CHAPTER 7

AISLINN

T he Hambledon town archives smelled exactly like you'd expect. I inhaled musty paper, aging leather, and centuries of carefully preserved history. After our disturbing visit to the medical examiner and our earlier confrontation with the cult, we needed answers about what we were really dealing with. The lingering sensation of that corrupted magic still made my skin crawl. That wasn’t what made me want to groan though. The place was smaller than the closet in the room Argies and I had at the Fae palace in Eidothea. How could it possibly have what we needed?

"Remember," I whispered as we followed the ancient archivist through towering shelves, "no magic unless absolutely necessary. Some of these documents are old enough to have their own magical signatures. We don't want to trigger anything nasty."

The archivist, Mrs. Pembroke, looked exactly like central casting's idea of a librarian. She had grey hair tied back in a neat bun. She also wore wire-rimmed glasses and a cardigan that had probably been old when Queen Victoria was young. Something about her made my magical senses tingle. She wasn't entirely what she seemed.

"The historical records you're requesting are quite sensitive," she said as she gave us a look that suggested she thought we were going to be trouble. "Are you sure you want to disturb them?"

"We're sure," Fiona replied as she pushed a persuasion spell toward her. "It's rather important that we learn about the history of the area. Particularly anything that can tell us about the concentration of magic in the town."

Mrs. Pembroke's eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm immune to persuasion magic, dear. Been working with magical texts too long. But I'll help you anyway. Something's wrong with the town's magic, and I suspect you three are here to fix it."

Well, that was unexpected. I shared a look with Violet, who shrugged. "How did you know?" I asked.

"Please," Mrs. Pembroke snorted. "I've been guardian of these archives for longer than you've been alive. I know trouble when I see it. And you three practically radiate magical chaos."

"We prefer to think of it as enthusiastic problem-solving," Fiona grinned.

The archivist led us to a heavy wooden door marked "Historical Records - Restricted Access." The lock clicked open at her touch. The scent of old magic washed over us. The air was thick with centuries of accumulated power. Okay, maybe I’d misjudged what the archives could offer.

"Everything related to the town's magical history is in here," Mrs. Pembroke said. "Including the records you're looking for about the concentrations of power. There is also information about the Midnight Cellar. Gadross called to give me a heads up,” she explained before we could ask. “I have to warn you. Some knowledge comes with a price."

"Story of our lives," Violet muttered as we entered .

This room was bigger than it should have been. It was magic at play that expanded the space beyond its physical boundaries. Shelves stretched up into shadows. Glass cases held artifacts that hummed with old power. But what caught my attention was the massive table in the center. It was covered in maps and documents that seemed to have been recently disturbed.

"Someone was here before us," I said as I ran my fingers over the papers. I could feel traces of that same corrupted magic we'd encountered in the wine cellars.

"Yes," Mrs. Pembroke confirmed. "About a week ago. A young man came in. He was very polite and interested in the town's wine-making history.” Her forehead crinkled, and her eyes widened. “He was particularly interested in the old cellars."

"Let me guess," Fiona said dryly. "He was especially interested in anything related to The Midnight Cellar?"

"Indeed. Though he seemed disappointed when I wouldn't show him certain restricted documents." The relief on her face spoke volumes. She had good instincts. She hadn’t known his true intention, but she held back anyway.

"But you'll show us?" Violet asked.

The archivist's eyes gleamed. "Like I said, I know trouble when I see it. And sometimes trouble is exactly what's needed."

She pulled out a heavy leather-bound volume. Its pages crackled with age and residual magic. "This is the town's true history. The one that records everything the mundane books don’t have. Including deaths that couldn't be explained."

I was on alert for any magical traps as I carefully opened the book. The pages were filled with precise, neat handwriting. It documented centuries of supernatural activity in Hambledon. To my horror, there were accounts that made my blood run cold that were scattered throughout the years.

"Look at this," I said, pointing to an entry from eighteen-forty-seven. "A body found with binding runes, described as 'patterns that pulled at the soul itself’. The victim had markings that match the ones we found in the wine cellar."

"Here's another from nineteen-twenty-three," Violet added, flipping forward. "Three victims were arranged in a triangle. The report mentions 'shades bound so tightly they couldn't even scream’."

