Chapter 9 - The Trap of the Past
The floor beneath them gave way, a hydraulic mechanism triggered by the music box. Damon leaped, grabbing Elara, but they slid into a subterranean chamber.
He landed on his feet, his gun drawn. The room was illuminated by a single, harsh spotlight. Standing in the center was not Isabella, but a man—an old, scarred shadow of his grandfather’s former lieutenant.
"Damon," the man sneered, his voice rasping. "The grandson who traded the steel of a blade for the plastic of a credit card."
"Where is she?" Damon demanded, his focus absolute.
"She’s been dead for three years, you fool," the man laughed. "But her ghost? Her ghost is going to be the end of you. We used the girl to bring you to the place where your grandfather signed his death warrant."
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Damon didn't argue. He signaled the Warden. The dog charged, a blur of muscle and fury. The man tried to fire, but Damon was faster. He took the shot, hitting the man in the shoulder.
As the man fell, Elara walked forward. She looked at him with pity. "She isn't dead," she said. "She’s waiting for you to be ready."
