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“Except that in an area as large and as open as this, there’s no way sound waves could ever reach lethal levels,” Lugh said. “They’d disperse too quickly.”

“What if they didn’t though? Remember, Awbrey was an auditory mage. Scammer or not, he obviously had enough power to convince someone in the government the key was worth testing.” I glanced at Cynwrig. “You also said his idea was sound but dangerous—what did you mean? You never actually explained.”

“The frequencies necessary to open certain gates had the capacity to alter the very nature of nearby earth and stone.” Cynwrig’s voice was grim. “We never found one capable of vaporizing human flesh, though we did stop when the dangers became obvious.”

“It would appear Awbrey did not have the same sense of caution,” Lugh said.

“But even if Awbrey’s Key is responsible for this mess,” I said, “that doesn’t explain why the barrier remains in place around this area.”

“Perhaps it is simply a matter of no one ever recanting the overlay,” Lugh said. “Or maybe we simply haven’t come across the reason yet. Shall we continue on to the cemetery?”

“Well, it’d be fucking pointless to come all this way and not check it out,” I replied.

He grinned, and once again led the way forward. The cemetery was positioned on the hill above the town, giving it a prime view over the entire valley. The rusted metal entry gates creaked when Lugh pushed them open, and the sound echoed across the stillness, as sharp as any gunshot.

Maybe it was my overly active imagination, but deep in the heart of the forest above the village, something stirred in response.

I shoved said imagination back into its box, pulled my phone from my pocket, and brought up the image of the old black-and-white photo. The first thing that became obvious was the fact there’d been a lot of new growth over the years since it had been taken, and that would make finding the right gravestone difficult.

Lugh plucked the phone from my fingers and studied the photo for several seconds. After increasing the size of the image, he said, “There’s the shadow of what looks to be some sort of cross to the right and behind the gravestone the figure is kneeling in front of. We just need to find that, and it should be easy enough from there.”

He walked on without waiting for a response. The graveyard was surprisingly large, although a good portion of it wasn’t used. We’d entered into the older section, but as we followed the somewhat meandering path, the gravestones became newer and the burial mounds smaller. Maybe the Annwfyn had finished what Awbrey’s key had started, meaning there hadn’t been all that much left to bury.

My gaze drifted across to the forest again, and I shivered.

“You cold?” Cynwrig asked softly.

I shook my head. “I’ve just got a bad,badfeeling the shit is about to hit the fan.”

His gaze followed mine, and his expression became thoughtful. He bent and brushed his fingers across the ground. “I’m still not sensing any movement.”

“Would you be able to if the earth in the mine is as barren and unreadable as that just outside it?”

“No, but if the Annwfyn were on the move, they’d have to cross onto fertile soil to reach us.” He touched my arm in a reassuring manner that didn’t actually help. “I’ll keep monitoring.”

I nodded, but my gaze kept drifting toward the forest, and the sense of danger increased with every step.

After a few more minutes of walking through the overgrown cemetery, we found Lugh’s cross. From there, it was just a matter of walking down the three lines of gravestones in this area to find the one that matched the size and position of the one in the photo.

In the end, it wasn’t hard to find, because it was the only grave here that was weed-free. In fact, roses had been placed in front of it rather recently, and that meant we weren’t the only ones who’d figured out a way through the barrier.

I stopped in front of the gravestone and read the inscription. “Here lies John Einar, his wife Rosy, and their daughter Dona. Survived by son—” I stopped, my gaze darting to Lugh. “Rogan?You don’t think it could be our Rogan, do you?”

“Only if he’s changed his name, and why would he do that?”

“Maybe he was adopted,” I said. “Or maybe he was forced to do so by a government who wanted no easy means of tracking surviving witnesses.”

“And maybe it’s just a coincidence. There’d be more than one kid named Rogan in this world. I think the more important factor here is the surname—isn’t Einar the name Vincentia wrote in her own blood?”

“Yes, but if you ask me, all the little coincidences are becoming too big to ignore.” I wrinkled my nose. “We really need that background information stat.”

“In other words, ring Sgott and give him a nudge.”

I grinned in response. Lugh rolled his eyes, pulled out his phone, and then grimaced. “No reception. We’ll have to—”

He stopped, horror widening his expression. “Is it my imagination, or is there something big moving through that goddamn forest?”

Cynwrig and I swung around. The trees were shivering back and forth, as if they were being attacked by a turbulent wind. One that wasn’t associated with weather, but rather came with a large force moving at great speed.