"And again in nineteen-fifty-six," Fiona continued, tracing the words with her finger. "A series of disappearances. The victims all showed signs of magic, so either witches or warlocks. They were found weeks later. Their bodies had been prepared just like the ones we saw on those altars."

"Bloody hell," I muttered as I saw the pattern emerge. "This has been going on for centuries. But why here? What's so special about Hambledon?"

“There’s a book that might shed some light on the matter,” Mrs. Pembroke said before she moved through the stacks with the kind of grace that spoke of centuries of practice. Each step seemed precisely measured, as if she was navigating invisible wards. Given the magical energy I could feel humming through the shelves, she probably was.

"You know," Fiona whispered as we followed the archivist, "I'm starting to think our wine tasting weekend might have been hijacked."

"What gave it away?" I replied dryly. "The cultists, the dead bodies, or the fact that we're now sneaking through magical archives instead of sampling vintages?"

"I was really looking forward to trying that sparkling rosé," Violet sighed. "The one with fairy dust that makes your mind shut off for a few hours."

“I could use that right about now,” Fiona muttered in agreement.

"Focus, you two," I chastised them. Although, I couldn't help smiling. Gallows humor was all that kept us sane in situations like this.

"You know what really gets me?" Violet said as we navigated another row of towering shelves. "The timing. We just happened to be here when all this is going down?"

"Nothing 'just happens' to us anymore," I pointed out. "Remember Paris?"

"That was different," Fiona protested. "How was I supposed to know that pastry shop was a front for a necromancer's guild?" At least we hadn’t run into any major problems on that little venture. Being friends with the Twisted Sisters and Phoebe had given us a more open view of necromancers. Thank the gods for that because Kalli was with us. We‘d gone on the short trip because we had no supernatural crisis on our plates at that moment.

"The croissants were glowing, Fi." Violet gave her a look and shook her head.

"I thought they were supposed to do that! It was France. They're artistic about everything," Fiona countered.

Mrs. Pembroke cleared her throat, silencing our banter. "Ladies, if you're quite finished." She gestured to a heavy wooden door. Its surface was carved with protective runes that shifted subtly in the dim light. She pressed her palm to the center and the sigils lit up in a sequence. A series of clicks echoed as if bolts were sliding back in non-existent locks.

Stale air hit us in the face as she pulled open the panel. The room beyond felt older than time itself. Dust motes danced in beams of light that shouldn't have existed in the windowless space. The air tasted of ancient magic and forgotten secrets. The inside was small. There were enchanted bookshelves on three of the walls

"I don't like this," Violet muttered. "These documents are alive. Touching them will be dangerous for us."

She was right. Each page seemed to pulse with a heartbeat made of stored experiences. I could feel them trying to share their stories. They pressed against my mental shields with increasing urgency.

"That's why most researchers don't last long here," Mrs. Pembroke said, carefully lifting a leather-bound volume that looked like it might crumble at any moment. "The power can be overwhelming."

"Lovely," Fiona drawled. "Any other warnings you'd like to share? Secret curses? Ancient prophecies? Temperamental ghost librarians?"

"The ghost librarians only work Tuesdays," Mrs. Pembroke replied without missing a beat. "Though Herbert can be quite helpful if you catch him in a good mood."

I couldn't tell if she was joking. Given our track record, there probably was a Herbert. We proceeded to examine the book while she held it. None of us wanted to risk starting another magical catastrophe. It was filled with increasingly frantic entries. Some described dreams of beings that existed before time. It also talked about powers that could reshape a person. The monk's handwriting grew more erratic with each entry. I swear the knowledge itself was driving him mad.

"The last entry just says 'They're coming back' over and over," Violet read aloud.

"Cheery fellow," Fiona commented, but I could see the tension in her shoulders.

The shadows between the shelves seemed to deepen as we continued our research. They took on shapes that made me shudder. They had to be the guardians Mrs. Pembroke had mentioned. They were growing restless. Our presence was stirring up things best left undisturbed. As usual.

"I've got something," Violet called out, her voice tight with excitement or fear. Possibly both. "A detailed account of a seventy-seven-year cycle. It describes the entire ritual process."

