Goody Magic Academy, Year Three

Chapter 25

Chapter

Twenty-Five

A s the twisted spires of the bayou’s St. Louis Cathedral came into view, a gasp escaped my dragon maw, sending a long plume of smoke curling into the humid air. This cathedral was a nightmarish reflection of its pristine counterpart in the city, its once-white spires now bent and broken like bones jutting from decaying flesh.

The sight sent a shudder rippling through my scales, causing Jaxon to tighten his grip on my neck. His heartbeat pounded against my back, matching the rapid rhythm of my own, and his anxiety was palpable, mirroring the tension coiled within me.

I circled lower, the downdraft from my wings creating ripples in the murky water surrounding the cathedral. The stench of decay and dark magic invaded my nostrils, making me want to retreat, but I pressed on, my eyes fixed on our grotesque destination.

The walls of the cathedral pulsed with a sickly, bilious light, oozing sinister energy that made the very air around us feel thick and oppressive. It was as if the building itself was alive, watching our approach with malicious intent. My keen dragon senses picked up whispers carried on the fetid breeze, too—incomprehensible words that sent chills down my spine.

As we drew closer, the atmosphere grew heavier, more pregnant with dread. The usual sounds of the bayou—the croaking of frogs, the buzz of insects—had fallen silent, as if the swamp itself was holding its breath in fearful anticipation. The only sounds were the rhythmic beating of my wings and Jaxon’s ragged breathing in my ear.

The thought of my parents being held captive in this wild and demonic place fueled my determination. I landed with a splash in the shallow water before the cathedral, my claws sinking into the soft slime at the bottom. Jaxon slid from my back, his boots squelching in the muddy ground. The cathedral entrance loomed before us, a dark, gaping maw hungry for our approach.

My heart was pounding so fiercely I could feel it reverberating throughout my entire body, from the tip of my snout to the end of my tail. Each beat echoed in the unnatural silence, drumming out a rhythm of fear. I lowered my head, bringing my eyes level with Jaxon’s, seeing my own tension mirrored in his face.

Within those twisted walls waited the high priestess, my parents, and who knew what else. A low growl rumbled in my chest and then grew to a snarl as I considered the high priestess’ many allies. I doubted she had come alone—villains with her power rarely did.

The air around the entrance seemed to warp and writhe, as if trying to keep us out—or perhaps draw us in. Every instinct screamed danger and told me to turn around and leave, but the thought of my parents, frightened and suffering, steeled my resolve.

With a deep breath, I focused my attention inward, willing my body to return to its human form. The transformation rippled through me, scales receding into skin, wings folding up and disappearing. My bones shifted with a series of muffled cracks, sending brief jolts of discomfort through my body. When the change was complete, I found myself kneeling on the soggy ground, my bare skin prickling in the humid air.

Jaxon, who had dismounted moments before I shifted back, was already at my side. His face was a mask of resolve, but I could see concern in his eyes as he handed me my clothes. “Here,” he said softly, his voice tight and tense. “Get dressed quickly.”

With trembling fingers, I pulled on my undergarments first, the familiar motions grounding me. My jeans were next, the denim rough against my damp skin as I wriggled into them. Lastly I tugged my shirt over my head, welcoming the slight protection it provided against the unsettling atmosphere.

As I slipped my feet into my shoes, tying the laces with quick, jerky movements, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being watched. The twisted spires of the church loomed in my peripheral vision, a constant, ominous presence.

Fully dressed, I got to my feet, brushing bits of damp earth from my knees. The decrepit church loomed before us, its malevolent presence growing even more horrifying the closer we came. Suddenly, a pulse of yellowish-green energy rippled across the cathedral’s weathered stones, causing my stomach to lurch. I stumbled, catching Jaxon’s arm to steady myself as another wave of power surged through the structure.

“Did you see that?” I whispered, my voice hoarse with fear.

Jaxon nodded, his face pale. “It’s as if the tower is...alive.”

The pulsing continued, each throb sending vibrations through the soggy ground beneath our feet. The air grew thick with the smell of ozone and decay, making it difficult to breathe.

My gaze was drawn upward to the church’s former crowning glory—the rose window. A horrified gasp escaped my lips as I took in the grotesque transformation. Where intricate stained glass had once depicted scenes of beauty and divinity, now there was only a mockery of faith.

The window’s center, once a perfect circle symbolizing eternity and wholeness, was now jagged and broken. The shattered edges glinted wickedly in the dim light, each shard leering at us with malicious intent. My heart raced, pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.

From the splintered base of this broken circle, something even more horrifying emerged. Wicked thorns, each as long as my forearm and glistening with an oily sheen, twisted outward in a grotesque spiral. They writhed slowly, hypnotically, vines come to nightmarish life.

I could almost hear them sighing as they moved, an unholy sound that sent shivers down my spine. The thorns dripped with a dark substance—poison? Blood? My parents’ blood? I didn’t want to know.

“It’s a corruption of everything holy,” Jaxon murmured beside me, his voice tight.

I nodded, unable to find words. This twisted version of a rose window was indeed a vile mockery of all things divine. It radiated suffering and pain, its very existence an affront to the sacred purpose the church had once served.

As we stood there, transfixed by the horrifying spectacle, I felt a deep sense of wrongness settle into my bones even as the air around us thickened further, pressing down on us with almost physical force. It was as if the church itself was trying to drive us away—or perhaps lure us in to meet our doom.

With a monumental effort, I tore my gaze away from the nightmarish window. “We have to go in,” I said, my voice shaky but determined. “My parents are in there.”

Jaxon put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently, his touch a small comfort in this place of horrors. “I know,” he said, his jaw clenching as he spoke, his words tinged with a mix of determination and barely concealed fear. “So let’s get them the hell out. I won’t let anything happen to you, Peyton,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, intense murmur that vibrated right through me. “I promise. You can trust me.”

I felt my heart skip a beat at his words and nodded, not trusting my voice to remain steady if I spoke. Instead, I just reached up and placed my hand over his on my shoulder, squeezing back. The contact sent a jolt through me, reminding me that I wasn’t facing this alone.

For a moment we just stood there, drawing strength from each other’s presence. The twisted church loomed before us, its walls still pulsing with that sickly energy, the broken rose window with its thorny vines watching us with malevolent intent.

Then we turned together to face the decrepit entrance, and with a shared nod of determination took our first steps toward the horrors that awaited us within.