The Black Fortress

by E. G. Foley

  At last, face to face with his future heir, Wyvern grasped the wisdom of Shemrazul’s plan. This magnificent young hellion would indeed make a worthy crown prince.

  Jake stood a little over five feet tall with a shock of straw-blond hair and blazing blue eyes; he had a lean build and a highborn bearing. Though he was a bit tousled and rosy-cheeked from the fray, his tailored clothes were obviously Bond Street, giving him a well-dressed appearance.

  Good. Wyvern could not abide untidiness.

  Most impressive to him, however, was how Jake held his ground as Wyvern approached.

  Remarkable. He could tell the kid was frightened, but Jake refused to back down. On the contrary, the boy forced himself forward a step or two, and Wyvern was delighted with his courage.

  Why, grown men frequently babbled and sometimes even peed themselves with fright when they found themselves fixed in his sights.

  Not the plucky Lord Griffon.

  When Wyvern noticed Jake’s silent gulp, however, he almost wanted to laugh with his first real flicker of genuine fatherly feeling. Pride surged through him as the cheeky young rogue scowled at him, refusing to flinch.

  Given the difference in their height, Jake lifted his chin to keep holding Wyvern’s stare as he approached. The boy glared up at him—as though Wyvern could not have squashed him like a bug.

  Such spirit!

  You’re right, Father. He is the one.

  Test him, Shemrazul replied in Wyvern’s mind. See for yourself what he is made of. But don’t push him too hard. You’ll need to take him with you.

  Wyvern smiled, studying the lad. Jake would probably go kicking and screaming, but for his part, Wyvern was going to enjoy becoming a father at last.

  And it all started now.

  CHAPTER 40

  The Temptation of Jake

  Blimey, but that oversized mumper was looking at him funny, Jake thought, feeling nervous under the warlock’s scrutiny.

  Wyvern had stepped out of the house and begun strolling toward him, leaving the front door open.

  Jake stood his ground, prepared for anything, but he shifted his weight uncertainly. Why hadn’t the brute attacked him yet? The question worried him, but he showed no fear.

  On the contrary, he drew strength from his hatred of this man for all he’d done to Derek. To Janos. To Tex. To poor, wingless Celestus.

  And most of all, to Red.

  Ah, but it looked like Red had got a bit of his own back, Jake thought, noticing the torn cloth and bloodstains where Wyvern’s fine coat clung to his giant shoulders.

  The Gryphon growled from nearby, still guarding Fionnula.

  “Stay back, boy,” Jake ordered Red, and Wyvern’s unnerving half-smile curved higher for some unknown reason.

  “Nathan!”

  “Keep your peace, woman.” Wyvern gestured at the sea-witch, never taking his eyes off Jake.

  Jake arched a brow at the earl’s dismissive tone with the famed sorceress. Even more startling, Fionnula obeyed. He glanced over and saw her fold her arms across her chest with a pout, but she didn’t argue.

  He looked up at Wyvern again, rather impressed that he’d apparently tamed the wild sea-witch. But no wonder the warlock was so good at manipulating stone. Wyvern’s gray eyes were as cold and unfeeling as the average boulder.

  And he was Nephilim, all right. Jake’s glance flicked down to the Dark Druid’s hand, where too many fingers curled around his wand.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, young man.” Wyvern sauntered closer, his heavy footfalls crunching over the gravel as he crossed the courtyard outside of the castle with an air of caution.

  As if Jake could do much of anything to him. The bloke was nearly seven feet tall, for starters. And while Jake might be able to blow up any rock golems the warlock might create, it was important in life to understand one’s limits.

  Right now, all he had was his bravado. It had usually been enough.

  “What do you want?” he demanded with an arrogant toss of his head.

  Wyvern’s half-smile grew to a whole one at Jake’s rude tone.

  From the corner of his eye, meanwhile, Jake could see Derek pounding on the glass, could hear the dull thumping of his fist, but his mentor’s furious warnings to Wyvern not to harm him were barely audible.

  The warlock did not seem inclined to do so.

  Which was worrisome in its own way.