We gathered around as she read, the words seeming to echo in the ancient space. "The vessels must be prepared in precise order. Each one should be tuned to resonate with specific energies. Shades must be used to keep from contaminating the chosen. Use binding runes to create containers to collect power until there is enough for transformation. When the circle is complete and all the vessels are in harmony, the barriers between worlds will weaken enough for Those Who Came Before to reach through."

"Well, that's properly terrifying," Fiona muttered.

"It gets worse," Violet continued. "The final vessel is the key. It has to be powerful enough to stabilize the entire circuit. It must handle the combined energies of all other vessels without shattering."

"Which explains why they're so particular about their victims," I said, thinking of the bodies we'd seen in the cellars. And at the accident scene. Not to mention the ones in the woods. They needed a variety to get the right ones. "They're building a magical circuit made of shades."

Mrs. Pembroke nodded gravely. "The First Ones cannot fully manifest in our realm. The barriers between worlds are too strong. But they can influence those willing to listen. That's how they get them to help prepare for their return."

"And let me guess," Fiona said, "they're not coming back to spread peace and harmony?"

"They want to remake the world as it was before the separation of realms," the archivist replied. "When magic was raw and unchecked. When you could move between the fire demon realm as easily as going to the market." Their comment that things would go back to the old ways suddenly made sense.

"That sounds..." I started and shivered.

"Apocalyptically bad?" Violet suggested.

"That works." I wrapped my arms around my middle.

The business card in Fiona's pocket pulsed again. It cast purple light that made her look like she was a cast member of Wicked. The text had changed. The vessels sing of their purpose. The circle nears completion.

"Anyone else really tired of this thing's cryptic messages?" Fiona asked, glaring at the card.

"At least it's keeping us updated," I pointed out. "Though I could do with less dramatic flair."

Her response was interrupted by a sudden shift in the room's energy. The shadows cast by the shelves began to move with purpose. They formed patterns that matched the binding runes we'd seen on the victims. The guardians were no longer content to simply watch. Were they going to make us pay for the knowledge?

"They're trying to show us something," Mrs. Pembroke said in a voice barely above a whisper.

The shadows coalesced into a map of the town. It showed the locations of all the vessels we'd found. They highlighted lines of power connecting each point. It formed a pattern that made my elemental powers cut out. It felt like a loose wire that created a weak circuit. Not something I wanted when facing great danger.

"Is that a key?" I asked.

“Looks like it,” Violet agreed.

"A key to what?" Fiona asked, though I think we all knew the answer.

"To everything," Mrs. Pembroke said softly. "To the barriers between worlds themselves."

The shadow map pulsed once and then dissolved. It plunged us into relative darkness. The image was burned into my memory. The pattern of vessels, the flow of power, and the precise positions that would allow ancient beings to reach through into our world.

"Right," Fiona said, straightening up. "So, we know what they're planning. We know how they're doing it. And we know when they're going to try again."

"We just need to stop them," Violet added. "Simple, really."

"About as simple as teaching a troll ballet," I muttered.

"I vote for trying that next time. It would be easier,” Fiona replied.

The shadows stirred again, more urgently this time. The guardians were trying to hurry us along. "Take what you need," Mrs. Pembroke said, already gathering specific scrolls and books. "The knowledge here might help you prevent the ritual's completion."

We left the room with the living books and headed back through the rest of the hidden section when a thought occurred to me. “Who do you think looked through this stuff?”

"I bet it was Peterson," Fiona confirmed, examining the log book. "He's the leader’s go-to guy. He’s thorough."

I stopped, and we looked over what he had been reading. Violet tapped a page. "Look at the dates. He's been researching more than just the victims of previous attempts."

"I’d bet anything he was looking for precise information on what the vessels need to be. The book said they had to have specific qualities,” Fiona suggested.

The implications were chilling. How deep did this conspiracy go? How many others were working to bring back beings that should never return to our world? We left the archives with arms full of ancient documents and heads full of disturbing revelations. The sun had almost set and was painting the snow-covered town in shades of blood and shadow. It felt appropriate, given what we'd learned.

"So," Fiona said as we loaded our findings into her car, "who's up for stopping an apocalyptic ritual and saving the world?"

"Again," Violet added with a small smile.

"Just another Saturday night," I agreed, though my attempt at levity felt hollow.

As we drove away from the archives, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were missing something important. The pieces were all there. The vessels, the binding runes, and the seventy-seven-year cycle. Something about the pattern nagged at me.