The Black Fortress

by E. G. Foley

  The centaur lady looked truly offended now—for obvious reasons. Her husband looked over, too.

  “You shut your mouth about Red,” Jake warned as he gripped his tray to keep his wonky telekinesis under wraps.

  “Oho! Is that a threat?” Charlie said with a belligerent laugh.

  “Sounded like one,” Welton chimed in.

  “What are you gonna do about it, Griffon?” Charlie whispered from across a tub of squash casserole and roasted carrots.

  “Ooooh, maybe he’ll kill us like he killed Garnock the Sorcerer!” Welton said with a sneer. “The great boy hero! We’re all so impressed.”

  “Right,” Charlie agreed. “Except now, if there’s a war, everybody knows it’ll be all Jake’s fault. He’s the one who started it. Broke that truce with the Dark Druids—”

  “Shut up, you two!” Prue snapped. “Leave him alone.”

  Jake pressed his lips together to silence himself. He did not need some girl defending him. But oh, there was so much he wanted to say. His heart pounded with anger, and guilt squeezed his innards, because, of course, there was truth to the accusation.

  What was I supposed to do? he wanted to yell back. Let that evil ghost bring himself back to life?

  Trust me, you wouldn’t have wanted to deal with the founder of the Dark Druids returning in the flesh to wreak havoc among the living. I stopped that from happening.

  And if the Dark Druids don’t like it, too bad!

  But this was not the time or place for a confrontation with these idiots. He was embarrassed, though, because a few people in line around them had heard their accusations.

  And probably agreed.

  At least he’d finally reached the stupid roly-poly pudding. He didn’t even care about it anymore, but since it was now right in front of him, he reached sullenly for the serving tongs.

  It was then that a cherry tomato hit him in the cheek.

  Startled, he jerked his head toward the skunkies, then angrily pointed a finger at them. “Don’t mess with me—”

  Unfortunately, his wonky telekinesis misfired just as Lord Badgerton turned back toward the line, having finished his chat with the dignitary.

  To Jake’s horror, the tiny bolt of lightning-like energy that accidentally flew out of his fingertip knocked Lord Badgerton’s plate onto his chest and splattered food all over his chubby face.

  Even the skunkies gasped with shock.

  Jake stared at the shapeshifting Elder, frozen.

  Lord Badgerton just stood there for a heartbeat, blinking, unsure what had just happened.

  The entire line had gone silent, along with a good portion of the nearby ballroom. Folk of every species stopped and stared, open-mouthed, at the portly badger man wearing his supper.

  “I’m so sorry!” Jake gasped out.

  Henry DuVal appeared out of nowhere by Badgerton’s side, rushing over to hand him a dinner napkin.

  Glowering, Lord Badgerton reached up and wiped mashed potatoes out of his eyes. But through the food all over his face, his fury was evident.

  “Ramona!” he bellowed in a rising crescendo, snatching the offered napkin out of Henry’s hand.

  “Boris!” the Elder witch said in astonishment.

  Jake hadn’t realized that Aunt Ramona was standing a few feet behind him, chitchatting with visitors. When he glanced over his shoulder at her, he had never seen her looking so shocked.

  “I’ve had it with this little monster of yours!” Badgerton declared, passing the napkin over his chubby face in a quick swipe. “Look what he just did!” Bits of mushroom stuffing clung to his bushy sideburns. “This boy is totally out of control!”

  “I-it was an accident, sir!” Jake stammered, bewildered at how such a mishap could’ve happened. “My apologies!”

  “Boris.” Aunt Ramona glided over to the buffet. People cleared out of her path. “Jacob didn’t mean it. His gift is a little off these days because he has been so upset.” She took out her wand. “Here, let me—”

  “Hang your magic!” Badgerton roared at the Elder witch.

  Aunt Ramona stiffened, and Jake frowned.

  “There’s no need to take it out on her, my lord,” Jake said. “It was my fault. I already said I was sorry.”

  “You should be!” Badgerton boomed at him. “You’re a walking menace, Jacob Everton! It would’ve been better if you’d never have been found!”

