Page 23 of Potion of Deception (Potion of Deception #1)

WHERE THE GREAT LOVE LIES

F inally, Violette's feet reached the stone tiles of the floor. Arches built around and inscriptions on the walls indicated that this was someone's burial, as well as a foul odor curling the air.

“Well, of course, this is the entrance to the crypt,” she muttered. “Why do secret passages always lead to a crypt? Why not somewhere less creepy?”

“Calm down, Little Witch, when we're done, you can go down wherever you want, even to the magical library absorbed by sunlight.”

“I don't need sunlight, I'd just like something that doesn't involve dead people and spiders…” She shuddered.

“It's better to let these dead people lie in coffins than walk on the ground.”

It seemed his words sounded slightly ambiguous, but she decided to not bother herself with it and simply moved forward after him.

The darkness had wrapped around their bodies, each step echoed eerily. And except this sound, nothing more. The dark corners of the crypt were evoking obscurity, sucking the very breath. The goosebumps pricked Violette’s arms, she tried to not lag behind Dante.

He picked up a torch on the wall and handed it to her to light. One touch of her magic wand to the top and it was aglow with a bright fire, illuminating the small part of the empty hall.

The echo of their footsteps distorting through the room caused the hairs to raise on the back of Violette's neck.

For a second she had thought she saw something moving across the floor, which made her quicken her pace.

She wasn't afraid of the dark before and thought it was because she was a wizardling and her magic wand was a powerful weapon that could cope with any obstacle, but now she began to wonder that perhaps it hadn't scared her because those places were simply familiar to her – it was her home .

Now she was in a place foreign to her, in a crypt with corpses, and lastly, her companion was a bloodthirsty vampire.

The situation was not going well for her.

It was damp, eldritch, and the only source of any sound around was her accelerated heartbeat and their footsteps.

Stop being a coward, her inner voice had busted a little confidence in her, at least she wanted to believe in it. She squeezed her wand tighter.

Dante walked forward silently, not looking tense, on the contrary, he looked well put together. At some point, he stopped and looked around, pointing the torch first to the left and then to the right.

“What are we looking for?” The words slipped off Violette's tongue as she was uncertainly peering into the darkness.

“Do you feel something?” he asked.

“Me?” She goggled at him.

Dante didn't turn his head towards her. “Traces of magic, for example?”

“No…Wizards rarely feel magic in rooms, only its complete absence, which is a very bad sign.”

Dante glanced back at her and moved on, choosing the path through a grand metal arch to the left. Violette tipped her head, inspecting the space. Being too distracted by the cracked columns and the stone walls, she tripped over her own leg.

“Don't kill yourself prematurely, I still need you,” Dante noted.

She rolled her eyes and continued on her way.

The hall resembled a labyrinth of old carved stone walls and cinquefoil arches. A strange feeling made her turn her head to the side – something flashed in the darkness, with a bluish light as if a reflection of the moon on the wall.

“Dante,” she said and stalked forward.

“Hm?” He turned around, his gaze shot her way, treading towards the usual stone wall to his eyes, into the far dark corner, a simple dead end, and yet he followed her.

Dante raised the torch to light the wall they reached to find a large ornate inscription carved there:

His eyes hadn't left the wall, rereading the words. He took a step closer and led the light on the inscription, then his fingers brushed the stone.

“What are you doing?” Violette questioned .

“Checking it's not some kind of trick to confuse us.”

“Well, all this trip sounds like a trick to be honest.” She swayed.

He shot a look at her, looking more reproving than before. Then he stepped back, his eyes not leaving the inscription.

Violette was scrutinizing it as well, letting her thoughts out, “It's strange, we already saw golden light today. Do you think it has something to do with the Witches of Emerald Capes?”

“It's hard to say. I'm not sure. But the road of nightmares sounds familiar.” Dante lowered his head. “Write this down.”

“What?”

“Write this down.”

“Am I some kind of assistant who carries paper and pen everywhere for you?”

“Conjure it,” he grumbled.

“Magic doesn't work like this, stupid,” she snapped. “I can't create something from the air. It's a dark sorcery.”

“Then turn a rock into paper.”

“This is–” Surprisingly Violette’s grimace faded in a beat “…actually not a bad idea.”

Turning one object into another was a type of sorcery, but not a bad one.

