Chapter 105

Abigail

Mom always says that there’s a fine line between curious and reckless. But if I’m being honest, that line has always seemed a bit... blurry, especially when it comes to Owen and me.

So when Mom casually mentioned that Grandma Lily had a cabin upstate, tucked away in the middle of nowhere, my mind instantly went into overdrive.

It wasn’t like we ever heard much about Grandma. It wasn’t until recently I overheard Mom muttering something under her breath about how she needed to “deal with Lily,” that I even realized we had a grandmother.

That’s when the questions started flooding in—Why was Grandma Lily so elusive? Why didn’t we have any pictures of her or Mom from when they were kids? The mystery only deepened when Owen looked up at me with that half-grin of his—the one that always told me he was about to burst my bubble with some sarcastic remark.

“Should we even be doing this?” Owen asked, his dry voice cutting through the silence as we stood at the foot of the old manhole in the yard.

I eyed the metal disc suspiciously. “Doing what?”

“Investigating. I’m pretty sure the only reason this thing hasn’t been buried over is because... well, you know... it’s weird. And probably dangerous.”

We were standing in Grandma’s backyard now, both of us eyeing the spot where the manhole cover sat slightly askew in the middle of the grass.

Mom had been very clear on one thing—stay away from it. She had given us that tight-lipped look she always gives when she’s worried about something she doesn’t want to explain. It was as if she was afraid that if she said too much, we’d start asking questions. And trust me, once I start asking questions, it’s game over.

I could feel Owen’s eyes boring into me, but he wasn’t saying anything. That’s his thing—waiting me out until I give up. But, what can I say? I like knowing things.

I mean, yeah it didn’t always end up good for us, but what else were we supposed to do in the middle of a swamp? It was boring here.

“Grandma doesn’t seem like the kind of person to have... I don’t know... secret passages in her backyard, right?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at the manhole. “She seems so... normal.”

Owen looked at me, deadpan. “Abigail, this is the same grandma who’s been hiding out in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, only to show up now. Mom hadn’t mentioned her, ever. You might want to rethink the ‘normal’ label.”

He had a point. Grandma Lily was, well... peculiar. I mean, I didn’t mind her so much, but Owen thought she was “off.” There was something in her eyes—a quiet intensity—that made me uneasy at times.

That, and the fact that there were never any photos of mom as a child. Or her, for that matter. Or grandpa. It was like they never existed before we came around, which had always felt odd to me.

Anyway, I’d been dying to ask Mom about it, but every time I brought it up, she’d change the subject. “Grandma was just... private,” Mom would say. Or, “She doesn’t like to talk about her past.”

Right. Sure, Mom.

“What about what mom said?” Owen asked, pointing to the small wooden cabin through the trees. “Stay away from the front yard. It’s dangerous.”

Yeah. Dangerous. Right.

“She’s just... protective,” I said with a shrug. “I think she’s just worried something’s gonna happen to us.”

Owen’s mouth curled into a smirk. “Or she’s hiding something. You know how she is.”

“Yeah. She’s all about the secrets.” I rolled my eyes. “But I’m pretty sure she doesn’t think we’re ready to know anything about Grandma.”

I turned to Owen, giving him a grin that made his brows lift. “What do you think? Ready to break the rules?”

Owen gave a dramatic sigh, his tone flat. “If we get another curse put on us because of you, I’m gonna lose it. … But I guess if we’re going to get in trouble, it might as well be for something worth our time. They are clearly hiding something.”

With that, we lifted the manhole, grunting as we tossed it to the grass with a thunk.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and the faint smell of old wood. The room below wasn’t large, but there was something unsettling about how... empty it felt. I lowered myself down the latter, taking in the damp air.

Wandering around, I ran my fingers along the shelves lined with books, while Owen immediately found himself by a desk with scratch marks in it, like marking days.

This horrible feeling took under me as I gazed around. There was a blanket in the corner, old food wrappers, and a shelf of books.

Owen’s voice piped up first. “Abigail… this place feels…”

Wrong.

I knew what he meant, and he was right. It was more like a cage…

I glanced up at the dirt around the top of the latter. Scratch marks.

Did grandma… lock mom in here? No… no way.

If that was the case, why would mom bring us here? If she thought grandma was dangerous?

After a few minutes of aimlessly poking around, I lifted the blanket in the corner and tensed. A hole. A small hole, digging deeper in the dirt. My heart skipped a beat.

“Hey, Owen, come here.” I called him over, already crouched in front of the small opening. “Look at this.”

Owen stood up slowly, looking at me like I had just announced we’d found buried treasure. “What now?”

“I found a path,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Don’t you want to know what’s beyond it?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he lead his head down, gazing down into the darkness below.

“Great,” Owen muttered. “Now we’re really going to get in trouble.”

I grinned. “Come on. Are you afraid?”

“Not afraid. Just skeptical,” he replied. But I could see the glint of curiosity in his eyes. “Plus, I’m never letting you go anywhere alone again…and you owe me two bucks. I told you grandma was weird.”

I rolled my eyes, “Yeah, but she still makes great cookies.”

“Facts.”

We descended into hole slowly, our grunts echoing in the silence. Eventually, we were met with a small wooden plank over the hole. Which was… odd.

I reached for it and pushed.

The wood fell forward, clattering below.

I poked my head through to a dimly lit basement, and I had to squint to make out the details of the room. Shelves lined the walls, filled with all sorts of strange objects—vials, jars, and old books stacked haphazardly on wooden crates.

Grandma had a basement? Was this… under the house? But that wasn’t in the tour of the house. There wasn’t even a spare, locked door to lead here.

But there was one thing that caught my eye—a large, dusty book on the center table. It was old, worn, and had the oddest symbol on its cover. I crawled out and approached, but I didn’t recognize it, but the moment I touched it, I felt an odd energy surge through my fingers.

“Owen,” I whispered, my voice shaky. “This is... this is weird.”

He frowned, crossing the room to stand beside me. “It’s just an old book, Abigail. Where are we? Under the house?”

But as I opened the cover, I realized that this wasn’t just any old book. The pages were filled with words in a language I didn’t understand, but one word caught my eye: Lycan.

I flipped through the pages rapidly, scanning for more familiar words, and then I found it—a passage about a lost bloodline tied to the original Lycans. My pulse quickened as I read on, finding mention of a curse that had been passed down through generations.

The words seemed to be speaking directly to me: ...her blood, the blood of the Goddess's line, is different. She is powerful beyond measure.

I froze.

“What’s wrong?” Owen asked, his voice sharp, but when I turned to him, his expression had changed. He looked... concerned.

I didn’t know what to say. The weight of the words seemed to sink in, and everything in the cabin—the manhole, Grandma’s strange behavior, mom’s warnings—suddenly made sense.

“Abigail?” Owen asked again, his voice softer this time.

“I think we just uncovered something we weren’t meant to find,” I whispered. “Something that’s tied to... me. To us.”

Is this way… mom brought us here? Did she know about this?