Secrets In The Bones: The Curse of Blood Bay

Forty two

With the ominous red sky still smothering everything in its path, my fear level was at its peak. Roars from the crashing waves pounding against the white and black rocky cliff front made my fragile heart jump. Froth kept looping overhead while the cutting winds made my precarious climb dangerous. Michael and Skip had the good sense to listen and stay back to keep watch while I dared to brave another coffin; using my werewolf's eyes allowed me to see the concealed recess and what Jean meant by a hidden entrance.

Also, it was three-quarters up the jagged cliff at the end of a slim rocky path that was past the face curve and hung over choppy, deep-looking waters with the high tide battering its way in. Jean intimated our grid findings were near the mark, but coastal erosion had been far worse than we'd realised.

Skip wouldn't manage the route too easily, and with what's happened so far, I felt better knowing they would be safer together. At least then, the surprises would be limited to what's inside the cliffs. I dreaded to think just how many daunting tunnels had been dug by McNally's clan and to what end. Why would they be needed unless what we saw in Montague House and the route out to the beach, we're going to be more of the same? My vision on the way here, which feels like a lifetime ago, could be where and how I find Ellena, hopefully, without her being a vampire.

It hadn't even occurred to me that caves could've been used or how deep they went before time changed the coastal landscape. The giddy explorer in me was excited that those numbers could've been used for something exhilarating, like artefacts or treasure. Something worth hiding. I'm fooling myself that nobody else could've figured it out already. After all, those digits in the artwork were hard for anyone to see without enhanced vision.

I know it was a fail-safe laid out by Jean before he went into hiding. His story was believable, but the trust issues I've inherited since being in this bloody town have left me doubting whether Jean had fed me what he thought I wanted to hear. He could've been in my head, and I hadn't noticed. This brings me back to the elder, Count Diminescu; how long had he been there before he spoke as Ellena? It was a neat trick, I might add.

Was it while those severed heads were being launched at us, listening to what we said and how we took the shock of it all? Then sucker-punched me.

I couldn't get over that last sentence while pretending to be Ellena. 'Be careful, George, he's not as easy as Amos,' Ellena wouldn't have known that, being a prisoner. Like our entire stay in this town, we were prisoners from the off. All the talk of Ellena being a witch was a ploy to get her interested in discovering more while accounting for any weird goings on with her.

Ellena looked sick on the way to Oxley Town, and the tiny pinprick had to be the cause. Unless Ruth drew some more blood to be sure, for what is a 'dot', I can't figure out yet.

There are too many 'little details' drifting around the wilderness of my mind without a connection yet. Unless they were nothing more than theatrics and misdirection, each seawater shower made my footing slippery, only three feet wide. With each step along, I could feel a chill crawling up my spine; there was something eerie about this section of the cliffs. Whether it was the prospect of finding Anna's tomb or whenever I looked out to sea, I pictured where I was manipulated to go.

Keeping my chest close to the wet stone face, I gripped anything I could to pull myself in. Even with my claws, it was hard as the surface crumbled with each move. They say slow and steady wins the race; this was torture with little margin for error the higher I got. I stopped for a minute to regain my composure as my fear grew.

My senses were going haywire; something was off; I was picking up on pain, sadness, and hatred, but most of all, evil. Overwhelming darkness came hot on the heels of that chill. It could be a precaution to put people off, scare them to go no further. And it was getting to me, breathing deeply, pushing dust through the cracks. It may have been a trick red shade from the sky, but as the dust clipped my claws, I could've sworn it was blood. Not just red, but actual blood.