Wizards very often turned one object to another, however it takes quite a lot of strength from the magic wand.

The only exception – you can't turn something into a magical object or something alive if it was not as such before. Sorcery also didn’t allow for bewitching magic creatures, for example animals, into something or someone else.

Violette did exactly what the vampire said and wrote down the riddle from the wall. Every word she wrote seemed more and more bizarre with each letter, the letters as if distorted with each sway of the pen. Maybe it was not just words but some kind of a spell? Perhaps the riddle was bewitched.

“Dante, do you think the woman who wrote this was the same one who wrote the book?” she asked uncertainly.

“I am convinced of it. It looks like her.”

“So you were close?” she voiced, concerned at the moment.

It seemed that he knew this witch on a quite personal level.

They certainly had known each other before she locked him in the mask but how long ago was it?

And how old was he then? A lot of questions, which Dante wasn't bothered to give answers to.

“Why are you asking?” he let out irritation.

“She was a witch right? I mean, Hegga, that's why she had that book, yes?”

His gaze concentrated on Violette now. “No. She wasn't a witch, not like you. And she wasn't really Hegga, at least not fully one.”

“So what was she?”

“She practiced magic.” Again this dry answer.

“I was thinking. What if it's not just a riddle, like the one Eve told us. What if it's a magic spell?” she assumed.

Dante looked at her questionably. “And what could it mean?”

“I'm just giving ideas, I didn't say I have answers for it. I won't do all the work for you.”

Dante thought about her words for a while before his voice filled the air again.

“I need some time to come to a conclusion. Let's go back to the inn and then I–We will think about it.”

Violette nodded and followed him on the way outside.

A rustling in the darkness disrupted her peace again, making her shoot a look back one more time before reaching the stairs. As her leg hovered in the air – ready to take a step – something touched her boot. A panicking shriek echoed from the walls of the hall.

She started to trample on the spot, squeezing her eyes closed before pointing her wand down at the creature. Dante, as impervious as always, lowered the torch to illuminate the ground – a pair of black little eyes looked back at him.

“It's a rat,” he stated and then eyed Violette with discernment in his eyes.

Violette's eyes widened, mouth shut tightly.

“Oh…” was the only thing she exhaled in the air, staring at the little animal which winded away in the next second.

That wasn't what Violette imagined when it brushed towards her leg.

This place was deadly and dreadful – she could expect anything from monstrous shadows to the scary beasts wh o like to hide in the darkness.

Dante's face relaxed with a slight smile, that one arrogant and tickling her pride. “What did you want to do with it? Didn't know you were scared of everything small and fluffy,” he mocked.

“Shut up,” she snorted and continued her way.

Something ran under her feet as she crossed the next stair and she practically flew up the stairs outside.

The last thing she heard as she breathed the cold air into her lungs was Dante's chuckle as he ascended after her.

His pleased look almost made his eyes sparkle with joy, which was incredibly odd to see from someone like him.

Perhaps other people's suffering brings him pleasure – Violette thought, glaring at him from under her forehead.

The light wind grazed her face as Dante moved past, and as his cloak swayed her eyes caught the red glimmering on his hip.

Her gaze drew to the sheath hanging on his belt, observing the almost black hilt of the dagger pointing out.

A big ruby adorned the pommel, pulsating with the color of wine, while the hilt was inlaid in sapphires and amethysts.

An interesting shape of crossguard, reminiscent of a bat's wing, captured her attention the most. It seemed too redundant for someone like Dante; he didn't look like a person who values jewelry or cares about such things.

“What is this dagger for?” Violette suddenly asked, observing Dante's look; he indeed didn't pay much attention to how to dress. His attire usually was a dark blue shirt he didn't bother to button up to the top, simple pants and black leather boots. Such a pretentious dagger didn't fit his image.

“Daggers have only one purpose,” he uttered indolently and hid the dagger behind his cloak.

“It's just not your style,” she commented, following him.

Dante's brows furrowed.

Violette felt she had to explain, “You don't look like someone who would care about how a weapon looks. It's too…much for you. So I assume it's something more important, otherwise your dagger would be basic and inconspicuous.”

“Hmm,” Dante drawled amusingly.

“So what can it do?”

The smirk played on his lips. “Guess.”