Chapter 3 — **Chapter 3**

Vera

The shadows part as I materialize on the old estate grounds, my heart in my throat as adrenaline surges.

*Pull yourself together, Vera.*

I steady myself, taking in my surroundings. Ancient oaks loom overhead, their twisted branches casting eerie patterns in the moonlight. The mansion rises before me like something from a nightmare – all sharp Gothic spires and weathered stone, its windows dark and unblinking, watching.

I press my palm against the ground, sending out tendrils of magic to test the wards. A faint hum vibrates through my fingertips, the feedback of layered protection spells woven into a deadly web. They’re strong, intricate, but I didn’t spend years mastering magical theory for nothing. I find the weak point, a small flaw in the pattern, and carefully unravel just enough of the ward to slip through.

*This is beyond reckless, even for me.*

I mutter the thought under my breath as I move forward. When I’d held Gran’s charm – the one she always wears – I’d felt something. A pull. A connection I’ve never experienced before. My tracking spells have always failed, fizzling into nothing despite months of trying, yet today, I picked up a trace. A series of fractured images that strung together to form…this. This towering monstrosity that embodies every vampire cliché I’ve ever heard.

Bracing myself, I edge toward the grand courtyard, noting fresh tire tracks in the gravel and dark stains on the stone steps that could be blood. My stomach twists as I press closer to the shadow of a stone column.

Gran’s face flashes through my mind – her knowing smile when she caught me practicing spells late at night, her quiet strength as she guided me through complex rituals. I remember the night we wove a binding spell under a rare blood moon, her voice steady as she whispered, “Resilience is your legacy, Vera. Never forget that.” She never gave up on teaching me, even when I was ready to give up on myself.

*You should have waited for Mom and Dad…*

I shake the thought away. Relying on others has only led to delays before – like the time we lost a lead on Gran waiting for their approval. I can’t afford to hesitate now. Gran is in there. I know it with a certainty that defies logic. I’m getting her out, with or without anyone’s help, even if depending on family feels like admitting weakness.

A whispered incantation and a sweep of my hand create a shimmer in the air around me – my cloaking spell settling into place. It won’t fool a vampire’s enhanced senses for long, but it should buy me enough time to get inside.

The side entrance yields easily to my lock-breaking charm.

Too easily?

I hesitate, a prickle of unease running down my spine at the lack of resistance. I test the air for traps, detecting nothing beyond the traces of dark magic that seem to permeate everything here. Still, I linger a moment longer, ears straining for any sound, before stepping inside.

Moonlight filters through tall windows, casting strange shadows across the marble floor of a cavernous entrance hall. A musty smell of decay clings to the air, and the chill of the stone seeps through my boots. My footsteps, though careful, echo faintly despite my best efforts. The atmosphere feels thick, suffocating against my skin.

Something glints near the base of a sweeping staircase. I crouch down, my heart stuttering as I recognize Gran’s silver bracelet – the one with charms like the bell I’d found in the garden. My fingers brush the metal, and a jolt of energy surges through me. This heirloom, imbued with protective spells passed down through generations, hums with residual power. Images flash: Gran being dragged up these stairs, her magic flaring as she fights back. The bracelet must have fallen during the struggle.

And yet, something about the image feels wrong somehow. The signature is distorted, almost too perfect, like a lure crafted to deceive. I push the doubt aside, closing my eyes to focus on the bracelet’s trace. It’s faint but distinct – a trail of breadcrumbs leading upward. Rising slowly, I follow it, each step drawing me deeper into the mansion’s oppressive darkness.

The trail guides me down a long corridor lined with rich tapestries, their faded scenes depicting brutal, bloody battles between vampires and witches.

*A fitting welcome for a witch.*

I force myself to keep moving, tracking Gran’s essence as it grows stronger. Whatever they’ve done to dampen her powers, they haven’t fully masked her presence. The path twists through a maze of passages, my anxiety spiking with every turn, but the signature pulses clearer now. She’s close.

*Gran…* I bite back the urge to whisper aloud.

The silence gnaws at me. My footsteps feel too loud in the empty corridors. Where is everyone? I’ve been in this mansion for minutes and haven’t sensed a single vampire. No whispered conversations, no subtle shifts of air, not even the metallic scent of blood that often lingers around their kind. I pause at an intersection, letting my senses expand. The dark energy coats everything like a cloying fog, but there’s no immediate sign of life.

*It’s a huge place. They could be anywhere.*

I run my fingers along the ornate wall paneling, noting the sprawling labyrinth of rooms and corridors I’ve passed. For all I know, an army of vampires could be gathered in some distant hall. Still, my instincts scream that this is too easy. Gran’s aura pulls me forward, growing stronger, and I can’t turn back now.

