Chizzy descended the cellar stairs, the candle flame floating ahead of her like a will-o'-the-wisp. The key burned warm in her hand as if aware of its purpose.
She'd never seen this part of the cellar before. It twisted far beneath the foundation, stone giving way to carved earth. The walls were lined with bones animal, maybe. Or not. She didn't ask.
At the base was a wooden door. It looked ancient, reinforced with iron and etched with glyphs. Her breath caught. The same symbols as her mother's journal.
The red key fit perfectly.
As the lock clicked, the air changed. Heavier. Sharper.
She stepped inside.
The chamber was circular, with a blackened altar at the center. Around it, candles flickered though none had been lit. On the altar sat a book bound in what looked like hide, sealed with wax.
Behind it stood a figure cloaked in shadow.
Her heart leapt Ezra? No.
The figure moved slightly, revealing long, sharp fingers. Not Ezra.
Not human.
"Chizzy," it rasped, though no mouth moved. The voice slithered around the room. "You've come to remember."
She backed toward the door, but it slammed shut.
"You carry her blood. Her debt. Her guilt."
"My mother?" she whispered.
The shadow drifted closer.
"She made the vow. You must finish it… or take her place."
Chizzy turned and ran.
The door resisted her. Then light. Warm hands. Ezra pulling her out, slamming the trapdoor shut.
"You weren't supposed to open it," he said, breathless. "Not yet."
But Chizzy had already seen too much.