  Of greater concern, however, was when Jake noticed Derek tug at his cravat. Jake tensed, realizing he and Helena were already feeling the lack of oxygen in there. Blast it, hadn’t the man already suffered enough at the hands of the Nephilim?

  Prepared to do whatever it took to keep his loved ones safe, Jake forced himself forward, going to meet his enemy halfway, right in the center of the courtyard. Frankly, he wasn’t feeling all that bold, just protective.

  He and Wyvern stopped a few feet apart in the middle of the now-sunny courtyard.

  The storm clouds had stopped swirling overhead since Fionnula had lost her wand. They had begun slowly dissolving, still shifting between dark and light, shadows and sun. At least the wind had died down.

  Dry-mouthed, Jake hoped that Isabelle had found the Inkbug by now and sent some kind of warning to Aunt Ramona. Maybe there was something the Elder witch could do long-distance.

  But he doubted it.

  And yet, still, Wyvern didn’t attack him. For another moment, neither Jake nor the Nephilim spoke, sizing each other up.

  Jake was not thrilled to see he only came up to the man’s chest.

  At this close range, he could feel the aura of evil emanating from the warlock. They said he was Zolond’s enforcer. That he ran the Black Fortress and even had a seat on the Dark Druid Council.

  Aye, Jake thought, and they also said his father was a demon.

  He’d heard that rumor at Merlin Hall during the summer, after Derek had brought him and the others there. At the time, Jake wasn’t sure he believed such a mad claim, but standing in the Nephilim’s presence, he knew now it was true.

  A dark, remote, otherworldly atmosphere surrounded the well-dressed man as surely as if he wore an apocalypse-scented cologne.

  He did not seem entirely human, and now Jake knew why.

  Wyvern was half demon.

  Jake had heard that the earl’s real father was not the previous Earl of Wyvern, but Shemrazul, the same devil with whom Garnock the Sorcerer had originally made his pact centuries ago.

  Jake believed he had met the mighty Shemrazul briefly when he had stood on the edge of Hades after killing Garnock’s ghost.

  Indeed, the huge red devil might’ve come bursting up out of Hell to terrorize the world if not for Celestus and three other warrior angels, who had shown up in Roman-style armor with wings unfurled and shining swords of light in hand to drive Shemrazul back down where he belonged.

  That, Jake thought, had been the most extraordinary thing he had ever seen in all his dealings with the magical world so far.

  Wyvern, meanwhile, was studying Jake intently. “Well,” he said, “here we are.”

  Indeed. Jake would’ve rather been anywhere else. The longer he stood in Wyvern’s presence, the worse he felt, as if he were being drugged with a slow drip of despair.

  At a loss, he glanced over at Derek for reassurance, simply out of habit.

  The Guardian was watching their encounter with a look of dread. He had stopped pounding on the glass. This was the first Jake could recall ever seeing real fear on his mentor’s rugged face. It shook him.

  How Jake wished his father was there in that moment. But how could you miss a stranger?

  Feeling more and more alone, he glanced at his Gryphon. Red’s mane of feathers around his neck were standing on end. His golden eyes glowed with wrath.

  He was still obeying Jake’s order to keep his distance, but Red would certainly give his life if necessary to protect him, if it came to that.

  Jake shuddered at the thought, feeling powerless and very much o
ut of his league. He was well aware of just how dangerous this intruder was, after all.

  The man had burned Janos’s family alive.

  “It occurs to me we’ve never been properly introduced,” Wyvern said. “I am Nathan, Lord—”

  “I know who you are.” Jake stared coldly at him. “You’re the man who stole my Gryphon.”

  Red snarled.

  Wyvern tilted his head. “You’re the lad who destroyed my Atlantean treasure trove.”

  “You sent Nightstalkers to kill me,” Jake reminded him.

  “And you fended them off. With a darkling blade, eh? I wonder where you got one of those.” Wyvern sent him a knowing wink. “How’s your vampire friend these days?” He made a mocking sad face.

  Jake was stunned. His utter lack of remorse for having murdered vampire women and children was the thing that finally made Jake take a step backward.

  Behind the glass, Derek looked even more alarmed to see him do that, while poor wolf-Henry hung helpless in midair, still poised to leap.

