Saved by the Spell. House of Magic 2.

by Susanna Shore

  We were given a map and offered a guided tour, which we declined. Calmly, like a pair of tourists, we walked through the gate and down the path that would lead to an underpass to the East Cemetery. Once out of sight of the ticket booth, we paused to read the map.

  “This isn’t at all helpful,” I said, studying it annoyed.

  It listed the most important attractions in the West Cemetery, like the Terrace Catacombs and Egyptian Avenue, and the most notable graves, but the ordinary people weren’t mentioned.

  “How are we supposed to find which way Jack went if we don’t know what grave he’s visiting?”

  “Luckily, the spell tells me where he is,” Kane said.

  He glanced around, but we were the only people there. His mouth pursed in a determined line, he drew a fortifying breath and pulled me flush against his side, wrapping an arm around me.

  My breath caught in surprise. A whiff of his cologne reached my nose, and I felt a flush creep up my spine. Having him hold me so close, so unexpectedly, was truly unnerving and kind of … exhilarating.

  But not as unnerving as what happened next.

  He made a series of gestures with his hands that I’d come to associate with his ward-casting—as opposed to spell work that required chanting and chalk circles. Small hairs in my body shot up as magic wrapped around me more intimately than he did.

  “We are now sort of invisible, but it only lasts for a few moments,” he said in a low voice. “Come on.”

  Not waiting for my answer, he walked me to the gate that led to West Cemetery. He glanced around, but we were still alone. He pulled me close, my back pressing against his chest, his arms wrapped around my torso, and pushed us through the turnstile.

  It was a tight fit, as we had to use the same slot, but we made it. If anyone noticed the stile turn on its own, they didn’t come to investigate.

  “Hurry,” he murmured against my ear, pushing me down the path. The moment we were hidden by the ever-present wilderness, he stopped. With an audible sigh of relief, he pulled away from me.

  I shivered, mostly in cold. Not that the day was chilly.

  “The ward held better than I hoped, even with the two of us,” he said, pleased, impervious to my flustered state. Then he checked the invisible spell tracking Jack and pointed down the path we were on.

  “This way.”

  Jack had a good head start, but the magic pulled Kane to the right direction. The paths didn’t always lead to where he wanted to go though, and a few times we had to consult the map to find the best route.

  In normal conditions, I would have enjoyed the walk in the beautiful cemetery, the wildly growing greenery that filled the space between the tombs and the calming sounds of nature around us. But I barely noticed my surroundings as I hurried next to him, trying to keep up with his long strides.

  And then he abruptly stopped. I ground to a halt, the gravel sliding under my boots.

  “He disappeared.” He swirled around, looking annoyed. “I can’t sense him anywhere.”

  “What does that mean?” I looked around too, as if Jack would somehow be visible to my eyes. “Could he have entered one of the crypts?”

  “I’d still sense him. The spell has a good range. But it can’t find him anymore.”

  “So he hasn’t left the cemetery either?”

  He gestured with his arms. “He must have. With a jet engine, probably,” he huffed, aggravated. “I don’t see how else he could’ve disappeared so fast.”

  I bit my lower lip as I tried to come up with a different explanation. I stiffened when a thought hit me.

  “Or he has noticed the tracking spell and blocked it somehow.”

  Kane’s hair billowed as a sign of his frustrated anger, only to settle down immediately. “No, it’s not possible to block the spell on the fly, even if he has noticed it.”

  I’d imagined Jack wrapping himself in tinfoil, but apparently not.

  “Maybe he realised the spell is there when we broke into his house, and prepared a counter-spell at home?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I guess that’s possible, although mine doesn’t create a pressure on the person being tracked, so he shouldn’t sense it. But why wait until here to activate it?”

  “To lure us away from where he really wants to go?”

  “Or to make sure we’re not there to witness when Blackhart visits him,” he countered.

  “Blast.” I’d walked all this way for nothing.

