group e-mail that they periodically received.

“Not wanting to be a bother,” Wes started in his slow and calm enunciation, “but I thought I might inquire about your pup?”

This caught Damon momentarily off guard and he struggled for a response that would put the elder gentlemen’s mind at rest. “The vet.” He’d blurted and realized that he sounded blatantly incoherent. Damon wasn’t fond of small talk for the sake of social interaction. He avoided such things as it became uncomfortable to feast upon people once he thought of them as more of a sentient being and less as filet mignon. He had hired Wes to take care of the buildings nearly five years ago, had done so in preparation of their return. He hoped that they still had another five years here in Kingsford before they were forced to relocate again. Unfortunately, he’d already found himself interacting with Wes far more than he was comfortable with. He tended not to get friendly with neighbors because people often realized after a decade or so, that something was up with the handsome young man at the end of the hall who hadn’t seemed to have aged. Sometimes they couldn’t put to words exactly what it was that was bothersome, but when he realized that people were giving him strange looks as he passed them in the hall, or otherwise becoming more suspicious of him than he was of them, then it was time to move on.

“He’s at the vet.” He reiterated, unsure of how much information would sate the man’s curiosity. “Dog fight. Needed stitches. Should be home in a couple days.” He cursed himself inwardly. He really did suck at conversation. Especially when put on the spot.

“A’yup.” Wes said as he nodded in apparent understanding. “Makes sense. Could you give him this once he’s home?”

Damon smiled as he took the object. That he could do, and he told him as much before disappearing back into his apartment, happy that the exchange was over. Once inside, he quickly slid the deadbolt back in place before joining Nick in the kitchen. Niko would soon have to make an appearance, there was no getting around it.

Nick was about to inquire as to who the mystery guest was, when Damon placed a large dog-bone on the table in front of him. It was tied with a pretty red ribbon. “This is for you,” he half chortled, half choked on the words. The bemused look on Nick’s face as he blinked in quiet comprehension, left him unable to suppress his guilty amusement.

***

On Sunday, when Faith hadn’t heard from Allie, she’d thought it odd, but not completely out of the ordinary. After all, Allie had a paper due. That morning she’d sent her a quick text to ask how her date had gone, before spending the rest of the day catching up on her own assignments. It wasn’t until later in the evening that she realized Allie hadn’t gotten back to her.

Monday, when Allison failed to show up for the classes they shared, she began to worry. By end of day, she had a string of unanswered calls and texts to Allie. The first thing that crossed her mind, was that perhaps her date on Saturday hadn’t gone as well as expected and Allie was once again lying low. After all, it wouldn’t have been the first time that she had retreated from the world to mend a broken heart.

As soon as classes ended, Faith hurried over to Allie’s dormitory, knocking loudly until her annoyed looking roommate let her in.

“Allie’s not here,” Van announced as Faith pushed her way past and into the lodging. Faith quickly scanned the room. Everything looked in order, as far as she could tell. Allison’s side of the room was pristine as usual. Her bed was neatly made, her school bag full of books sat on the floor next to it, even her laptop, sat open on top of her desk at the ready.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“She has been, though?” Faith asked. “I mean, when did you last see her? She hasn’t answered any of my texts, and she wasn’t in class today.”

Van seemed uninterested. Instead, she busied herself with painting her nails; a dark plum colour that was almost black. “I’m sure she’s fine.” She blew on her wet tips. “It’s not like we keep tabs on one another. Maybe she went home to her parents for a visit. Have you tried calling there?”

Faith stared dumbfounded at Allie’s roommate. While her lack of concern was appalling, she did at least offer a plausible excuse for Allie’s absence. Leaving the dorm, Faith headed to campus security to file a missing persons report. The truth was, she had never met Allie’s family and she didn't have the first clue in how to get in contact with them.

The officer on duty, a young man hardly older than Faith herself, listened carefully as he took down the information. In truth, there really wasn’t much to go on, but the officer promised to look into it, before sending her on her way.

Tuesday after classes, and still not having heard from Allie, Faith headed once more to Downie Hall. This time upon coming to Allie’s dorm room, Faith was surprised to find the door slightly ajar. Knocking tentatively, she waited until it was opened by a tall, slender gentleman with dark eyes and greying hair. Beyond him was a woman of similar age who looked like an older version of Allie herself. Her face was pale and drawn and her brown eyes were rimmed red, a clear indication that she had been crying.

Any hopes that Allie had gone home for a visit faded, as Faith recognized the couple from the photos Allie had shared from her phone. The couple was Donna and Kenneth Greer, Allie’s parents. Also present, was Allie’s roommate Van, who looked disgruntled as usual as she sat on the edge of her bed. Indeed, as soon as Faith introduced herself, Van used the distraction to flee the room at the first possible moment.

