Our quick stop at Trinity Church turned into a monumental fail, with construction vehicles leaving the site in a mass exodus, detouring traffic to hell and back, so we decided to hit MegaMag first. The receptionist gushed her welcome and congratulated us enthusiastically on our engagement, making me think she was fishing for an invite to the wedding, but it probably had more to do with some naked encounter she had with my fiancé.

She ushered me and Vincent with a deliberate sashay to the desk of Sam Martin's personal secretary, a petite blonde named Mandy. Mandy offered us a hot beverage while we waited for Sam's afternoon meeting to end, and when the businessmen and women spilled out of Sam's office, Vincent shook hands with all of them, introducing me as his fiancée.

In a hushed voice, I heard one man say to Vincent, "Are we still traveling to Sweden next year? Heidi is one hot stockholder."

"Heidi is on a three month walkabout in the Andes, and I am very much engaged," Vincent said resolutely. The darling.

As soon as Sam arrived on the scene, I went from the old ball and chain to assistant to the director of project design, a title he'd come up with at two in the morning. My tour continued with show and tell, during which I met several people who either worked for Vincent previously or had been involved in a business deal with him. It didn't surprise me that many of Sam's employees appeared to be sitting quite comfortably in Vincent's back pocket.

All in all, the visit went well, and only one person asked about my battle wound, to which I replied that I cut myself shaving. My joke was well-received, and when I had been thoroughly overwhelmed by the names of all the people I was supposed to call-on for favors, Vincent and I returned to Trinity Church.

"So, tell me about Heidi," I said as we maneuvered through rush hour foot traffic. "A Swedish lover?"

Vincent grinned behind the lapel of his jacket, which he'd turned up against the artic wind blowing down the street. "I wouldn't call her a lover. She and I hang out with a group during my annual visits to Sweden. The foundation has an investment there and I like to keep an eye on things."

"Heidi works for you?"

"Yes, now she's trying to find inner peace elsewhere."

"Non-disclosure agreement?"

"No, just sex."

I chuckled as I grabbed his hand and tugged him toward me for a kiss. "It's never just sex with you, Vincent, you know that."

We arrived at Trinity to find no trace of the construction chaos. Not even Charles was around, and his make-shift office had been cleared of all evidence that a blossoming young architect had worked there. A man in a robe quietly walked behind the main alter then disappeared into a room, but other than him, we appeared to be alone.

"The quiet in here feels eerie now," I said. "Of course, this is how it normally feels in a church."

"I know what you mean." Vincent agreed as we made our usual rounds, checking out the finished restorations and talking about the excellent workmanship. The project appeared to be a success, and Vincent wore a contented CEO smile as we approached the wall where the font had returned to its proper place.

"No more ankh on the wall," I said, staring forlornly at the stone reservoir hanging on the freshly-painted wall. I walked up to it and looked inside the well. "It's empty. I wonder if they're brewing up a fresh batch of holy water."

"I don't think the priest would appreciate the term brew. I doubt they use a cauldron."

I grinned at his joke as I tentatively reached out and brushed my hand over the curves of the font, admiring the aged details. A statue stood at the back of it. A saint, no doubt. He held a basket filled with wheat, which gave me no clue as to which saint he was. There were too many to keep track of them all. During my inspection, a vibration started up under my feet, and I glanced at the floor as the hidden door began opening.

"Oh, crap. Not again," I squeaked. "I thought we needed the amulet to open the door. What should I do? Let it close?"

Vincent shook his head as he walked over to it. "Not yet. Let it open fully and I'll try to enter."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Vincent. I don't want it to close and seal you in."

"You can just open it again." Vincent didn't seem concerned as he crouched at the entrance to get a better vantage.

"But neither of us knows how this works. It could be dangerous."

He shrugged off my warning as the rumbling stopped, and we both stared at the marble staircase leading into the depths of a dark room below. A faint billow of white powder plumed into the air, carrying a metallic scent mingled with dust.

"It's pitch black inside," Vincent said as he stepped boldly up to the first stair. "But I would have been worried if there were torches burning."

"Wait," I pleaded.

"Why?"

"Because I'm scared for you."

"I'll be careful."

