Wicked Hunt

Chapter Eleven, Part V

Victoria: Rosemary, Thyme, and Wolfenite

Victoria narrowed her eyes and darted down the stairs. She stepped onto the bottom step and hurried to the end of the hallway. Past the lounge where two guards whispered to one another, through the crumbling archway, Jillian's door sat. Moving up to the large oak slab of wood, Victoria raised her hand to knock, but it opened before her knuckles could hit the door.

"I've been waiting." Jillian tucked a dark curl behind her ear and pulled her ashy grey cloak closer to her.

"You knew." Victoria observed. She stepped aside to let Jillian pass.

Being part of the same family and coven, the woman could sense things about one another: moods, sensations, even pain. They were all connected, although since Mira had left, the magical tether to her had grown weak. It was still there though. Occasionally, Victoria reached out to her, trying to sense her mood, but rarely was she able to get concrete feelings from her sister anymore.

"Gemma went after the grimoire?" Jillian called over her shoulder as she quickly began walking back down the hall. Grabbing her skirts, Victoria hurried to keep up. She flicked her damp hair from her shoulder.

"She did."

"How bad was it?"

"My room is coated in ice," Victoria said. This made Jillian pause. Abruptly, she turned around and held up a hand to stop Victoria.

"You weren't trying to scry Michael were you?"

"I was," Victoria answered sharply. She pushed past her. The condescending tone in her cousin's voice was grating on her already frayed nerves.

"There are certain incantations that you have to do to halt the process," Jillian said, a hand snaking its way onto Victoria's shoulder. "Otherwise-"

"I've scried before!" Victoria snapped, swatting Jillian's pale hand away. "Stop treating me like some invalid."

"Apologies then," Jillian sniffed. "I won't say another word about it."

She was hoping that Victoria's misstep would cast her in ill standing with Gemma, but it was going to have to take a lot more than a few missed spells to permanently get herself onto her mother's bad side. There was little she could do that was worse than leaving, like Mira had.

The two women remained silent as they journeyed to the next level. As soon as they reached the top step, the temperature dropped ten degrees. Victoria shivered when they reached her door. Frost curled around the door handle, its foreboding fingers promising wickedness in the room beyond.

"Should we go in?" Jillian suggested. Her eyes flicked to the door in interest then back to Victoria's face. She gripped the skirt of her nightdress in fervent anticipation.

"We need to wait for Gemma." Victoria glanced behind Jillian's head. "Without the Grimoire there's nothing we can do." As soon as the words left her mouth, her mother appeared at the end of the hallway. Gemma held the Grimoire with both hands. Slowly, she made her way toward them, stopping every few feet to listen or smell the air.

"Gemma," Jillian greeted her. She eyed the Grimoire, and even Victoria found it hard to look away from the leather tome nestled in Gemma's arms. Black leather wrapped around yellowed pages, the spine a collection of scarred pieces. An oval shaped emerald was imbedded in the very center of the cover, a ring of indented leather surrounding it. About two inches from the jewel, the front half of a weathered snake sat. The rest of its body wound around to the back of the book and acted as a lock. The tale ended on the back in a spiraling loop. Victoria had seen the tome opened in several instances. More often than not, the Drake women consulted it only in the most dire of times.

This was one of those times.

"Help me with it," Gemma rasped. She raised it up, and Victoria gripped the bottom, and Jillian reached out to help her. Reluctantly, Victoria let her slide her hands beneath the book.

"Do you remember the words?" Victoria raised her brows at Jillian. Her cousin frowned in annoyance.

"Of course." She held her head up haughtily making Victoria roll her eyes.

Gemma cleared her throat. "Stop bickering you two!" she hissed, spittle flying out of her dry lips, and her eyes glared at the wall between them. "Now, come away from the door."

"The Black Stag could harm the book?" Jillian suggested quickly, eager to gain Gemma's approval.

"No," Gemma said shortly. "It's just too damn cold."

Victoria turned her head into her shoulder to stifle a low chuckle as they carefully moved away from the door. The Grimoire was lowered to the ground, and they all crouched around it. Gemma slowly sat on her knees, the bones creaking like an old rocking chair.

"What now?" Jillian wanted to know.

"Give me your hands," Gemma demanded. Carefully, Victoria took Gemma's wrinkled hand and grasped Jillian's. The three were positioned in a circle, the ancient book on the ground between them.

"Concentrate," Victoria advised Jillian. It would take all three women to open the lock on the Grimoire. Gemma closed her eyes and began rocking. Victoria did the same, and she felt Jillian's hand swaying back and forth. They focused on the lock. Victoria could sense their intense concentration. A metallic tinge hummed through the air. It tickled her nose, crept down her throat, and made her cough. Still, she remained focused on the lock. She envisioned the snake slithering up and moving around the jewel, its tail coiling around itself. Suddenly, the lock sprang open, and the old leather relaxed in Victoria's hands. Looking up, she caught Jillian's eyes from over the Grimoire. Sweat slid down her pale face, but she nodded to Victoria.

"Give it to me." Gemma tugged the book from their fingers and bent to crouch on the floor. Gingerly, she placed the tome upon the cool stones. Opening it released dust, but Gemma ignored it. She flipped through the pages, her eyes briefly scanning here and there.

As Victoria watched, she felt the cold seeping from the room like blood leaving a wound. A quick look at her door showed frost covering the entire slab of wood. It crept from the edges, contemplated moving to the stones. Victoria frowned. If they didn't hurry, the whole castle would be covered before dawn.