When she snapped awake sometime later, her heart was racing and she didn’t know why. She lay on the gritty straw, blinking and disoriented, wondering if she’d somehow had a nightmare after all. Perched on her stomach, Widge’s tail was stiff and upright like a brush, his every muscle taut as he peered into the blackness at the back of their cell.

Then Twelve heard it: the wall was whispering.

She sat up slowly and pushed herself away, hardly trusting her own senses. Were there wraiths down here or something? A few seconds later, she heard it again: a muted mutter, then scuffling and a grunt. It was definitely coming from inside the walls. A clod of earth fell from above, tearing through the gauzy spiderwebs and landing near Twelve’s feet.

Her brows snapped together in confusion. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be a wraith, not according to her much-thumbed copy of A Magical Bestiary. She’d read the whole thing so many times she practically knew it by heart.

WRAITHS are the lost spirits of those who die violently. Recognition is easy: the shape they had when living will remain, albeit in a gossamer form. As a spirit creature, they can never touch nor alter an inanimate object, but they can interact with creatures containing spirits of their own. Possession of animals and occasionally even people allows wraiths to cause significant damage.

A wraith cannot be killed as it is already dead. The only way to release it from this world permanently is to find its bodily remains and burn them.

Aggression: 5/10.

Danger posed: 5/10.

Difficulty to disable: 7/10.

Twelve stared at the fallen earth. A wraith couldn’t do that, and they didn’t make scuffling sounds either.

Gulping, she and Widge crept farther away until they were pressed against the locked door. Fear flared in Twelve’s gut and she fumbled for her axes. The grunting, scuffling noise sounded again, and more soil fell from above. Terror surged through her so strongly she felt nauseous. She was trapped in the dark. Axes wouldn’t save them if the roof came down; they’d be buried alive. A band of panic tightened around Twelve’s chest and she struggled to breathe, hugging Widge with one hand and clutching her axes in the other.

The whispering returned, muffled and indistinct as the ground shuddered again. The air grew colder and goose bumps broke out all over her. Something was very wrong. She could feel it with every fiber of her being. There was something dark down here with her.

Chapter

Five

Twelve didn’t know which to fear more: whatever creature was down here, or the crumbling ceiling that might crush her at any moment.

“Uh . . . Twelve, are you awake?” Five’s whisper was low and urgent, making her jump.

“Of course,” she whispered back. She’d forgotten he was there.