  He turned and stalked back the way we’d come with long strides. I hurried after him. “Shouldn’t we check the cemetery anyway?”

  He glanced at me but didn’t slow down. “Why? He’s blocked the spell and slipped away. He could be anywhere. We’d best return to his house to see who’ll visit him.”

  It made sense, but I wasn’t convinced.

  “But why would he have chosen here of all places to do so? He could’ve taken the Tube and led us pretty much anywhere on a wild goose chase, and much easier and faster.”

  He paused so abruptly I almost collided with him, and had to steady myself by his upper arm. He was so focused on my rebuttal that he didn’t even notice—or at least didn’t step away from me.

  “You’re right. So why did he come here…?”

  I looked around at the rows of old crypts that rose from the foliage as if they’d grown there, the stone on the walls so worn one couldn’t read the names on them anymore, and the angel and lion statues guarding them. Even in the daylight, the place had interesting atmosphere.

  “Could they have a secret lair here?” I asked.

  His brows shot up. “That’s spooky.”

  “It fits my notion of an evil mage perfectly,” I argued, shuddering. “Okay, how about secret tunnels, then? The hill must be riddled with them.”

  He nodded. “There are the catacombs, but I don’t think they really lead anywhere.”

  “Let’s check them anyway. Maybe Jack’s underground somewhere and that’s why you can’t sense him anymore.”

  He opened his mouth as if to argue, but reconsidered and opened the map to check the fastest route.

  The Terrace Catacombs stood on the highest point of the cemetery in the erstwhile garden of a manor house that had been demolished when the cemetery was built in 1830s. It was a wide and tall wall built into the side of the hill. The façade was limestone, with dozens of iron doors to private crypts side by side, separated by half-columns and other architectural features.

  A wrought iron gate in the middle led into a vaulted brick gallery inside the structure, over eighty yards long. It had recesses on both sides just large enough to hold a coffin, stacked from floor to ceiling like pigeonholes.

  The gate was locked, but that didn’t stop Kane. It opened silently, and closed behind us with a clank. It was cool inside, but not gloomy, as light poured in from the round holes in the ceiling. We walked to the end, but there was nothing there, no hidden doors and no mages hiding in the coffin holes. I could see, because there were no hatches covering the ancient, decaying coffins.

  A shiver ran down my spine.

  We retreated outside, and looked over the cemetery stretching at our feet, but trees blocked most of the view. Jack could be down there and we wouldn’t spot him.

  I studied the terrace structure, the limestone wall, and the private catacombs. “How about one of these?” I suggested, pointing at the iron doors. “Maybe the Palmer family crypt is in one of these.”

  It was a long shot, but this was the only place with potential for an underground tunnel.

  Since the gate was in the middle of the structure, I headed in one direction and Kane to the other, checking each door. Some of the names had disappeared almost completely, but what letters were visible didn’t look like Palmer—or Blackhart either for that matter. I wasn’t ready to give up the idea that he had his lair here.

  I reached the second to last door and paused, my insides turning cold.

  “I think I found it,” I said to Kane, raising my voic
e just a little so that he could hear it at the other end.

  He hurried to me and was soon staring at the door I indicated. “I don’t understand. That’s not Palmer.”

  “No, it’s Sanford. The crypt belongs to Henry’s family.”

  And Ida’s.

  He nodded, understanding. “Do you think Henry is involved after all? Or that Jack is taking advantage of the family’s crypt?”

  I had no idea what I thought, but this couldn’t be a coincidence.

  “Or Blackhart is.”

  He tilted his head in acknowledgement and reached for the handle on the iron plate door.

  A wall of light flashed, bright even in daylight, and a wave of invisible energy bolted him backwards with force.

  He landed on his back several yards away and lay on the lawn, unconscious.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I rushed to him and knelt by his head. “Kane!”

  My heart was beating in fright and my hands were shaking as I reached to feel his pulse. Tears of relief sprang into my eyes when I felt it.

  I patted him lightly on the cheek. “Kane. Archibald.”

