I hope someday there will be a 'Two.' Meanwhile:
Writing prompt for January 24, 2015: Write a scene that starts with the line, "There's a ghost in this house."
“There’s a ghost in this house,” Chancey whispered, a mock-quiver in his voice.
Wynn didn’t even smile at the pun as he opened the large door from inside the ancient chateau. He stepped aside and ushered the other two across the stone threshold.
“Get it?” Daimon chuckled and elbowed Wynn as he passed. “A ghost? Good one Chance.”
“Don’t be an ass.” Wynn ignored them both and moved further into the foyer, intent on his goal. “The cellar should be this way.”
Once known for its violent hauntings, Chateau de Reims had been put on the Astraelles’ radar until any hint of ethereal clogging had been removed. No, ghosts didn’t reside here any longer. But legend said there was still wine.
Very old wine.
Hopefully old enough to tempt a zealot king.
Wynn didn’t slow til he’d hit the stairway at rear of the chateau leading down. He rested his hand against the stone wall and sighed, letting the earth’s power slowly seep through into his palm. He was tired. And he missed Aimee.
“Back of the kitchen,” Wynn hollered up the stairs.
He heard Daimon and Chancey’s boots redirect overhead and the sounds of their banter echoing closer. The bouncing beam of Chancey’s flashlight skimmed past the cellar door, then moved back.
“Here we are.” Chancey grinned down at Wynn. He shouldered his pick axe again and beckoned to Daimon. “Hell henchmen first.”
Daimon spun the handle of his sledge hammer and bowed, then turned down the steps after Wynn. Finding the bricked up chiller room was easy enough. Smashing through the wall without damaging bottles on the other side was another matter.
“That’s good,” Wynn said when they’d made a hole the size of a head, kicking debris aside. “We don’t need to take the entire thing down. I’ll just trace in and hand you a bottle of whatever I find.”
Chancey pointed his flashlight through and a ray of light gleamed off row upon row of dusty bottles.
Daimon whistled. “Looks like we hit the winepot.”
“We’ll just take one,” Wynn said, laying a bottle into the hole.
The glass rang low on the stone as Chancey slid it through. He focused his flashlight to find a marking or label, rubbing at the dust with his thumb. Wynn reappeared behind him and leaned over his shoulder.
Daimon looked skeptical. “You sure this'll work? Maybe we should bring the big guy more.”
“No.” Wynn shook his head. The zealot king still negotiated by old-world rules—a hand for a hand, an eye for an eye. “That would make him suspicious. All we need is this. One bottle of aged wine for one bottle of aged djinn.”