He has fired seven nurses this week, and if your child makes a single sound, you will both be thrown into the snow, Chief Guard Mikhail warned me at the heavy iron gates of the Volkov estate.
Lily’s drawing was a call to action. I couldn’t ignore it. The blue fog entering Damian’s IV drip was a direct, visual link to the unseen poison.
I thought about Dr. Montgomery’s words: “toxicological agents” alongside dark magic.
The extreme cold that accompanied the spectral drain ritual. I needed to find its source, the physical manifestation of the curse beyond Damian’s bedroom.
The frost. It often felt stronger in certain areas of the house, particularly descending from the upper floors.
Following the faint trail of cold air, I found myself in the manor’s sprawling service area. A narrow, stone staircase led down into the earth.
A shiver, not entirely from the cold, ran down my spine. The air grew damp and heavy with the smell of wet earth and old metal. This was the estate’s underground water filtration room.
The large, industrial-sized pump hummed softly in the cavernous space. Water pipes crisscrossed the ceiling, dripping intermittently onto the stone floor.
Behind the main pump, where the shadows were deepest, I noticed a subtle glint. Something obsidian.
I squeezed past the machinery, my heart pounding. There, tucked away in a small, damp recess, were several obsidian vials. They gleamed dully in the faint light filtering from above.
Each vial was sealed with a wax cap, bearing a distinct, intricate crest. A serpent coiled around a thorny rose. It was a custom design, clearly belonging to someone with an affinity for the ornate.
I recognized it. It was Julian Drake’s custom crest, the one emblazoned on his signet ring, which I had seen when he’d gestured dismissively at the staff.
My hands trembled as I reached for them. They contained a dark, viscous liquid. The label, scrawled in an elegant script, read “Aconitum”—aconite, a potent poison. And another, even darker, marked “Spectral Ashes.”
This was it. The physical evidence. The actual poisons, mixed with whatever dark magic Drake was employing. He wasn’t just cursing Damian; he was slowly killing him with real-world toxins, disguised by the supernatural symptoms.
I carefully selected two vials, tucking them into my apron pocket, right next to the voice recorder. They clinked softly against each other.
Just as I turned to leave, a deep thud echoed through the chamber. The heavy steel door at the top of the staircase, the only way out, slammed shut.
Panic seized me. The sudden darkness was absolute, suffocating. I fumbled for the handle, pushing against the thick metal. It was locked.
I was trapped in the sub-basement, cold seeping into my bones, the hum of the pump the only sound. Drake knew. He must have seen me.
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