Page 127 of Killaney Fire

I move to the left, solid.

The right, hollow.

My heart rate spikes.

I drop to the floor and run my hand along the seam where the wall meets the floor. Air moves against my fingers. It's cold and faint, but it's there.

I stand and push on the wall; it gives, but barely.

I push harder, putting my shoulder into it, every muscle straining.

The wall shifts, groaning, and a gap opens wide enough for me to squeeze through. I wedge my body into the gap and shove until I'm free and tumble into darkness.

It takes my eyes a moment to adjust and then I see brick walls, crumbling in places. More exposed piping runs along the ceiling, dripping condensation. The floor is uneven, scattered with debris and God knows what else.

This must be old maintenance tunnels from when the hotel was first built.

I go to pull out my phone to use my flashlight and stop dead in my tracks.

Voices.

Faint, but unmistakable, and they are coming from up ahead.

I pull my gun out and start to move slowly, keeping my footsteps light, my breathing controlled as if they'll hear it.

As I walk the voices get louder and louder.

And then I realize it's some form of chanting.

It's low and rhythmic, almost melodic. I can't make out the words, but the cadence gives it away.

I turn a corner and freeze. The tunnel opens into a room filled with flickering candles.

I duck back behind the wall, pressing my back against the brick, and peer around the edge.

Twelve to fifteen people in red robes and hoods surround an altar-like stone table in the center of the room.

And I see her and my stomach drops.

Keira is bound to this altar, her arms strapped, legs tied. Her dress is torn at the hem, streaked with dirt and blood, maybe.

Rage detonates in my chest and I have to breathe through clenched teeth.

I look up and see that same three-headed statue from the gallery and on some type of walkway that circles around the room,stands a man in a more intricate robe. His hood is pulled low, but I can see his mouth moving, leading the chant.

That has to be the Phantom King.

I grip my gun tighter, weighing my options.

I could charge in now, guns blazing, kill as many as I can before they react, grab Keira and fight my way out, but I'd lose him in the chaos, the man orchestrating all of this.

Or I could wait.

Wait until he comes down. Until he's close enough to put a bullet in his skull and cut the head off the snake and be done with this once and for all.

I clench my jaw. I'll wait.

I'm here. I can keep her safe, I think.