  Jake shook his head to try to clear it; the manifestation of real evil left him disoriented. He’d faced Garnock, yes, but this was the first time he could recall encountering a living person with no conscience whatsoever. Even Uncle Waldrick and Fionnula showed mild traces of humanity on occasion.

  But Wyvern’s depth of inborn malice made him feel dizzy, as though he were in the presence of some alien life form.

  Crikey, if the son was this bad, Jake didn’t even want to think about what it would be like having to face down the father.

  Somehow, though, he shook off the effects of evil’s nearness and managed to regroup, laying hold once more of his bold façade. “Enough chitchat. If it’s me you’re looking for, well, you found me. So what do you want?”

  Wyvern laughed at his insolence. “By Shemrazul’s horns, lad, you are something, aren’t you? Tenacious cub, just look at you. All flash and fire.” The earl folded his arms across his chest, looking pleased. “I daresay you’d make any father proud.”

  Jake went very still.

  Was that a threat against his father—who might still be alive?

  After all, Jake now believed that his parents were being held somewhere inside the Black Fortress, perhaps in that comatose state he had heard Tex describe during the magical parliament.

  Though he did not care at all for the way the earl was assessing him like a colt for sale at auction, Jake focused on the warlock’s comment. “What do you know about my father?”

  “Hmm, that is the question, isn’t it?” Wyvern gave him a mysterious smile, then looked over at the two piles of crushed gravel littering the lawn. “You made short work of my stone gryphons, I see. Well done.”

  Jake shrugged, baffled that the massive man should congratulate him on this act of destruction. “It was a lot easier than ending the rock golems, actually.” He could not resist a cheeky nod at the earl’s bloodied shoulder. “Looks like my real Gryphon nearly made short work of you, my lord.”

  Wyvern shook his head and chuckled, seemingly in spite of himself. “Oh, you are a spitfire.”

  Why is he being nice to me?

  “Come, Jake,” Wyvern murmured. “What are you doing at Griffon Castle?”

  “Uh, I live here,” Jake said.

  “That’s not what I mean. What are you doing with the Order? Look at these losers. They’re supposed to be keeping you safe, but Fionnula and I rendered them helpless in under ten minutes. You can’t trust these people, and frankly, you don’t need them.” He glanced scornfully at Derek and the shapeshifter twins. “Deep down, you know your destiny lies with us.”

  “The Dark Druids?” Jake scoffed. “Don’t make me sick.”

  “Oh, I could, if you like. Name your disease of choice. Measles? Mumps? The chicken pox? Oh, I know—how ’bout leprosy?” The earl waved his wand, and Jake felt a sudden burning pain burst through his right hand.

  “Ow!” Lifting his hand, he gasped in horror to find it instantly covered with disgusting boils. Right before his eyes, the skin began turning white, and his pinky finger looked like it was rotting off.

  It was the hand of a leper.

  Jake looked at him in a panic. “Put it back!”

  Wyvern grinned, flashing double rows of teeth.

  Jake recoiled to see such a thing; Wyvern quickly shut his mouth with a wounded look.

  “Nathan,” Fionnula chided. “Don’t torture the boy. He needs to see that he can trust you.”

  Jake glanced at her in disbelief. Trust Wyvern? She was dreaming. But he couldn’t be bothered with her foolishness right now.

  The ashy whiteness had begun creeping down his right wrist. Pus oozed from the boils.

  “Oh, don’t worry, dear,” Wyvern said, “I’m only having a bit of fun with the lad. Of course we wouldn’t wish to damage those telekinetic hands. They’re too valuable.”

  Wyvern waved his wand again, and Jake’s hand returned to normal.

  Staring at his limb, his heart pounding, Jake wiggled his fingers then checked around his wrist and forearm. The skin was clear. Then he looked at Wyvern, at a loss.

  “Really, darling,” Fionnula said, “that wasn’t very nice.”

  Nice was probably not a word in the Nephilim warlock’s vocabular.

  Wyvern looked at her, then back at Jake. “Just teaching him a little lesson, dear. The boy’s got to learn to respect us. If we are ever going to be a real family.”

  “Wait—what?” Jake had barely just recovered from his bout of leprosy, but this shock was even greater. Family? With Wyvern and Fionnula?

