by E. G. Foley
Three skips, then it plopped into the Thames.
“I think I know,” Jake said.
Izzy looked askance at him. “That was fast.”
He smiled. “Skipping stones always helps me think.”
“Well?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“Tell me anyway,” she said wearily, pulling her elegant shawl more tightly around her. “Please, give me one good reason why any sane vampire should blame an innocent bystander for the murder of his wives and his hatchlings.”
“All right.” Jake took a deep breath. “We know Lord Wyvern killed the vampire brood to retaliate against Janos for his role in freeing Red and Tex. Wyvern didn’t just do it to be hateful; he had a very specific reason.”
“Let’s hope so. Yes.” She nodded. “He did it to punish Janos for tricking him.”
“Well,” Jake said, “the way I see it, the only logical way that Janos could possibly trace the blame back to you is if he somehow did all that for your sake.”
Izzy’s eyes widened. “What? My sake? Wh-what do you mean?”
Jake found another stone, a good, weighty one shaped like a broken star. “Not to scare you, Iz, but you did help me destroy Garnock. You were there. You were crucial to the whole thing. Well, the Dark Druids want revenge on me for that—at least, they did until this prophecy emerged.” He shrugged. “Maybe they want revenge on you for your part in it. Don’t you remember how that horrible demon Shemrazul expected Garnock to sacrifice you to him?”
She shuddered. “How could I forget?”
“Well, maybe they’re after you, too. And maybe, just maybe, Janos caught wind of that threat. Maybe that’s the real reason why he backstabbed the Dark Druids the way he did. Not simply to rescue Red and the others. I honestly doubt he’d go to such extremes for any of them.
“But to protect you? The girl he teases all the time about marrying him someday?” Jake nodded. “He’d do it. In a heartbeat. He’d have no choice. It’s who he is.”
“God,” she whispered. “If that is true, he surely never expected to have to pay such a terrible price. I’d hate me too, if that’s the case—”
“Janos isn’t a fool, Izzy,” Jake interrupted in a flat tone.
She looked at him with surprise.
He turned toward the river, tossing his head as the breeze blew his hair into his eyes. “He’s not stupid. He had to know what could happen. Let’s be honest—he’s been walking a dangerous line for a long time. I’m sure Janos was well aware of what sort of man he was crossing in this Nephilim warlock. If you ask me, he weighed the cost in his mind: six bloodsucker brides and a brood of future killers versus one valiant Keeper of the Unicorns. Well, they’re evil, you’re good, and he’s still a Guardian at heart, fangs and all. A simple equation.”
“What are you saying?”
“I know it sounds cold, but think of it. Janos had to know exactly how deadly his little monsters would grow up to be. There were, what, twenty, thirty of them? Each one living hundreds of years? Feeding on innocent human lives every night? How many thousands of people would they have murdered over time?
“Can you imagine having to be responsible for so much death and destruction? I can’t. But he’s freed of that, now that they’re gone. In a way, he’s got a clean slate. So, if you ask me, deep down, he’s glad they’re dead—he’s relieved. And he hates himself for it.”
She looked stricken. “Poor Janos…”
Jake nodded, fingering the stone in his hand. “You just stepped into the middle of all that at the exact wrong moment. The very person who finally inspired him to choose good over evil, for once and for all.”
With that, Jake skipped the stone and watched it fly, making two white splashes in the dark before it disappeared.
Then he turned to her, feeling all the more certain he was right. “Janos doesn’t hate you, Izzy. It was just bad timing. He might’ve lashed out at you in the moment that night, but I’d bet you this entire castle that the one he’s really angry at is himself.”
CHAPTER 36
The Fratricide
The next day, Waldrick Everton smoothed his new silk waistcoat as he stood before the mirror. Reflected behind him was the luxurious bedchamber he’d been assigned when he first arrived at the Black Fortress three weeks ago.