  Not even using his given name roused him. I bit my lip, unable to decide what I should do.

  I should call an ambulance, but we were here unauthorised. It would be difficult to explain our presence. And it would be impossible to tell what had happened to him. “Well, you see, there was this magical barrier on the door that repulsed him with such force it stunned him…”

  That would go well.

  I took out my phone and called Giselle. “Are you anywhere near Highgate Cemetery yet?”

  We’d updated her on our location earlier, and she’d promised to come and fetch us.

  “No, I’m still at home. Ashley’s shift drained her completely and she needs watching over.”

  “Shit.”

  My tears began to fall, and I had to swallow to unblock my throat.

  “What’s wrong?”

  It took an effort to speak. “Kane triggered a ward of some sort and now he’s unconscious and I can’t wake him up.”

  “Oh my God. Are you still at the cemetery?”

  “Yes. We found where Jack disappeared to, and were about to follow, when Kane triggered the ward.”

  He’d been so careful checking the wards in Jack’s flat. Why hadn’t he done so here? Then another thought hit.

  “What if Jack returns and finds us here?” I was defenceless without magic. “What if Blackhart finds us here? He could hurt Kane. Or worse…”

  It was such a frightening idea that it dried my tears. I looked frantically around for a place to hide us in, but the only suitable place close enough I could access was the catacomb gallery. If we went deep enough down it we wouldn’t be spotted from the outside.

  “I’ll have to move him to a shelter. Can you get here, fast?”

  “I’ll come as soon as I can,” Giselle promised, ending the call before I remembered to tell her that she’d have to use magical stealth because the place wasn’t open.

  She’d figure it out.

  I rushed to open the gate that Kane luckily had left unlocked after our brief visit. Returning to him, I tried to revive him once more, but there was no reaction.

  I was beginning to worry in earnest. The longer he was unconscious, the more severe the trauma.

  I slipped a hand behind his neck and felt the back of his head. There was no blood, and I couldn’t feel a lump even, so it wasn’t a blow to his head that kept him unconscious. It had to be the ward that caused this.

  I considered his prone body, trying to figure out the best way to move him. He was tall and slim, but with defined muscles. He was probably heavy.

  But I had to move him, so I took a hold under his arms and began to drag him. I couldn’t help remembering the times I’d had to move my old flatmate Nick every time he’d passed out somewhere—like in the shower.

  At least Kane was fully clothed. More’s the pity.

  It turned out that a naked man on a wet tile floor was much easier to move than a besuited man on grass and gravel. Inch by slow inch I dragged him towards the crypt. My back soon ached, the bent position not exactly ergonomic, and the muscles in my thighs burned.

  It was only forty yards, but it felt endless. By the time I reached the catacomb, I was sweaty and breathless. The moment I deemed we were deep enough into the gallery, I placed him carefully down and collapsed next to him, panting in exhaustion.

  His phone rang and I shrieked, the sound echoing in the vaults. Most embarrassing.

  With shaking hands, I dug into the inside breast pocket of his suit in case it was a client trying to reach him. And why hadn’t he kept the phone switched off anyway? We were on a stealth mission.

  When I saw who it was, I wish I hadn’t bothered.

  Danielle.

  I considered briefly not answering, but she could have vital information about Blackhart that would help us find Rupert.

  But since it wasn’t a video call, I decided to pretend I didn’t know who was calling. “Kane’s Art and Antiques, Phoebe Thorpe speaking.”

  “Why are you answering Archie’s phone?” Danielle asked archly.

  “I’m sorry, who is this?”

  I could swear she was growling, and I thought it best not to aggravate her further.

  “Danielle? Are you calling about Blackhart?”

  “I’m only speaking with Archie.”

  I glanced at the unconscious figure next to me, spreadeagled on the floor, his suit coat rumpled and likely ruined. “I’m afraid it’s not possible right now.”

  “Look, girl, I don’t know who you are, and what you think you mean to Archibald, but you will not stop me from speaking with him.”

