The Black Fortress

by E. G. Foley

  “You don’t want to challenge me, vampire. Cut the act,” Wyvern said coldly. “I know full well you’ve been working against me for months. I should’ve killed you already for your treachery. But I had a feeling you might still be useful. I am here because I have decided to give you one last chance to redeem yourself. Join me or die.”

  Janos laughed in his face. “So dramatic!”

  Wyvern knitted his eyebrows with a warning glare. “That is the choice before you. Don’t squander it, or you may soon find yourself tied up outside to greet the sunrise—”

  “Now, now, there is no need for ugly threats,” Janos said, intrigued.

  It sounded like the Nephilim genuinely needed his help. Well, that could be interesting.

  “Very well, I’m listening. What exactly do you want from me, Wyvern?”

  “Information. That is all.”

  “Oh really?”

  “You will come with me to the Black Fortress and assist until I have secured the boy in my possession. Deliver Jake into my hands. Then I’ll consider us even.”

  There was no way in the nine circles of Hell that Janos would ever do that. But he played it close to the vest. He was no fool.

  “Tall order,” he said, taking another subtle scan of the earl’s mind to try and figure out why Wyvern wanted Jake.

  It was no use. Wyvern’s mind was locked down as tight as the Black Fortress.

  Janos kept to his idle demeanor. “Jake might be just a kid, but this kid happens to be a doubler. Telekinesis from his sire, the ghost-sight from his dam.”

  “I’m well aware.”

  “Not bad with a blade, either,” Janos said. “You might’ve captured his animal defender, but he’s still got the whole Order protecting him—not to mention the Elder witch, his aunt, Ramona Bradford. Why do you want him, anyway? What makes him so important?”

  “That is none of your concern.”

  “I’m not going to help you kill him, obviously.”

  “No one’s going to hurt him.”

  “I see.” The way Wyvern said it, Janos oddly believed him. He narrowed his eyes. “Is this for one of Zolond’s ungodly experiments?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Well?”

  “You are in no position to be asking questions, Janos. You will help me, or you will pay with the greatest torment that I can inflict.”

  “Indeed?” he asked with a laugh.

  Wyvern nodded slowly. “For, you see, I already know your weakness, vampire.”

  “What, sunlight?” Janos taunted. “I’m so impressed you figured that out.”

  “No, dear prince. The other one,” Wyvern said softly.

  “If you say garlic, I shall lose all respect for you. Honestly, Wyvern—”

  “I mean Isabelle Bradford.”

  Janos’s mocking smile faded away.

  CHAPTER 10

  The Trouble with Shapeshifters

  “Where did you go?” Dani exclaimed when Jake returned to the harvest feast.

  Passing by their table on his way to the buffet, he saw the others had already loaded up their plates and sat down.

  “Derek needed me for something,” Jake answered with a casual smile.

  Best to keep it vague.

  Unfortunately, Dani knew him too well. She furrowed her brow, immediately suspicious.

  Hmm. Maybe keeping Derek’s secret from the others wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought. Not for the world would he ruin the big man’s surprise.

  When Isabelle looked up from her plate and fixed him a penetrating gaze, Jake quickly moved on. Blimey, the empath would guess right away that he was hiding something.

  He hooked a thumb toward the buffet. “Gonna go get some food.”

  “Good!” Dani said pertly. “You need it.”

  “Say, coz, bring me another of these lovely dinner rolls, would you?” Archie called after him, holding up a fluffy golden bun.

  Jake nodded, amused. “Anything for you, coz.”

  Archie grinned back and took another bite of ham.

  Heading over to join the long line for the buffet, Jake crossed paths with no less important personages than some of the Elders.

  First, there was Aunt Ramona’s friend, Dame Oriel, the Elder representing the clairvoyants.

  A handsome older lady, Dame Oriel was a free spirit. She wore a loose, flowing gown with a peacock-feather pattern in rich greens and blues, but her most recognizable feature was her short-cropped, oddly colored hair.

