Page 26 of Curiosity Killed The Vampire

“This can’t be it,” I muttered, brushing snow from a low branch.

Con paused ahead, turning slightly. “The coordinates are right,” he said. “If Julian’s map is accurate, the entrance should be somewhere near this ridge.”

He ran his gloved hand along the stone wall, brushing away the thin crust of ice. I followed, the beam of my flashlight cutting a pale arc across the rock. It was hard to tell where nature ended and concealment began. The stone was old—too old. Every surface felt wrong, like something had shifted across it a hundred times and then smoothed the edges to hide the truth.

We kept moving, following the ridge until the wind picked up again, threading through the trees with a low, mournful whistle. Snow drifted down from above, gathering in my hair, clinging to the leather of my jacket.

Then Con stopped.

“Here,” he said.

I turned toward him and saw it—the hint of an opening where the rock curved inward. Almost invisible at first glance, the seam ran vertically, perfectly smooth. A door, hidden by the mountain itself.

I brushed my hand against it and felt it hum beneath my fingers—a deep vibration that wasn’t quite sound but pulsed in time with my own heartbeat.

“Magic,” I said quietly.

“Old,” Con replied.

We stepped closer, inspecting the seams where the door met the rock. Symbols were carved into the surface, barely visible beneath the frost. I traced one with my glove and felt the energy stir. The stone was warm under the ice.

“Julian was right,” I murmured. “They sealed it.”

Con planted his palm against the center of the door, his strength tightening through his arm. The rock groaned in protest. “Sealed or not,” he said, “it won’t hold.”

“On three,” I said, taking a position beside him.

He gave a single nod.

“One.”

Snow fell in a slow drift around us. The mountain was utterly still, as though it too waited.

“Two.”

I braced my hands against the cold stone, feeling the hum of power ripple under my skin.

“Three.”

We pushed.

The sound was low and primal—stone grinding against stone, a deep shudder that vibrated through the ground. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, with a sudden crack, the seam split open. Dust and old magic spilled out in a rush, curling into the air like smoke.

The stench hit first.

It wasn’t rot exactly—it was older, the scent of metal and salt and something electric, like blood burned into the earth. It smelled like history—like spells that had never been unmade.

The opening widened, revealing a dark passage sloping downward into the heart of the mountain. The walls glowed, etched with runes that pulsed a dull red, their light shifting like embers beneath the surface.

I took a step forward, feeling the weight of the air change. The temperature dropped, but beneath it was a warmth that wasn’t physical—a thrum that brushed against my magic, whispering, testing.

“Do you feel that?” I asked.

Con nodded, eyes narrowed. “It’s alive.”

We stepped through together.

The moment I crossed the threshold, the air pressed against me, thick and heavy. The sound of the wind outside vanished, replaced by a low hum that seemed to come from the stone itself. My flashlight flickered, its beam warping against the walls.