“You’re the young lady who reported Allison missing,” Kenneth said, sounding as drained as his wife looked.

“I’m sorry.” Faith apologized, feeling guilty and speaking much too quickly. “I probably should have reported it earlier, but I didn’t know how to get in touch with you to see if Allie had gone home, and she wasn’t answering any of my texts—”

“It’s alright.” Allie’s mother gently took up Faith’s hands as she spoke. “You couldn’t have known. If we’re going to play the blame game, then we should start with ourselves. We should have realized something was wrong when Allison missed her Sunday phone call home.”

Donna’s eyes flooded over with tears, and Faith couldn’t help but to reach out and hug Allie’s mother tightly, comforting her as if she were her own.

“I’ll do whatever I can to help find her.” Faith whispered, as she felt tears slipping from the corners of her own eyes. “I promise.”

*

That night, Faith couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking about Allie and wondering what had happened to her. Was she ok, wherever she was? Or was she cold and scared and unable to sleep too? She felt guilty lying in her cozy bed under her down comforter, in the safety of her family home.

Her mind kept returning to her dealings with Allie’s parents and the statement she had made to the police. It perfectly mirrored the report she’d given to the campus security officer only a day before. The actual police had arrived at the dorm shortly after she had. With their arrival, came the onlookers; curious students loitering in the hallway outside of Allie’s room, interested in why the police had been called. A few familiar faces waved to Faith as she sat quietly on Van’s bed, while the officers took turns speaking with Allie’s parents, until one of the officers stepped out to quietly disperse them.

When the police finally interviewed her; Faith reiterated that she had last had contact with Allie during a phone conversation around eight p.m. Saturday night. That she believed Allie had planned on meeting up with a gentleman she’d met the previous evening, at a nightclub called the Pitt.

What Faith hadn’t reported, was how the nightclub in question had an invisible poem over its innermost door which rendered magic-use obsolete. Or how if you were in the know; you could order a bloody-mary extra bloody for a decidedly different spin on the drink. She hadn’t told them, because, well… how could she? Yet without this information, the police didn’t have the entire picture, either.

Faith knew that the Pitt catered to a unique clientele, but she had never fully contemplated the risks involved with socializing there. But now with Allie missing, she feared the worst and if Allie’s disappearance had anything to do with that club, Faith had no one to blame but herself.

Reaching for her school bag, she pulled out her laptop. If indeed there was a supernatural element involved with Allie’s disappearance, then perhaps there could be a supernatural solution as well. From her magic studies she’d learned of a few online groups that might be able to help. At least it was a place to start.

Keys clacking, Faith scoured a multitude of message boards and chat rooms before finally coming across something that caught her eye. Taking a moment, she composed a brief e-mail. She paused before hitting send, to once more read it over. Once sent, there would be no turning back. She bit her lip as she considered.

A gentle breeze blew through her open window, billowing her curtains and chilling her skin. The evenings were starting to get colder. Soon she would have to close her window against the coming fall.

On the other side of the room, Faith’s cousin Tish, rolled over in her sleep. She glanced at the strawberry blond whose legs had kicked out from under the covers. Tish was only two years younger than herself, and there was no one in the world that she felt closer to. They had been raised as sisters, with both their mothers living together in their grandmother’s country home.

Faith climbed out of bed and crossed the room to her cousin. Carefully, so as not to wake her, she pulled the blankets back over her. She stared at the curly red head. What if it had been Tish, who had disappeared? Would she have hesitated then?

Making her decision, she crossed over to the laptop and hit send. Closing her computer, she once more climbed beneath the covers for what threatened to be a night void of sleep.

When dawn broke, Faith pulled herself from her bed, feeling more drained than refreshed. The truth was, she had barely slept at all last night. Her thoughts kept returning to Allie, in a vicious circle. She felt hopeless, not knowing where she was, or how she could help.

Throwing on a robe, she went downstairs. She immediately wanted to message Allie’s mom, but thought it best to wait. It was still early, and if the Greer’s had managed to get any sleep, she didn’t want to be the one to disturb it. Besides, they had promised to contact her the minute they had any news regarding Allie.

Rummaging through the refrigerator, she decided to make breakfast. She needed the distraction. She quickly cooked some bacon on a sheet in the oven and scrambled eggs in a pan. The smells quickly brought forth the other members of her family; her grandmother eyeing her suspiciously as she came out from her main-floor bedroom.

Soon the kitchen was bustling with the sounds of early morning fare. There was toast, coffee and juice to go along with the meal, and twenty minutes later, both their mothers left for work and Tish headed off to school, leaving Faith alone with her grandmother.

“Don’t you have school this morning as well?” Nana asked as she sipped her morning brew. Her long silver hair had been pulled up in an untidy bun on the top of her head. Her blue eyes scrutinized as she watched Faith carefully.