Vincent offered me a reassuring smile as he put his weight on the marble step, but he didn't get any further before an invisible force knocked him backward, accompanied by a sharp – Snap! – like a whip cracking the air. He threw his hands out to catch himself as he was thrown onto his knees.

"Are you okay?" I fought the instinct to rush over to him, knowing it would trigger the door, and I watched him rise slowly and shake his head. "What was that, Vincent?"

"That was a powerful shock. Hopefully, nobody else heard it." He peered around the corner where the wall separated us from the alter, and when he returned, he walked over to stand next to me at the font. "I think you should try the mantra. The one you've been practicing during your meditations. You're getting more comfortable handling the flame."

Ugh.

Why couldn't I just have a normal life without secret vaults built under churches that may or may not be home to a Basilisk or some other fanged beast. Was that too much to ask? "What if I burn the font with the flame? Someone's going to notice if their saint of sacred wheat has been scorched."

Vincent wore his business face when he locked gazes with me. "Just try it, please."

With all the excitement of a convict facing his karma, I did as Vincent bid me. I recited the mantra and summoned a pair of tiny fireballs into my hands. I had done it four times now, and the sensations were getting easier to manage, but that didn't mean I wasn't scared shitless.

"So, what now?" I said as I held the flames against the statue.

Vincent didn't bother answering. He had seen the wheat inside the saint's basket spark, just as I had, and when the glow took the form of the eternal flame, we both gawked like fools.

"How the hell...?" I said, swallowing down my curse before it got me condemned. "Shouldn't the font be made of stone? How can it maintain a flame?"

"I don't have that answer for you. This must be part of the ritual Petula told us about. What happens if you lower your hands from the font?"

I stepped away and we both turned to watch the floor for signs of movement. After a few seconds of silence, we had our answer.

"It appears the eternal flame is the key," he said. "We should be able to enter now."

Vincent walked back to stand at the top of the stairs, and I bit my lip as I watched him take that first step. SNAP! His body jolted backward, but this time he was prepared and he crouched into a landing.

"Okay, maybe not we." Vincent looked at me and I swallowed again.

"It has to be me, doesn't it?" I joined Vincent at the staircase, still holding onto the flames in my hands as I stared into the darkness. "To be honest, I never thought things would progress this far. I'm not sure I have the guts for it. What if the door closes and swallows me up? What if I find the remains of a previous hybrid who didn't know what the hell she was doing?"

Vincent turned to me, glancing briefly at the fire burning atop my palms. "You don't have do this. I'm a firm believer in gut feelings. What is your gut telling you, Reese?"

"I don't know the difference between my gut and my overactive imagination, but my curiosity is telling me to take that first step and see what happens."

"Hold that thought." Vincent ducked into a small alcove where a piece of metal scaffolding had been forgotten, and after making another quick check that our covert activities were still private, he returned wielding the metal rod like a sword. "If the floor tries to swallow you, I will block it with this. Don't worry. I will not let you die under this church even if I have to bulldoze you out."

While Vincent's promise had an encouraging tone, I couldn't help picturing a dark tunnel with no oxygen and a pile of human bones decomposing at the end of it. I glanced down at the flame in my hand when I felt it sting my skin, and I willed the pain away as I recited the mantra once more.

"Do you think I need to keep these burning while I'm in there?" I said. "It's starting to heat up."

"Use it as your timepiece. Don't stay any longer than your pain tolerance, or two minutes, whichever is sooner."

I nodded my acknowledgment without a word. I needed to do this before I chickened out. What did Petula say about not causing my own death? Make sure my intent is sincere. What the hell did that mean, anyway? I didn't plan to desecrate the place. I was just taking a look around.

Ever so slowly, I brought my foot down onto the first stair, bracing for a shock that never came. However, the marble beneath my foot sparked and glowed just like the basket of wheat had, but the fire remained encased inside the marble, flickering its greeting from a safe distance away.

"Look at that. This place was built for you, Reese."

Vincent whispered his awe as he watched me take my next tentative step, lighting up the stair just like the first. I couldn't help imagining a red carpet stretching out in front of me, welcoming the hybrid. I held up my cupped hands as I went deeper, allowing the light to lead my way, and the first thing to catch my eye was a gold statue of a man shrouded in a cloak standing at the base of the stairs.