  Bitch.

  “You’ll have to wait for him to become available, then.”

  “Is he in the loo?” she asked in a fed-up tone like only a wife could. Or an ex-wife.

  “No, he’s unconscious.”

  I don’t know why I said it, but it had the satisfying effect of silencing her. Completely. I don’t know if she’d ever been that speechless before. I had to check the phone display to see that the call was still connected.

  “Tell me what happened,” she finally demanded, but her voice lacked the angry strength of earlier.

  I wasn’t cruel enough to keep her in the dark. “We tracked Jack to what we think is Blackhart’s hiding place and he was dumb enough not to check the door for wards first.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Why?”

  “Where?” she demanded, more forcefully. I rolled my eyes, but answered.

  “In the Terrace Catacombs of Highgate Cemetery.”

  “Show me.”

  I resented being given such curt orders, but I opened the video display and showed her around, including Kane’s still figure on the floor. Her mouth tightened into a line, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Don’t move.”

  As if I had energy to do anything but sit on the dirty floor.

  She ended the call without a word, and I rolled my eyes again. It was either that or start crying.

  I’d barely put Kane’s phone back in his pocket, when deeper into the gallery the air began to shimmer, like a mirage that reached from floor to ceiling.

  At first, I thought my tired eyes were deceiving me, but in a few heartbeats the gallery disappeared completely, revealing a room with bland walls and no furniture.

  A portal!

  Before my horrified gaze, Laurent Dufort stepped out, followed by Danielle.

  I threw myself over Kane, as if that would help against magic. “You will not harm him!” I shrieked, fear making my voice reedy.

  The portal disappeared, and Dufort sneered, amused, but to my frightened eyes it seemed sinister. “Relax, we’re here to help.”

  It sounded charming in is French accent, but I wasn’t about to let my guard down. “You’re not touching him. I know what you are, warlock.”

  I spat the last
word with as much venom as I could. Danielle huffed and stepped closer. I threw my hand up, palm towards her. “You’re not any better. You tried to kill me.”

  “And you cursed me,” she countered.

  “You cursed me first.”

  Dufort held his hands up in a calming fashion. “Ladies, why don’t we concentrate on the essential. Monsieur Kane has been injured by a ward, non?”

  I shot him a wary look, not about to let my guard down just because he sounded reasonable. “I don’t know what it was. It’s on the crypt door left from the gate, the one that says Sanford.”

  He nodded and headed out of the gate. Danielle crouched on the other side of Kane, but wisely didn’t touch him. “How long has he been unconscious?”

  “Maybe fifteen minutes.” In truth, I had no idea, but it had taken a while to drag him here.

  “What happened to his clothes?” she asked, appalled. She knew as well as I did how fastidious he was about his looks.

  “I had to drag him here, didn’t I, in case Blackhart arrived and attacked him.” I sounded defensive, even though it was a perfectly valid reason.

  She sneered. “Pity you’re not one of us. There’s a handy levitation spell for moving heavy objects.”

  Her tone indicated that I was vastly inferior creature, but before I managed a suitable response, Dufort returned.

  “That was a nasty ward on the door. Black magic, almost warlock quality. Lucky I was here, or you would’ve needed the blood of the caster to take them down. Or the caster himself.”

  My stomach lurched. “Has Blackhart crossed that line?” I asked Danielle, who shrugged.

  “He hadn’t a month ago.”

  A lot could happen in a month, especially if your grand scheme of taking over the world by using unsuspecting humans had been spoiled.

  “He hasn’t … killed Rupert, has he?”

  “He’d have done it at his home, not dragged him around London,” she said, sounding impatient. “Besides, the sacrifice doesn’t have to be a powerful person for him to cross the line.”

  “You would know…”

  Her eyes flashed in anger, but before she could retaliate, Dufort spoke: “Monsieur Kane’s state is caused by the ward, and you cannot wake him up by ordinary means. You need my help.”