The cunning magic in the walls of these guestrooms allowed the occupant to conjure any sort of setting that he liked. So Waldrick had imagined for himself a bedchamber worthy of the Palace of Versailles. Lots of gilding. Crystal chandeliers. A magnificent canopy bed.
In one corner sat a bombé chest full of gourmet refreshments he could munch on whenever he pleased. By the opposite wall stood a towering wardrobe full of handsome new clothes that fit him perfectly. And through that white door there lay a splendid bathroom with gold-plated spigots and fine tile mosaics. It had a huge tub for his bubble baths, and large mirrors for making sure he had rid himself of unsightly nose hairs.
In short, Waldrick Everton was back to his old dapper self, living in the style to which he had once been accustomed.
Luxury suited him well. He looked much better, having regained some weight and shaved off that hideous prison beard, saying goodbye to all of its resident fleas. Smelled better, too. But, somehow, he didn’t feel as happy about all this as he ought.
Why was Fionnula acting so distant? he wondered as he frowned at his tidy, clean-shaved, well-dressed reflection. She’d been excited to see him that first night, but then it was like he barely existed.
Well, Waldrick wasn’t blind. He could see how his former ladylove was all aflutter over her precious Nathan the Nephilim.
Humph. No matter. Waldrick would soon win back her affections. He just needed something that would put him on a more equal footing with the six-fingered freak—namely, getting his pyrokinesis back.
And that was supposed to be happening today.
Waldrick warded off a hint of apprehension at the prospect and flicked a piece of lint off his sleeve. True, he could still hear the screams of those peasants he had accidentally torched as a lad. But surely he was old enough by now to control his gift.
He was a man, after all, not a boy. Once he had his firepower back, then Fionnula and Wyvern would start to treat him as an equal, not some charity case.
Turning toward the door of his chamber with a resolute stare, Waldrick squared his shoulders, pointed an admiring goodbye at his reflection, then dragged himself away from the mirror, determined to get this day underway.
To be honest, though, he didn’t much like going out there. His princely chamber was his refuge, but it made a jarring contrast to the rest of this stark black place. He knew by now that once he stepped out that door, there was no telling what bizarre thing might happen next.
Aye, over the past three weeks, Waldrick had learned that life inside the warlocks’ castle brimmed with all manner of high strangeness. Still, it was a vast improvement over prison. At least here he was free.
More or less.
Bracing himself, he grasped the doorknob, then abandoned the safety of his chamber. Wyvern had ordered him to appear on the bridge at noon, which was only three minutes away.
Waldrick proceeded down the gloomy black corridor, but when he came to an intersection, he hesitated, unsure which way to go. Every dashed hallway in this maze of a castle looked the same: plain black granite.
Candles in wall sconces here and there provided at least some illumination to help him find his way. But this place was entirely disorienting—on purpose, he would bet. Half the time that he left his bloody room, he wound up lost.
Unfortunately, this was one of those times.
Waldrick optimistically decided to go left. Instead of the bridge, however, what he found was just another black hallway, another eerie intersection.
Well, that wasn’t a good sign. He felt impatience tightening in his chest, along with a growing sense of claustrophobia. He turned his head to the left and the right, peering dow
n both identical directions.
Again, the feeble glow of the wall sconces writhed on the polished black granite. There were doors along the hallway, but all of them were closed, giving no clues about where he was.
Blast it, the bridge had to be here somewhere!
He decided to try the right-hand turn this time, since the left hadn’t worked out very well. Then he proceeded down the next slick, polished hallway of smooth granite, black as the grave. This place really needs an interior designer. Someone with a little style…
This time, he hadn’t gone far when a strange noise reached him from ahead. An insectile chirrup, like the sound a cricket makes when it gets into the house.
Waldrick paused, furrowed his brow in suspicion, then continued on cautiously. There were all manner of perilous creatures around here. Half-trolls. Orange ruffed dragons. You could never be too careful when it came to the Dark Druids.
Again, the chirp rasped down the cold stone corridor. But it was much too loud for an ordinary cricket. Waldrick’s pulse quickened.