"What's your gut telling you?" Vincent asked at my shoulder.

"That the dark roast espresso Mandy served me at MegaMag is coming back to haunt me. Other than that, I'd love to know if that statue is made of real gold."

"A gold statue? What does it look like?" Vincent crouched on the floor behind me as I made my descent.

"I'm not sure yet. Maybe a priest or a saint. I can also see a wooden table, but so far, no sign of skeletal remains."

"I want you out of there at the first sign of skeletal remains," Vincent said firmly. "The next step will put you out of my reach. Be careful."

Vincent didn't have to tell me to be careful. My gollum senses were tuned in to every sound and vibration. With the next step, I could see the table top. It had been set up like an altar, and a candelabra with barely spent candles sat on a red table runner. In the center, a plainly-stitched wicker basket stood amid a collection of gold medallions, and next to it, a thick hardback book laid covered in dust. Other than that, the room was bare.

I turned around to glimpse Vincent's watchful eyes as he knelt on the landing. "I'm going to see what's on the table and come right back. Give me three minutes."

Vincent pursed his lips, looking apprehensive, like he regretted letting me go beyond his reach. "Two minutes."

"Okay. Two minutes."

We exchanged a long, anxious stare, like that parting glance shared by lovers before one of them heads through airport security. I took the next step, watching it light up right on cue, and the familiarity gave me the confidence to take the final three steps without hesitation. I stopped at the bottom and recited the mantra again, focusing on the flame and not the feeling of pins and needles in my fingers.

The gold statue, it turned out, served as a beacon, reflecting the fire in my hands and filling the room with light. I made a brief inspection of the man's face, which laid partially obscured behind a hood. Only his sunken eyes and hooked nose defined him, giving him a look that was a bit too sinister for a priest or a saint, and I shivered under his soulless stare.

Making the most of my two minute time limit, I hurried over to the table and stopped in front of the gold pieces first. They appeared to be centuries' old coins, nothing spectacular, except for a single round pendant lying among them attached to a chain. Another amulet maybe, like the one Cecile was after, but the evil eye etched into the center definitely gave it a creepy vibe. It looked like something a pirate would wear.

The book I left alone, not wanting to stir up dust, but I read the title on the cover, The Art of Demon Necromancy. What was a book on demon necromancy doing under a church? I peered into the basket next, and what I saw had me gasping. A handful of gold lapel pins laid haphazardly inside, at least a dozen, and each one looked identical to the pin Vincent's father wore in the photograph.

I glanced at the tiny fireballs still flickering inside my palms. The sting had slowly increased, reminding me the clock was ticking, and I watched as one of the flames died out. I held my breath, waiting for the sound of a closing door, but all I heard was the pounding inside my chest. Yet something felt oppressive inside the room, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched.

With my fear factor rapidly rising, I plucked a pin from the basket and tucked it into my jacket pocket. Then I hurried back to the staircase, pausing to glance once more at the ghoulish face of the robed figure, hoping he wouldn't be angry that I'd looted from his vault.

"Reese." Vincent's whisper sounded urgent, and I turned to climb up the stairs. On my way, I noticed the flame in my palm had dwindled to the size of a match head, and I scaled the final two steps in one stride, reaching for Vincent's outstretched hand as the fire winked out. A strong vibration immediately started under my feet, and Vincent grabbed my wrist, yanking me upward. I stumbled into him as the door rumbled closed behind me, and he held me in a suffocating embrace while I listened to the patter of his rapid heartbeat. It nearly outmatched the sound of my own heart's panicked rhythm.

"That was too close," he whispered against my head. "I think we better go while the getting is good." Vincent reached for my hands to inspect them. Both were red and felt like a cheese grater had been raked across them. "You're going to need ointment on these. C'mon, baby. I'll get you fixed up."

We walked casually toward the exit, avoiding the gaze of the robed man who had appeared again at the main alter, lighting candles as he recited something in a reverent whisper. When we finally stepped outside, I sagged against Vincent in relief.

"That was intense," he admitted first. "When I knew I couldn't get to you, I started to panic."

"But you didn't panic," I said as I stretched up to kiss him with trembling lips. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have had time to inspect the goods. Let's go home. I have something to show you."