Page 56 of A Time of Witches

It was a dumb thing to do in an abandoned building, where a random hole in the wall could very easily contain any number of spiders or snakes or who knew what else.

But even as she chastised herself, her fingertip met with something hard and cold. The abrupt quiet around her suggested the metal was iron.

A lever?

She curled her fingertips around it and wiggled, to no avail.

Pull.

She didn’t know where the thought came from, but she obeyed, tugging the lever toward the wall in a firm yank.

A groan sounded beside her and the thick wooden frame of the hearth slid to the side, like a board loosely nailed into the wall, revealing a dark passageway.

She couldn’t see where the hall ended, but the empty black held a chill that told her entering the creepy mysterious secret room was probably stupid.

And stupid or not, she’d already made her choice. She was going in.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Lilith

Lilith stepped into the passage, the darkness so absolute her eyes ached.

Without thinking, she pulled her phone from her back pocket and clicked the flashlight on. Light washed over what appeared to be an L-shaped room at the end of a short hall, set safely behind the hearth.

Lilith turned the corner and stopped short.

Shelves were embedded into the wall, filled with glass bottles layered in dust. The contents within bore signs of extreme age—oils long since soured to yellow, desiccated organic matter that was indistinguishable. Herbs dangled from the rafters, swaying at her disturbance, their brittle leaves rustling like whispered secrets.

But the herbs and bottles were not what captured her attention.

The table at the far end drew her with an undeniable lure, its length taking up the entire back wall, littered with various stones and flowers long since withered to a shade of brown that gave no hint as to their original color.

Three candlesticks bracketed the sides and back of the table, the wicks blackened from previous use.

At the center was a book, the pages spread wide, as if someone abandoned the room while in the middle of reading.

A feather lay on the table amid the dusty debris, the tip sharp and black.

A quill most likely.

Lilith bent over the handwritten script, the ink faded to almost nothing. Even squinting, she could barely make out a word or two. Without thinking, she reached out to brush the top of the page. Dust came away on her fingertips, the vellum beneath strangely warm to the touch.

Like something alive.

She hesitated, her palm hovering over the book. Her birthmark seemed to hum, heeding a soundless call.

As if she had been waiting for this moment her entire life.

With a shaking breath, she pressed the flat of her hand against the page.

The writing shimmered and fresh air swept through the room, bringing the crisp, verdant notes of herbs: rosemary, lavender, sage, nettle, and so many more. Each identifiable in some memory she’d never created.

The candles flickered to life, sprouting flames that bathed the room in a golden light so bright, she no longer needed her phone.

Maybe she should be afraid.

But a deeper, innate part of herself felt more right about this than anything in her life ever had.