*Focus. Find Gran first, worry later.*

The trail leads up another flight of stairs, the smooth steps mercifully silent underfoot. The second floor is as deserted as the first, moonlight streaming through windows to illuminate empty rooms and furniture draped in white sheets. The eerie stillness only deepens my unease. Maybe they’re out hunting or at some pretentious vampire gathering. Better to find Gran with no one around than to fight through a horde of bloodsuckers. But I can’t shake the feeling I’m missing something obvious. Even Lucien wouldn’t leave such a valuable prisoner unguarded…would he?

The magical signature pulses stronger now, drawing me toward a narrow door at the end of the hallway. My heart races as Gran’s essence spikes – the strongest I’ve felt since entering. I press my palm against the weathered wood, reaching out psychically for traps or wards. Nothing, just that same suffocating darkness.

Taking a deep breath, I turn the handle. The door swings open with a soft creak, revealing a small closet. Low light spills through a tiny window near the ceiling, illuminating bare walls and empty shelves. Gran’s presence is overwhelming here, yet a flicker of doubt stirs – the silence in this cramped space feels too still, too deliberate.

I step inside, scanning every inch for clues. There has to be something, some hint of where they’ve taken her—

The door slams shut behind me, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the confined space.

*Shit!*

I spin around, heart leaping into my throat as darkness engulfs me. My hands find the handle, but it won’t budge.

“No, no, no…” I yank harder, the door unyielding.

My fingers scrabble across the surface, searching for any weakness. Nothing. Just smooth, mocking wood. The tiny window near the ceiling is barely bigger than my fist – no escape there. Fine. If brute force won’t work, magic will. I gather my power, channeling it into a blast that should reduce the door to splinters. The energy surges through me, but when it hits the door…nothing. Not even a scratch. I realize with a sinking feeling that this room must be laced with an anti-witch enchantment, designed to nullify my spells – something far beyond the wards outside.

“What the hell?” I try again, pouring more power into it. The magic dissipates, sizzling like water on hot stone, its strength leeched away. My heart pounds as the darkness presses against my skin.

*Don’t panic. Think.*

But the sense of being trapped overwhelms me. The walls feel like they’re closing in, and I struggle to draw breath. Then it hits me…

*The walls…something’s wrong.*

I press my palms against them, and my stomach drops. They’re moving. Slowly, inexorably, the room is narrowing.

“No.” The word escapes as a whisper. I’ve never been great with small spaces, and now my hands tremble as the closet shrinks. I can barely stretch my arms out to either side.

I throw everything I have at the walls – binding spells, protection wards, raw magical force. For a fleeting moment, I believe a spell might hold, only to watch it fail, absorbed by whatever dark force controls this trap. Each attempt seems to make the walls move faster, feeding off my power. The ceiling begins to lower, and raw panic sets in.

“Stop!” I scream, hurling spell after spell at the shrinking space. It only worsens. The walls close faster, the ceiling pressing down. The room, barely a closet before, is now little more than a coffin.

I claw at the walls, breath hitching, chest tight. My magic flares wildly, desperately, only to vanish into the trap’s design.

*You’re such an idiot, Vera!*

Of course this was a trap. Whatever I felt – the echoes of Gran’s presence – was crafted to lure me here. Gran isn’t in this place. I recall her warnings about vampire illusions, deceptions woven into magic to ensnare witches. Only death waits here.

The walls squeeze closer, air thinning in my lungs, the room shrinking with terrifying speed.

*Not like this.*

The thought strikes with chilling clarity. Alone, my power useless, crushed in a box designed to kill witches. There’s a bitter irony in this, dying as prey in a predator’s game. Images flash – Mom’s face when they find me, Dad breaking inside, Seraphine blaming herself, and Gran… If she’s alive, this will destroy her.

*I should have waited. Should have listened.*

The ceiling forces me to crouch, soon I won’t even be able to do that. Pride battles survival as the space tightens. I’ve never needed help – I’m the strong one. Crying out feels like betrayal. But as the walls crush closer, terror wins.

“Help!” The word tears from my throat. I pound on the door, voice raw. “Somebody, please!”

No response. Why would there be? Anyone here likely engineered this. The ceiling drops lower, forcing me flat on my belly, the cold surface pressing against my back.

*I can’t—*

The pressure grows unbearable. In seconds, it’ll be lethal. A faint scuff of footsteps beyond the door reaches my ears, a shift in the air, then—

The door flies open, flooding the space with light.

A strong hand grasps my arm, yanking me from the death trap with supernatural speed. I shoot forward, gasping for air, legs trembling as I crash against a solid chest. My mind reels, barely processing my escape as the grinding of stone fills the air – the walls slamming together behind me with unthinkable force.

“I told you reckless heroics would get you killed.” Theron Nightshade’s voice is low, controlled, but edged with anger. I sense he’d been tracking my magic, aware of my presence long before this moment.

*Oh, great. It’s him.*