  During their visit to Merlin Hall last April, for example, Oriel’s hair had been pinkish lavender to celebrate the spring. It was probably gray, left to its own devices. But she was far too creative for that. Now that autumn had come, she had dyed it a deep berry tone to harmonize with the changing leaves.

  Somehow, she seemed to carry it off.

  Though she was speaking to other adults, Oriel smiled at Jake when he passed. He sketched a bow in answer, but did not interrupt.

  Dame Oriel knew Jake, not just because he was Aunt Ramona’s great-great nephew, but because she had conducted his mediumship Assessment the last time they were here, publicly testing his ability to see and speak with ghosts.

  Thankfully, he had passed.

  His stomach starting to rumble with all the delicious smells in the air, Jake got in the shorter of the two lines inching up both sides of the buffet. Two columns of diners flanked the spread on either side, helping themselves to the dishes on offer.

  The line moved slowly, so Jake entertained himself by watching Dame Oriel introduce various guests to Master Balinor, the head Elder of the Order.

  An ancient wizard with grand robes and cottony white hair, Balinor was one of the few sorcerers who still wore the traditional pointy hat.

  Secretly, Jake thought he was a funny old thing.

  He’d heard that Balinor sometimes fell asleep during meetings of the Elders.

  Not that anyone seemed to mind.

  Sir Peter was always there to smooth things over and pick up the slack. For while Balinor was ostensibly the chief of the Order, he was really just a figurehead, at his great age.

  Sir Peter and his wife, Jillian, took care of the day-to-day running of Merlin Hall, while each of the other Elders oversaw matters in their respective fields of expertise: healers, psychics, Guardians, and so on. This left Balinor free to do whatever it was the old man did every day.

  Jake had no idea what that might be. All he knew was that the dotty old wizard had accidentally let the secret slip weeks ago about how Jake had killed Garnock. Aunt Ramona had wanted the story kept under wraps.

  But, thanks to one of Master Balinor’s absentminded moments, now half the bloody Order knew.

  As the line inched forward, Jake watched the elderly wizard interacting with guests from all of the magical realms.

  Personally, this was the closest he had ever stood to the leader of the Order, and he wasn’t sure he was too impressed.

  The aged sorcerer had a faraway quality and seemed a little deaf, greeting one visitor after another as Dame Oriel introduced them. People had to yell for him to hear, especially in the clamor of the huge ballroom.

  “Oh, yes, yes, very good,” he’d say to each one, probably not hearing a word. “Welcome to Merlin Hall. And enjoy the feast…”

  The owl on Balinor’s shoulder, now, that was a far more imposing figure, in Jake’s view.

  He did not know what sort of owl it was, but it was a kingly creature, big and strong-looking, with white and brown plumage. Its leathery orange talons gripped the wizard’s frail shoulder like a perch.

  Master Balinor almost always had that owl on his shoulder, like a pirate might carry around his pet parrot. Jake figured it must be his familiar. Most witches and wizards seemed to have one.

  The magnificent bird of prey seemed very intelligent, studying each guest who shook Balinor’s bony hand. Jake loved how it could swivel its head all the way around backward.

  But the owl’s fierc
e golden eyes reminded him of Red’s eagle half, and another pang of missing his Gryphon clutched Jake’s heart.

  He still felt it was wrong to be having a party at such a time as this. But, with a sigh, he continued moving with the double line.

  At last, he reached the starting point of the buffet, where he collected a plate and a roll of silverware. His stomach began grumbling insistently. But when he looked up to assess his first food choices, his mood immediately soured.

  Directly across the buffet table from him, the Elder in charge of the shapeshifters was assembling his plate.

  Lord Badgerton.

  Jake dropped his gaze and hoped to avoid the unpleasant fellow’s notice. He knew full well that Lord Badgerton disliked him, though he wasn’t sure why.

  Well, as rude as the shapeshifter lord often was to him and his friends—to say nothing of Badgerton’s obnoxious niece and nephews, the skunkies—the feeling was mutual.

  The man seemed to have a real problem with Jake’s past as a pickpocket. He also resented what he called Aunt Ramona’s “favoritism” toward Jake.