“Not this morning,” Faith fibbed, while she cleared the table. “My professor is on leave. She left us some reading.”

The answer seemed to satisfy her grandmother, who taking her coffee with her, went outside to work in the greenhouse.

Faith tidied up the kitchen, stacking dirty plates and cutlery in the dishwasher before filling a sink with hot sudsy water and washing the pans by hand. When the dishes were dried and put away, she went to her room to find that she had received a reply to last night’s e-mail.

A queasy feeling that had nothing to do with her recently consumed breakfast rose from her stomach. Clicking the link, she opened the response. There was only one small line of text: a phone number. Feeling nervous, she quickly entered the number into her smartphone and taking a deep breath, dialed.

It picked up almost immediately.

“Hello?” A female voice answered. “Who’s this?”

“Hi. My name is Faith,” she replied feeling unsure of herself. “I sent you an e-mail—”

“Hi Faith,” The voice who cut her off was excessively cheerful. “My name is Hope, and we’ve been expecting your call. My sisters and I would very much like to meet with you, but for that to happen, we’re going to need your help.”

In the background, Faith could hear other voices, arguing and asking questions, which for the moment, Hope was ignoring. “Of course, I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“Great,” Hope said, “Now since we’re unfamiliar with your location, it’ll be up to you to decide where we meet. We prefer a place that’s isolated, in fact the more privacy the better,” she explained, “Oh, and if you can manage—hallowed ground, just to be safe.”

*

Hilltop memorial park was a small cemetery located in a much older part of the city, on the outskirts of the area that had come to be known as the core. It was surrounded by a stone and wrought-iron fence that still stood strong through the ages. Its driveway was guarded by an ornamental gate that barred access to the burial grounds beyond. The many plots and mausoleums within the grounds were as old as the fence itself, with the last burials taking place in the early 1900’s.

Faith stood outside the gate, her entry impeded by a heavy chain that had been wrapped through the iron bars and secured with an older looking padlock. In the distance she could see the chapel: a grey stone building with an arched entryway and decorative windows running along its side. Above the entrance was a small steeple, it’s thin spire, a needle piercing the sky above.

Grasping the bars, she pushed against them, rattling the chains and testing their resolve. Though old and rusty they refused to yield, and the space left between the gates was far too small for Faith to squeeze through. Grasping the padlock, she closed her eyes, clearing her mind. She imagined the lock springing open, the chains falling free, slinking to the ground like a coiled snake. Open, she thought. Open for me.

“Resero,” she whispered, as she felt the padlock pop open in her hand with a slight shnink of sound. Opening her eyes she slid the lock from the links, pulling the length of chain free from the bars and letting it fall to the ground in a heap. Feeling guilty, she glanced around. She needn’t to have worried she quickly realized, but for the dead, there was no one here to witness her trespass.

Grasping the bars once more, she pushed, the rusty hinges creaking and complaining as she forced the gates apart. When she thought that she could slip between the gates with the space she had created, she did just that, before repositioning them and heading up the driveway towards the chapel.

Feeling exposed, she moved quickly up the path, the gravel crunching noisily beneath her feet. Black birds cawed ominously in the distance as they circled overhead. The grounds themselves had seen little care over the years, with some of the lawn being patchy or almost barren of growth, while in other areas, the monuments and headstones were almost overgrown by tall grass and weeds.

Reaching the chapel, she marvelled at its ancient beauty. Large stone bricks composed most of the structure. Its oversized doors: arched, double-wide and made of heavy wood, marked the entryway of the church’s vestibule. Along each side of the nave and set in pairs, decorative lancet windows stretched towards the sky. A date chiselled into the cornerstone of the building, read 1817.

Ascending shallow stone steps, she tried the front doors and was not at all surprised to find them locked. The doors themselves were an artistic masterpiece in their own right: elaborately carved with ornamental strap hinges and heavy iron door pulls.

Once more Faith imagined the doors opening before her, swinging freely and granting her access. “Resero” She said, smiling as she heard the dead bolt releasing. This time there was no struggle as there was with the gate, the door swung easily open and moments later she was stepping into the chapel.

The small entrance was much darker than she had anticipated. She momentarily debated whether to leave the outer door open, but ultimately decided against it. Instead, she pulled out her phone and using the flash, surveyed her surroundings. The foyer she was standing in was small, with a tall ceiling and a decorative tile floor. The doors leading into the nave, although not as elaborate as the exterior ones were still double wide and made of wood. Hung on either side of the doorway were decorative fonts: white stone basins, adorned with a simple cross, which once held holy water.