On his guard, he proceeded down the hallway, because he had to locate the bridge. He did not care to find out what the Nephilim would say if he arrived late.
What if Wyvern changed his mind about taking him to Griffon Castle today to retrieve his firepower from the family vault?
Personally, Waldrick had his doubts that Fionnula’s precious Nathan would ever be able to open the dashed thing—if he could even find the vault’s secret location somewhere inside the castle.
But who could say? The Nephilim seemed to have all sorts of tricks up his sleeve. They’d see soon enough whether the too-tall brute was all boasts or could actually do as he claimed.
Then Waldrick heard voices ahead. Oh good. Maybe someone here can point me toward the bridge. He hurried toward the intersection of the two hallways.
But nothing could have prepared him for the trio he encountered there.
Two scientists in white lab coats were casually escorting a tall, spindly creature down the other hallway.
Waldrick stopped in his tracks as he realized the chirping sound had been coming from that thing. He swallowed an oath, frozen where he stood.
What is it? His heart pounded as he stared.
Some unholy blend of insect and man, the olive-brown creature stood over six feet tall, with twitchy double wings. A big-eyed insect head, complete with antennae, perched atop its muscular, humanlike body. Except the body had four manlike arms…and backward-bending knees.
Waldrick could not believe his eyes.
The bug-man’s torso was encased in a hard exoskeleton; thankfully, its lower half was covered with simple brown trousers. It had insect feet.
His heart thumped as he gawked at the thing. It walked along tamely in between the scientists, its double wings flickering now and then, antennae waving.
That was the moment Waldrick knew he was in over his head in this place. That there were things going on around here that he wanted no part of.
Evil things.
He had no idea how that ungodly creature had been made, but he knew Zolond’s work when he saw it…
Suddenly, all three passersby noticed him standing there in shock. They stopped in the middle of the intersection.
“You there!” one of the scientists said. “Where are you supposed to be? Security!”
Waldrick’s eyes widened as he realized the scientists had a pair of Noxu guards following them—probably on hand to help them keep Bug Boy under control. Because that creature looked dangerous.
The brawny half-trolls now entered the intersection, and, seeing him, the larger one grunted aggressively at Waldrick.
“What are you doing there?” it demanded.
“Oh, n-nothing,” Waldrick stammered. He began to back away.
The locust fellow apparently did not like strangers, for it whipped around and chirruped angrily in Waldrick’s direction.
Waldrick nearly shrieked, stumbling backward. But the scientists held on to the locust creature’s lower pair of arms and spoke soothingly to the monstrous thing, calming it down.
“Let’s go, boy,” one said. “You’ve done very well today. Now let’s go and get you your lunch. Come along.”
“You! Get back to your room,” the Noxu ordered Waldrick, snorting gruffly through its tusks.
“I-I’m trying to find the bridge,” Waldrick said, taking another backward step as the bristling half-troll stomped toward him. “L-Lord Wyvern is expecting me!”
“Is that so?” the brute retorted, cracking its knuckles.
Just then, a welcome sound reached them—the click-click-clicking of high-heeled shoes hurrying down the corridor behind him.
“Waldriiiiick! Oh, for goodness’ sake, my little cabbage head, there you are!”
He turned.
To his relief, Fionnula was bustling toward him, looking magnificent in a long royal-blue gown.
“Did you get lost again, you silly boy?”
Waldrick nodded, and the sea-witch’s cunning eyes slid to the Noxu warrior.
“It’s all right. He’s with me,” she told the half-troll. “Mr. Everton is wanted on the bridge, posthaste.”
The Noxu snorted, but bowed to her. “Yes, milady.”
Fionnula certainly seemed to have some clout around here, Waldrick thought. As the leather-clad guard trudged off after the scientists and the locust man, she seized Waldrick’s arm.
“Honestly, you great nincompoop,” she muttered. “You must be more careful and quit wandering off like this before you get yourself into real trouble. Now, come along.”
“D-did you see it?” he asked, still dazed.