  Boris, Lord Badgerton, was a stocky, self-important little man with a dark mustache and beady eyes. Bushy brown sideburns with a white streak flanked his ruddy cheeks, and a potbelly mounded out from his middle.

  Everybody knew how he marched around the palace in a state of self-righteous belligerence, taking offense where none was intended, and accusing people of not paying him the honor due his rank as an Elder.

  Badgerton constantly complained that nobody gave shapeshifters the respect they deserved. But if the chap wanted people to admire him, he could’ve started by at least washing the dirt out from underneath his fingernails once in a while. They were filthy.

  It was really quite disgusting.

  Dani had been the first to notice. She had nudged Jake one day when they’d seen Lord Badgerton in the great library of Merlin Hall, where he had been scolding one of the elf librarians for daring to remind him that his book was overdue.

  “Do you know who I am? I am an Elder, for your information! If I need a few more days to read this blasted book, who are you to tell me otherwise?”

  Badgerton had tapped the overdue book with a filthy claw of a finger, and Dani had gagged, her gaze homing in on it.

  “I want to speak to your superior!”

  When the head brownie librarian had come out to see what was the matter, Jake and Dani had gone back to their study table, laughing and cringing at how gross Badgerton’s fingernails were.

  The aggressive little man had glanced over and glared at them, as if he sensed they were mocking him. But, really, an Elder ought to know enough to wash his blasted hands now and then.

  Presently, Jake sneaked a glance across the buffet and saw that the shapeshifter’s claws were still as dirty as ever. It nearly made him lose what little appetite he’d mustered.

  Instead, he resolved not to look over at those dirty paws again, but he made sure to serve himself from the platters Lord Badgerton had not yet touched.

  There were certainly plenty of choices.

  A parade of tempting platters stretched down the endless buffet: roasted pheasant, turkey with stuffing, smoked venison and ham, pigeon potpies and Yorkshire puddings, roasted root vegetables, mashed potatoes with gravy, and a huge silver urn of squash soup.

  Baskets brimmed with muffins, flaky rolls like the one Archie had asked for, and fresh-baked breads of all kinds. Nearby, the sweets table glistened with a dizzying array of sugarcoated treats: apple tarts, pear pies, almond torts and caramel custards; there were cheesecakes with berries, and towering striped trifles.

  But Jake spotted his main quarry of the night up ahead: the roly-poly pudding.

  His mouth watered, and he was glad to see that there was plenty left. He wondered if Aunt Ramona or even Dani had had something to do with his favorite dish being offered tonight.

  Badgerton was helping himself to a scoop of mashed potatoes when he glanced across the buffet at Jake.

  Jake happened to make eye contact, so he nodded respectfully.

  Lord Badgerton seemed satisfied with that.

  Relieved, Jake minded his own business, and the line moved along. Alas, when Badgerton set the spoon for the mashed potatoes down, Jake accidentally glanced at his nails. Ugh.

  Just when he’d recovered from that bit of unpleasantness, things got worse when Badgerton’s niece and two nephews arrived.

  Naturally, the skunkies cut the line. Jostling and elbowing their way up to the buffet table, Prue, Charlie, and Welton crowded around their uncle, bringing their empty plates with them.

  They must’ve snatched them on the end, reaching in between other people and doing whatever they pleased, as usual. Now they clustered around Lord Badgerton, whining at him so they wouldn’t have to wait in line like everybody else.

  “Please, please, let us stay here with you, Uncle Boris!”

  “We’re starving!”

  “Children, other people are waiting,” Badgerton said halfheartedly.

  “But you’re an Elder and we’re your favorite relatives!”

  “We’re really hungry!”

  “Oh dear, such pranksters…” Badgerton sent the centaur couple behind him in the line an insipid smile of insincere apology.

  The centaurs looked indignant, but Badgerton clearly had no intention of sending his darling skunkies away. “Oh, very well, you may go in front of me.”

  And so the brats weaseled into line ahead of everyone else on that side of the buffet. The centaur lady swished her tail with disapproval, but nobody complained.