  “Boris, that is quite enough,” Aunt Ramona said, lifting her chin.

  The skunkies looked on, wide-eyed, at what they had started. Not just trouble with Jake, but a row between two Elders.

  “Well, it’s true.” Badgerton flicked a morsel of bacon off his eyebrow. “That boy may have started a war! We’ll be lucky if your precious nephew doesn’t get us all killed—including his blasted Gryphon.”

  Shocked at his cruelty, Jake drew breath to tell Badgerton to leave Red out of this, but Aunt Ramona’s bony hand clamped down on his shoulder.

  “Jacob, go to your room,” she said calmly. You’ve done enough damage for one night, her sidelong glance seemed to say, and Jake deflated.

  He knew that she didn’t mean it as a punishment, but to protect him, same as always. Protect him from himself, this time. Lord, he could not imagine how much of a burden he must be to everyone.

  To her. To Derek. To all of them. Cleaning up the messes that he made. No wonder they hadn’t picked him for the Lightrider program yet.

  Still determined to be chosen one day so he could follow in his parents’ footsteps, Jake reached deep down inside and swallowed his pride to try to smooth things over as best he could.

  In such situations, his best course was always to imitate Archie. His amiable cousin might be an absent-minded genius, but no one could argue that the Honorable Dr. Archimedes Bradford was anything short of a perfect English gentleman.

  Jake set down his plate, giving up on the roly-poly pudding.

  “Ahem. Sir,” he said in a loud voice so that everyone could hear, “my deepest apologies.” Then he bowed his head, just like Henry had taught him, showing the utmost respect.

  “Humph,” said Badgerton, still wiping himself off.

  At least one shapeshifter present looked impressed. Beside the offended Elder, Henry sent Jake a sympathetic glance.

  At least the boys’ tutor could see for himself that Jake had done his best to make amends, for all the good it did him.

  Badgerton hadn’t liked him to begin with. Now Jake was fairly sure he’d made an enemy for life.

  Never mind that it really was an accident—and the man’s own precious skunkies had started it. Jake did not lower himself to point out either fact.

  Instead, he pivoted and abandoned the buffet, striding out of the ballroom with as much dignity as he could maintain.

  At least Lord Badgerton wasn’t the only one humiliated now.

  But, somehow, Jake kept his spine straight, his chin high as he stalked across the ballroom, heading for the lobby.

  His friends were on their feet at their table, looking dazed and bewildered. They stared at him, slack-jawed, as he passed.

  Dani started to come after him, but Jake shook his head, refusing to taint her with guilt by association.

  Besides, furious and mortified, he just wanted to be alone. The entire ballroom was staring at him. His skin prickled with the sensation of a thousand eyes studying him.

  He couldn’t wait to escape.

  CHAPTER 11

  The Underminer

  Back at the buffet, Boris, Lord Badgerton, handed off his plate and food-smeared napkin to a passing waiter. The devil take this meal—this whole party!

  For his part, he had lost his blasted appetite.

  “Enjoy your supper, children. I’m going to get cleaned up,” he muttered, giving the skunkies a look to inform them that Uncle Boris knew full well they were the ones who’d started it.

  One wasn’t chosen to represent one’s entire species on the council of Elders by being a fool, after all
.

  But, as irked as he was by his clash with the Griffon lad and his holier-than-thou aunt, Badgerton was glad for an excuse to leave the harvest feast. He told himself he found these official celebrations deadly dull. He was sick of all these people, putting on their haughty airs.

  Most unnerving of all, however, Balinor’s hideous bird of prey would not stop staring at him. The thing sent chills down his spine.

  Boris Badgerton had a horror of owls.

  Those sharp, curved beaks. Those all-seeing eyes that could penetrate the darkness as easily as the light.

  And gads, those claws! Deadly to rodents and weasels and other small, scurrying things.

  Even now, he could swear that the feathered assassin sitting on the old wizard’s shoulder was studying him. As if it could see through him. Read his innermost thoughts.

