Crawford, Oregon

Chapter Seven: Let's Get Fired Up

"Okay, would somebody like to tell me what the hell is going on?" asked Mike.

"Why don't you ask Jim?" countered Ronnie. "If anybody knows what's going on here, it's him."

A stark silence consumed the crypt as Ronnie and Mike each snapped their heads towards me. However, while Mike's eyes were filled with genuine confusion, Ronnie's were riddled with anger and contempt. And for good reason.

She'd done everything in her power to remove The Dagger of St. Dimitri from its bony sheath, only to fail with each and every attempt. Then, just seconds later, I swooped in and snatched it away without a hitch. And, as if that wasn't enough, the dagger decided to put on some kind of supernatural light show once it was in my hand, almost like it wanted to rub it in Ronnie's face. Needless to say, I didn't blame her for being a little upset with me. Unfortunately, while I wanted nothing more than to explain myself to her and Mike, I had no explanation to offer.

"I don't know anything," I said.

"Oh, really?" Ronnie pointed to the dagger, which was still gripped in my hand. "Because ten seconds ago, that thing was lit up like a Christmas tree. But now, you're just gonna play dumb?"

"I'm not playing," I replied. "Honestly, I don't know what happened. One minute, I'm trying to break the dagger loose. Next thing I know, it's in my hand and glowing."

Mike raised an eyebrow and asked, "Why was it glowing?"

"I don't know. And, frankly, I don't care. You guys are missing the point here." I held up the sparkling dagger for everyone to see. "We did it. We got the dagger. And now, Ronnie can use it to kill Trilathgor."

"Great. So, hand it over," she declared.

Ronnie held out her palm. And, just as she requested, I placed The Dagger of St. Dimitri in her hand. However, the instant its bronze hilt touched her skin, it burned her. The dagger sizzled against her palm, causing Ronnie to wince as she dropped it to the floor.

"Son of a bitch!" she exclaimed. As she waved her burnt hand back and forth, she glared coldly at the dagger below. "What the hell was that?"

"It looks like some kind of self-defense enchantment," answered Mike. He crouched down beside the dagger and tapped the blade with his finger, only to have it burn him on the spot. He retracted his hand and added, "And a strong one at that."

I said, "Well, I guess that makes sense, right? I mean, Dimitri did say that he put one last spell on the dagger."

"What spell?" asked Mike. "What are you talking about?"

"It was written on Dimitri's coffin," I explained. "He put a spell on the dagger so that it wouldn't fall into the wrong hands after he died."

"What kind of spell?"

"I don't know. Just some spell that's supposed to protect the dagger."

"Protect it how? What did it say specifically?"

"It said that the dagger can only be wielded by a hero of pure heart."

Upon hearing this, Mike froze like a statue. With his eyebrow raised, he slowly titled his head towards the dagger on the floor. However, the longer he stared at it, the more his heart began to race. It pounded over and over again like a deafening drum inside his chest. But, just when it sounded like his heart was about to give out, he snapped his wide eyes towards me.