  Jake heaved a sigh at their typical obnoxiousness but vowed to ignore them, focused on the roly-poly pudding. As soon as he got a couple of slices of that good stuff on his plate, he was out of here. Then he could finally enjoy spending some time with his friends.

  Especially Dani. He’d kept the poor girl waiting around enough tonight. He was lucky she was so patient.

  “Oh look,” he heard Prue say. “It’s Jake Everton. Hello, Jake!”

  He knew they had seen him on the other side of the buffet, though he was a little ahead of their party.

  Jake looked over slowly, suspicious of her friendly tone.

  All three skunkies were staring at him with their beady, dark eyes.

  Charlie Badgerton was the largest of the triplets, a husky, moon-faced boy with a bad haircut. Jake noted that Charlie had had a growth spurt since the last time he’d seen them in May, and appeared to have gained an attitude to go with it.

  Welton was the runt of the litter, a wiry, bespectacled boy with a big nose, slightly bucked teeth, and a nervous giggle. He usually acted as the follower of the other two. Basically just a coward.

  But Prue, a sturdy, black-haired girl, was the smartest—or rather, the most devious—of the three. She was usually the ringleader of their mischief.

  “We’re so sorry to hear about your Gryphon, Jake,” she simpered.

  Now he was even more suspicious. They were never nice to him.

  “Thanks,” Jake said slowly.

  “Sure.” Then Prue cast him a fluttery smile from across the buffet and tucked her hair behind her ear, and Jake’s heart sank.

  He was certainly old enough by now to tell when a girl was acting weird around him—and what it usually meant.

  Oh great. He gritted his teeth, gave her a polite look, but very pointedly turned away, minding his own business. Not. Interested.

  Prue was silent, but Jake could hear her brothers jeering at him under their breath. He ignored it. There was no point answering those idiots, especially here, surrounded by adults, let alone Elders. Because he knew full well who would get the blame for any sort of disturbance: Jake Everton, of course.

  Happened every time, like clockwork, whether he deserved it or not.

  Plus, the skunkies had a special talent for weaseling out of trouble, and Jake didn’t need any more of that than he already had.

  The line moved on, and J
ake decided to try the ham. It looked juicy. As he reached for it, he heard the skunkies start taunting him on the subject of Dani O’Dell.

  “Hey, Jake, where’s Spot?” Charlie goaded him.

  The trio called Dani that on account of her freckles. So mature.

  “Yeah, where’s your sweetheart?” Welton chimed in.

  “She’s not his sweetheart,” Prue snapped at her brothers. “She can’t be. She’s just a commoner, and he’s an earl.” She rolled her eyes, then gave Jake another helpful smile.

  “Aw, poor Spot!” Charlie said, then guffawed at his own cleverness.

  Jake set down the serving fork for the ham. “Her name is Daniela Catherine O’Dell. Miss O’Dell to you. And, yeah, maybe she is my sweetheart. What of it?”

  Prue narrowed her eyes, but Welton gave a haughty sniff.

  “O’Dell? Ew, Irish. Why are they always O’Something? O’Malley, O’Murphy—”

  “O’Leprechaun!” Charlie boomed.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon!” cried an actual leprechaun farther down the line.

  The triplets stifled a burst of laughter and sent the green-clad fellow simpering looks of contrition.

  “Sooorry,” they chimed together in a snide little singsong.

  “No offense,” Welton added, elbowing Charlie.

  “Humph.” The dwarf-sized leprechaun scowled at them, but the much taller centaur lady turned her head and glared at the children, stamping her hoof as though warning them to show better behavior.

  Lord Badgerton was oblivious to the skunkies’ antics, as usual. He had turned away to talk to some dignitary who was not in the line, but just passing by.

  Feeling the disapproval of the other adults around them, the skunkies simmered down for about thirty whole seconds.

  Then Charlie muttered to his siblings, “I’ll bet his Gryphon ran off just to get away from him.”

  Jake sent the largest boy a daggered glance.

  “Oh, he didn’t like that!” Welton snickered, elbowing his brother. “Gryphons are stupid anyway. I mean, whoever thought of such a dumb animal? An eagle’s head on a lion’s body? It doesn’t even make any sense.”