  Penetrate his secrets…

  Fixed in the unblinking stare of those ominous golden eyes, Badgerton shuddered and looked away with a gulp, then he shooed Henry DuVal aside.

  The gentlemanly chap meant well, to be sure, trying to cover for his miscreant pupil, but Badgerton was not fond of shifters who could turn into wolves or leopards or anything else that could eat his kind in nature.

  Birds of prey especially gave him the chills—owls most of all, for they were the only natural predator of skunks.

  Owls would scoop skunks right up off the forest floor and eat them alive.

  Especially young ones.

  “Behave yourselves,” he warned his niece and nephews before huffing off to go and clean himself up.

  He ignored the stares as he left the ballroom, still festering over what had happened.

  He knew the skunkies were frequently naughty, but he couldn’t help but indulge them. They were the dearest people in all the world to him. Such clever children! They were his pride and joy.

  Aged eleven, they were sprightly and smart (even if their teachers didn’t think so). In short, he was a doting uncle and found his sister’s three young cubs adorable.

  Which was why he could not let anything happen to them.

  Suffice to say that after Lord Wyvern’s recent demonstration, Badgerton’s dread of owls had increased tenfold.

  At least the children didn’t remember anything about their brush with doom, for Wyvern had put the skunkies into a deep, magical sleep.

  But Badgerton remembered. Oh yes, every terrifying detail. Egads. He gulped at the memory.

  Wyvern’s monstrous owl had stood nearly six feet tall—an ordinary woodland owl upon whom the Nephilim warlock had cast a Grow spell.

  At that moment, the horned owl on Balinor’s shoulder swiveled its head all the way around and looked at him just before he stepped out of the ballroom.

  Badgerton nearly shrieked.

  But the owl’s pitiless stare brought his task back, front and center, in his mind. Wyvern had given him a job to do, and Badgerton knew the price if he failed to complete it.

  His darling skunkies would become a midnight snack for the Nephilim’s feathered monstrosity. He gulped.

  Better get to work.

  Badgerton had no desire to return to the party, anyway. In fact, now was the perfect time to resume his labors, while everyone was distracted at the feast.

  With that, he scampered out of the ballroom. Heart pounding, he pattered across the marble lobby, and then hurried up the grand stairs.

  Speeding to his suite in the Elders’ exclusive wing of the guest block, Badgerton glanced around furtively, glad to see the hallways up here were empty.

  Everyone was down at the celebration.

  A few minutes later, he ducked into his bachelor apartments within the palace. Once he was safely alone, there was no point in changing into fresh clothes. The task he had ahead of him was a messy one.

  Instead, he jerked his head at the same time that he gave a quick shrug of his shoulders, instantly turning himself into his badger form.

  His soiled evening attire fell away as his stature shrank, leaving his furry body no bigger than a beagle’s.

  It was much easier to be stealthy when one was only knee-high.

  At once, Badgerton waddled out of the pile of clothes and across his room, exiting through a small, curtained flap in the door.

  The next thing he knew, he was hurrying out of Merlin Hall at top speed, his claws clicking on the polished floors. He hugged the wall as he scampered along the shadowed corridors, and then loped down a little-used staircase. It led to a back door out of the palace, and then he was free!

  He sped across the cool, whispering grass of a large meadow. He was small, but on four legs, he could move very quickly.

  Within a few minutes, he fled into the zoo on the palace grounds, where the Order’s collection of magical animals were kept under the care of the kindly Green Man, Dr. Plantagenet, their veterinarian.

  Badgerton was only passing through.

  Hurrying along the winding paths of the menagerie at night, he passed numerous habitats and cages. He heard the Climbing Fish croaking from their posts on the dead trees in their mud-swamp pen. The Dreaming Sheep had already started to bounce up into the night sky, while the flying sheepdog chased after his flock, trying to herd them back down to the ground.

  Around the next bend, Badgerton saw a pretty twinkling light in one pen, but he knew that it signified treachery. It was the glowing appendage that dangled from atop the head of that awful scorpion creature known as the Fairy Stinger.

