The roar that had ripped through the mountain still echoed deep in my bones. It hadn’t sounded like the Krampus, it had sounded like war.
After he’d disappeared into the south passage, I pushed myself up from the bed and ran to the altar with the box that held Gisela’s journal and letters. I followed her sketch, my fingers tracing the cold, ancient stone of the shrine’s base. Beneath the carved relief of a weeping saint, I had found it. There was a small, rectangular seam in the rock.
I traced the lock before sucking in a deep breath. The only key I had was the one for Gisela’s box. There was no way of knowing for sure if the key would work, or what I would be risking if it got stuck. My lips pressed together in a thin line of desperation, and I tried the key anyways.
The key turned