  Good God!

  “What did you mean by that?” he demanded, but Wyvern ignored him, for just then, speaking of family, Archie came running to the rescue, his trusty tool bag in one hand, blowtorch in the other. He had thick leather safety gloves on his hands, while his welding goggles perched atop his head.

  “And who is this little fellow?” Wyvern asked. “Is this that Maddox boy the vampire spoke of?”

  “No,” said the sea-witch. “It’s Archie Bradford. Ramona’s other nephew. He’s rather famous in his own right.”

  “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “They say he is a brilliant scientist.”

  “Really?” Wyvern murmured. “How intriguing.”

  “You leave him alone!” Jake warned the pair fiercely.

  Both Derek and Helena had also reacted to Archie’s arrival. They ran to the far edge of the bell jar facing Bradford Park, where Derek started banging on the glass and trying angrily to wave Archie back.

  Leopard-Helena let out a muffled roar, while wolf-Henry whimpered, straining against his immobilized state, no doubt burning to protect his star pupil.

  “Archie, stay back!” Jake yelled, terrified of what Wyvern might do to him.

  “Can’t, coz! Derek and Helena are about to run out of oxygen.” Skidding to a halt, Archie tossed all his sciencey accoutrements down on the grass beside the bell jar, tools clanking.

  Jake whirled to face Fionnula. “Get rid of that thing!” he pleaded. “Let them out of there!”

  “Humph!” She turned away with her nose in the air. “I’d need my wand for that.”

  “Keep them where they are,” Wyvern ordered her.

  Jake scowled while Archie began knocking on the bell jar here and there, listening to the sound it made, apparently looking for a thinner section of the glass.

  Choosing a spot, Archie pulled down his goggles and frantically pumped the pressure handle on his blowtorch, then he twisted the valve open.

  “What on earth is he doing?” Wyvern asked, watching with curiosity.

  “Fixing things,” Jake snapped. “It’s what he does.”

  “Extraordinary,” the earl murmured.

  Jake glared at him. “You hurt one hair on his head, and you make a permanent enemy of me. You got that, you oversized oaf?”

  Wyvern smirked. “Never fear, Jake. I’m well aware that boys your age need at least one good mat
e. I should’ve liked to have one when I was young, too. Fionnula, no killing Mr. Bradford.”

  “It’s Dr. Bradford, actually!” Archie shouted, then fired up his blowtorch and stood back while it flamed.

  Jake was awed at his intrepid single-mindedness. The boy genius just ignored the danger, same as in the lab.

  Archie waved Derek and Helena back to a safe distance while the blowtorch burned off the charge in the flash pan, then began climbing to operating temperature.

  When the flame streaming out of the nozzle burned blue, Archie picked up the blowtorch with care and started melting a hole in the glass.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Wyvern said quietly, turning to Jake. His chiseled face softened a bit, but his eyes remained flinty. “You come with me and Lady Fionnula right now, and I’ll let you bring your Gryphon and your little friend. No harm will come to them. You have my word. You’ll be quite content with us. I promise, Jake. You’ll have your heart’s desire. You’ve seen what we can do.” Wyvern nodded toward the sea-witch. “With our magic, Fionnula and I will grant your every wish like the mother and father you never had.”

  “I had them!” Jake said, enraged by his filthy offer. “Your side took them away from me! What have you done with my parents?” he shouted, his voice climbing with the echo of pain. “Are they still alive or have you murdered them?”

  Wyvern didn’t answer the question. “Let us look after you, Jake,” he said instead. “Come. You’ve been through so much, poor boy. You don’t need the rest of this sorry lot. You belong with us.”

  Jake shook his head, incredulous. Truly, he could not believe what they were suggesting. The notion was preposterous. He would’ve liked to see Archie’s reaction to the ludicrous proposal, but his cousin could not hear their exchange over the hum of his blowtorch blasting the glass.

  Wyvern nudged him with a knowing smile. “Wouldn’t you like to be a prince?”

  Jake shrugged. “Not in the slightest. But, just out of curiosity, how would I do that? How would going with you make me a prince?”

  “You would serve as my heir when I am the sorcerer-king.”