Chapter 93
Elizabeth
The mansion was quiet.
Too quiet.
After everything that had happened over the last few days, I was beginning to think silence was more unsettling than chaos.
At least when things were exploding, catching fire, or being possessed by ancient supernatural forces, you knew where you stood.
Silence left too much room to think.
And lately my thoughts had become exhausting.
I stood beside one of the enormous windows overlooking the courtyard.
The afternoon sun painted golden patterns across the marble floors.
Outside, New Orleans looked normal.
Peaceful.
People walked through the streets.
Cars passed by.
Life continued.
Completely unaware that somewhere beneath the city an ancient prison was slowly falling apart.
I wrapped my arms around myself.
What would happen if the prison opened?
What would happen if I failed?
The thought refused to leave me.
The creature behind the red door had looked patient.
Confident.
Like it already knew how this story ended.
A soft sound behind me pulled me from my thoughts.
Damon.
I didn’t need to turn around to know it was him.
Somehow I was becoming annoyingly good at recognizing his presence.
The realization alone was embarrassing.
I kept my eyes on the courtyard.
“You have a habit of appearing out of nowhere.”
His voice came from somewhere behind me.
“You have a habit of wandering off.”
Fair.
Unfortunately.
I turned.
Damon stood a few feet away.
Black shirt.
Dark jeans.
Silver-grey eyes.
Infuriatingly attractive.
I immediately looked away.
Because apparently my ability to behave like a normal person disappeared whenever he was nearby.
A faint smirk touched his mouth.
Wonderful.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
The man noticed everything.
Before either of us could say anything else—
The front doors slammed open.
Hard.
The sound echoed throughout the mansion.
Every trace of amusement disappeared instantly.
Damon’s expression hardened.
Mine probably did too.
Footsteps echoed through the entrance hall.
Fast.
Urgent.
A moment later Lucien appeared.
Tristan followed close behind.
Neither looked amused.
Neither looked relaxed.
Which was concerning.
Because Lucien usually treated life-threatening situations as a source of entertainment.
If he wasn’t smiling, something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Damon folded his arms.
“What happened?”
Lucien glanced briefly toward me.
Then back at Damon.
“We have a problem.”
My stomach immediately tightened.
Of course we did.
When didn’t we?
“What kind of problem?” Damon asked.
Tristan’s expression darkened.
“The cemetery.”
Every muscle in my body tensed.
The old cemetery again.
It always came back to that place.
Lately it felt like half the city’s supernatural problems originated there.
Damon’s eyes narrowed.
“What about it?”
Lucien reached into his coat.
Slowly.
Carefully.
When he pulled his hand back out, he was holding a fragment of stone.
At first I didn’t understand why that mattered.
Then I saw the symbols.
My breath caught.
I knew those symbols.
The same markings from the underground chamber.
The same ancient language carved into the tablet.
The same symbols I’d seen surrounding the red door.
A chill raced through me.
“Where did you find that?” I asked.
Lucien’s expression remained serious.
“Buried beneath one of the crypts.”
The room went silent.
Damon took the fragment from him.
His jaw tightened almost immediately.
“That’s impossible.”
“That’s exactly what we thought,” Tristan said.
I couldn’t stop staring at the stone.
The symbols looked older than anything I’d ever seen.
Older than the mansion.
Older than New Orleans.
Older than the world I knew.
A terrible feeling settled in my stomach.
“What else did you find?”
Lucien exchanged a glance with Tristan.
Neither looked happy.
“There wasn’t just one piece.”
My pulse quickened.
“What do you mean?”
Tristan stepped forward.
“We dug deeper.”
Something in his voice made my chest tighten.
Because he looked genuinely concerned.
And Tristan wasn’t easily rattled.
“We found walls.”
Silence.
I stared at him.
“Walls?”
He nodded.
“Stone walls.”
The room seemed to shrink around us.
Damon’s expression became unreadable.
“What kind of walls?”
Tristan exhaled slowly.
“The kind that belong to a structure.”
Nobody spoke.
Nobody moved.
I felt my heartbeat speeding up.
A structure.
Hidden beneath the cemetery.
Buried beneath the city.
Ancient.
Forgotten.
And somehow connected to the symbols.
Connected to the prison.
Connected to me.
The realization hit like ice water.
Lucien folded his arms.
“We think it’s been there for centuries.”
My mouth felt dry.
“How has nobody found it before?”
“Magic,” Damon answered.
I looked at him.
His gaze remained fixed on the stone fragment.
“Someone hid it.”
The certainty in his voice made my stomach twist.
The room fell quiet again.
Heavy silence settled between us.
Then—
Pain shot through my hand.
I gasped.
The mark burned.
Not warm.
Not uncomfortable.
Burned.
Golden light spread beneath my skin.
Every head turned toward me immediately.
The stone fragment in Damon’s hand began vibrating.
Once.
Twice.
Then harder.
The symbols glowed.
Bright gold.
The exact same color as the mark.
Nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
Slowly—
Very slowly—
New symbols began appearing across the stone.
Carving themselves into existence.
Ancient lines twisting across the surface.
I felt my pulse hammering.
The mark burned hotter.
And suddenly—
I knew what the symbols would say.
Not because I could read them.
Not because I understood them.
I just knew.
The certainty arrived like a memory.
A memory that wasn’t mine.
The final symbol appeared.
The room froze.
Even Lucien looked unsettled.
Damon stared at the message.
His jaw tightened.
My stomach dropped.
Because the translation arrived in my mind instantly.
Clear as day.
I whispered the words before anyone else could.
“The Temple awaits.”
Silence.
Complete silence.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody moved.
Then Tristan looked at me.
A strange expression crossing his face.
Not fear.
Not surprise.
Realization.
The kind of realization people have right before everything changes.
My pulse quickened.
“What?”
Tristan’s gaze shifted toward the city outside.
Toward New Orleans.
Toward the cemetery.
Then back to me.
And suddenly I didn’t like where this conversation was going.
Not one bit.
“The Temple of Thorns isn’t somewhere else.”
The room went still.
My stomach dropped.
“What do you mean?”
Nobody answered immediately.
Then Damon spoke.
His voice low.
Dangerously calm.
“It never was.”
A chill raced down my spine.
Outside, clouds rolled across the afternoon sky.
Darkening the sunlight.
The room suddenly felt colder.
“He hid it here,” Damon said.
The realization settled heavily over everyone.
Not in another city.
Not in another country.
Not across the ocean.
Here.
In New Orleans.
Buried beneath their feet the entire time.
My heart pounded.
Because if the Temple was here—
Then the map hadn’t been leading us away from danger.
It had been leading us directly toward it.
Somewhere beneath the city—
Something ancient had just announced itself.
And for the first time—
I had a horrible feeling it knew exactly where to find me.