  Fortunately, the royal garden fairies knew not to be drawn in by the temptation of that shiny little light—fairies liked twinkly things—unless they wished to get eaten. Fairy flesh was that dreadful creature’s favorite dish.

  Meanwhile, the lazy three-headed Tritoise slept under its humped shell, oblivious, as usual. He stayed well clear of the yeti’s cage and the newer corral for the hideous water horse, Nuckalavee. Only one person could control that wild creature, and that was the large, boorish troll-boy, Ogden Trumbull.

  Og sometimes helped the Green Man take care of the animals, but, thankfully, Badgerton didn’t see him either. The ugly, oversized lad was probably socializing out back with the giants.

  Hurrying on, Badgerton slipped under the fence on the far end of the zoo, waddling out into the wild meadows on the other side.

  The tall grasses rustled as he scurried through the pasture, panting with exertion. He was admittedly not in the best shape, but he was determined.

  The rolling landscape dipped before him, and finally, he came to the opening of the tunnel he’d been digging for Lord Wyvern. For—let them mock—if there was one thing badgers were experts at, it was digging.

  They were the engineers of the animal world. Their vast, elaborate burrows could stretch for miles, and badgers always kept them tidy.

  Underground, for his kind, was home.

  Indeed, as he scurried through the discreet opening of his tunnel, the cool soil of the autumn earth welcomed Badgerton into its cozy embrace. He rested his short, stocky legs for a moment and caught his breath, relieved to have slipped away from the palace undetected.

  Then it was time to get to work.

  As he trudged down to the end of the tunnel, the opening lengthened until it was tall enough inside for a man to stand upright.

  And wide enough to let an army through.

  He did not want to betray the Order. But what choice did he have? Wyvern’s owl would eat his niece and nephews if he did not cooperate.

  But the Nephilim lord had made promises as well as threats.

  On that fateful night this past summer, when Wyvern had appeared uninvited at Snugburrow, his country estate, the warlock had lured him out to the woods with a few mysterious notes of magical music that Badgerton had felt compelled to follow.

  When he had arrived at the spot where Wyvern waited, the warlock had shown him his skunkies sleeping peacefully on the forest floor with that freakish, six-foot owl looming over them.

  Badgerton had been horrified, but betraying the Orde
r would mean his destruction, so he balked at Wyvern’s proposal. In response, the Nephilim had sweetened the deal, offering a carrot as well as a stick, as they say.

  The warlock had then made Badgerton an offer he couldn’t resist.

  The legendary Proteus power gave an ordinary shapeshifter like him the ability to turn himself into anything, not just his one, boring, token animal.

  To be sure, he’d heard wisecracks all his life about how silly his power was—the ability merely to turn himself into a badger.

  “What good is that?” people had jeered at him since he was a cub.

  Just like they jeered at his darling skunkies now for what they were, the poor things.

  He fumed at the thought of that rotten Jake Everton back in the ballroom tonight. Insolent, arrogant doubler. The lad possessed two of the most enviable powers anyone could want, yet he dared to mock innocent shapeshifter children simply because all they could do was turn themselves into skunks.

  Well, Jake and his ilk wouldn’t be laughing long.

  For Wyvern’s bribe had worked.

  Boris Badgerton was a logical man, after all. Once Wyvern gave him the Proteus power, no one would ever mock him or his clan again.

  If that decision made him a traitor to the Order, too bad. The weasels were also his kinfolk, so maybe treachery ran in his blood.

  All Badgerton knew was that he was done being secretly ashamed of who and what he was.

  Nobody around here gave him the respect that he deserved. All these self-righteous do-gooders thought they were better than him.

  But once he finished his tunnel and joined the Dark Druids, then the likes of Ramona Bradford and her insufferable nephew would know he was not to be trifled with.

  With that, Badgerton flicked out his sharp, dirty claws and began digging for all he was worth.

  * * *

  Upon leaving the ballroom, Jake did not obey Aunt Ramona and go up to his room.

  Instead, he kept walking straight across the white marble lobby, marching right through the stately front doors of Merlin Hall and out into the night.

  Full darkness had fallen and the moon rode high in the indigo sky.