CHAPTER 88 THE BODIES

Dominic The air inside the witches' den was thick, with a chill that seemed to seep into my bones. Minerva and I had been searching for hours, but the source of the witches' power remained elusive. The dim light from my flashlights and her phone lights flashed against the stone walls, casting shadows that danced and swayed like dark spirits. "We're missing something," Minerva muttered, her voice echoing slightly in the cave-like room. She ran a hand through her dark hair, frustration evident in her tense posture. If the rock we saw earlier isn't the source of their power, what is? We looked around the den, lifting every ragged piece of clothing on the floor as it littered everywhere. There were statues of snakes and cats everywhere. A pot sat on the stove in the fireplace, and I peeped inside. It was still bubbling and gave off a terrible smell. The smell hit me first—a mix of damp earth and something metallic, like blood. The witches' den was everything I'd imagined and worse.