The nave, the main area of the church, was a single aisle lined with pews on either side, most of which were still intact and in otherwise excellent condition. She wrinkled her nose. The entire church could use a good airing out, as it had that stuffy closed-up smell about it. Dust danced in the light from the windows as she kicked it up, her steps sounded hollow on the ancient hardwood as she made her way towards the altar at the back of the church. Here she stepped up into the sanctuary which was slightly raised above the rest of the church. She made her way to the pulpit, running her hands across the dust encrusted wood. The floor here was covered with a thin red carpeting. Now threadbare and worn, at one time it must have looked quite regal, as Faith tried to imagine what it would have been like for the congregation that once worshiped here.

She continued her exploration, discovering an arched door on the side wall to the left of the sanctuary. It swung open easily, its hinges squeaking dramatically as it announced her arrival. The small room beyond was completely barren of furniture. A circular carpet in the same red colour adorned the centre of the hardwood floor. She could see imprints in the rug where a desk must have once sat. On the wall to the left of the door several cast-iron hooks were hung in a row.

A door on the opposite side of the room led out to a landing and a short flight of steps; at the bottom of which was a short hallway and a second set of stairs. The hallway led to an exit at the rear of the church. The stairs descended into darkness. Taking these, she worked her way down the shallow stone steps as they corkscrewed their way beneath the sanctuary at the head of the church.

The undercroft: the crypt beneath the church, was dark and void of windows. The light from her phone did little to cut through the darkness. The temperature here was much cooler as she stepped out into the large open space, which was empty but for several large pillars which served as support for the church above. Shining her light as she went, she followed the length of the walls where dark alcoves within held ancient stone sarcophaguses, the final resting place of the clergy which had spent their lives serving the church.

Making her way around she completed her circle, coming back upon the entrance to the stairs. The north wall it seemed, was the only wall not entombed with the dead. Stopping here, she removed the small shoulder bag she was carrying, before kneeling on the cool stone floor and spreading its contents on the ground before her. Among the items were three large white candles; each wrapped with a bit of parchment and carefully tied with string. She set two of the candles against the wall about three feet apart from one another. The third, she placed directly behind her. Picking up the piece of pink sidewalk chalk she had earlier enchanted, she drew a line up from the first candle as far as she could reach, before continuing along the wall in the direction of the other candle. When she was above the second candle, she brought the line down until she had effectively drawn a large rectangle on the wall between the two candles. She then continued to draw, this time from the second candle to the one behind her, eventually marking a triangle around herself and finishing at the candle she had started with. Setting the chalk down, she picked up a smaller tapered candle which she raised, wick end to her lips. Clearing her mind, she concentrated on the candle, focusing on the stub of wick as she imagined it sparking into flame.

“Incendo,” she whispered.

Nothing happened.

Faith frowned at the stubborn bit of wax in her grasp, before closing her eyes and trying once more. “Incendo,” she said, with more urgency this time. Opening her eyes, she was disappointed, but not entirely surprised to find that the wick had entirely refused to obey. Her aspect after all, was water and anything fire related always came as a struggle.

Sighing, she dropped the candle and picked up the barbeque lighter instead. With a flick of a switch and the pull of the trigger, she soon had all three candles brightly lit.

The flickering candlelight cast moving shadows amongst the pillars and tombs making the crypt feel far spookier than moments before. The darkness had been unnerving, but somehow this was worse. From the corner of her eye, she kept catching a glimpse of movement—shadows only of course—but it was still decidedly creepy.

Taking up her cellphone, she quickly called Hope, placing her on speaker phone as she did. They had spent most of the morning hashing out their plan to meet so that she now felt secure in her decision. “Everything’s ready on this end,” she stated nervously as Hope answered.

“We’re ready here too,” Hope’s voice, was calm and confident. It made Faith feel immediately better. “Do you have the spell at ready? We need to be able to read it as one.”

Faith flipped through her smart phone until she came to the spell she’d been earlier sent. “Ready when you are,” Faith said as Hope counted them down.

Together they chanted:

When the treks too far to walk, Make a doorway with the chalk.

Shrink the miles between the two, Now simply knock and walk on through.

Faith gasped as the lines of chalk she had drawn began to glow with pale bluish light. Growing stronger, it rose up from the floor towards the ceiling, and burst out brightly from the markings she’d made on the wall. Stepping up quickly, while the light still permeated the outline, she reached out and knocked three times, squarely in the middle of the door.

A sudden blast of blinding light caused Faith to shield her eyes. When she opened them, the blue light had subsided, the candles were extinguished and once more she was standing in darkness with only the light of her cell phone to guide her.

She sighed disappointed, as she stared at the brick work before her. It had really looked like the spell was working, but the wall was just as solid as it had been moments before. She reached out a hand to touch its surface, to assure herself of this, when an arm abruptly emerged from the stone and grabbed her.