“See what, dear?” She turned him around and began marching him firmly down the same hallway he had just traveled, retracing his steps.
“Th-the giant cricket with the body of a-a man!”
She laughed and waved it off. “Oh, that’s just one of Zolond’s experiments. You know how the Dark Master is, always trying fanciful new concoctions. But never mind that. Nathan’s waiting.”
The simpering way she said the earl’s name jarred Waldrick out of his daze.
Unaware of the sudden souring of his mood, Fionnula squeezed his arm. “Well? Today’s the big day! How does it feel? You must be so excited to be getting your power back. I’d be.”
“Yes,” Waldrick said in distraction. “If Wyvern’s really able to pull it off.”
“You doubt him?” She cocked her head.
“You know me, dear. Seeing is believing. Obviously, I won’t be able to help much. That curse that my blasted Aunt Ramona put on me prevents me from setting foot again on the grounds of Griffon Castle. Wyvern will have to find the vault on his own. I hope he can manage to do it without me.”
“Oh, la, darling!” Fionnula trilled a laugh. “I’m sure Nathan and I won’t need your assistance. But it’s adorable of you to offer.” She giggled as if the mere suggestion were absurd.
Waldrick frowned at her, miffed, but then he saw the bridge room ahead, and the towering silhouette of Lord Wyvern standing in the doorway, his fists propped on his hips.
“You’re late, Everton,” the Nephilim said in his cold, deadened voice. He did not wait for Waldrick to apologize and looked at Fionnula. “Did you check your seeing bowl?”
“I did, my lord. We’re all clear. No one’s home at Griffon Castle. Apparently, they’re all still holed up at Merlin Hall.”
“Good.” The smartly dressed warlock nodded at the glamorous witch. “A simple mission, then. We’ll get in and get out.” Nathan stood aside so Waldrick and Fionnula could enter the bridge. “The navigator has already logged in the coordinates. If everyone is quite ready”—he gave Waldrick a long-suffering look—“we can finally get underway.”
“I’m ready,” Waldrick said with a defensive frown. “You really ought to put up signs around this place. Some directions would be nice. Maybe paint arrows on the floor.”
Wyvern handed him a pair of dark glasses. “P
ut these on and go sit down. Strap yourself in. It might be a bumpy ride.”
“Humph.” Waldrick snatched the dark glasses out of his six-fingered hand, then found an empty seat on the bridge and buckled himself in, nodding politely to the bridge officers.
They and the Nephilim were experienced enough just to stand and brace themselves during these mystical jumps, but Waldrick wasn’t about to trust his safety to arcane Dark Druid technology.
He did not intend to go flying through that big glass window when they landed, because he still wasn’t sure how all this worked.
As the loud, vibrating hum of the Fortress mechanisms started revving up, he put on the dark glasses then gripped the arms of his chair.
He kept his face impassive, but deep down, Waldrick was not looking forward to seeing Griffon Castle again. His childhood home…
The place where he had murdered his big brother.
CHAPTER 37
Return to Gryphondale
A day off. Glory! As a reward for all of Jake’s hard work and dedication over the past three weeks, Derek and the twins gave him and his cousins permission to enjoy a day of leisure.
They were not allowed to stray far, of course, but since things at the castle had been completely quiet since they’d arrived, the three of them were allowed to take a stroll to the nearby village of Gryphondale so they could buy a small, belated birthday gift of some sort for Great-Great Aunt Ramona.
It had been Isabelle’s idea the night before, after her sewing project had proved a damp squib.
The village was a charming place, quite safe, and only about a twenty-minute walk away through pleasant countryside. With just a mile or so between them, the village was actually named after the castle, for the two had coexisted for centuries.
The fact that angelic Isabelle was the one who asked on their behalf no doubt also helped to persuade the adults to set them free for a while.
Jake needed it—and empath Izzy told them so.
Their chaperones agreed with a warning to be careful, and in moments, the three of them were off, scrambling eagerly out the door.