"What is this?" she whispered, expecting the sound of her voice to be sucked from the air before it could take form.
"Defenses," he breathed, squinting into the mist.
She started to question him, but a strange wail silenced her. She thought of the Sirens of Greek mythology, realizing that Sebastian had done the same, shoving his hands tight against his ears. She lifted her own hands, but paused as the words became clear beneath the howls.
Beware those strangers who idle by
A mishap may befall you
And enemies set to trespass here
Would best to turn away in fear
For death is almost guaranteed
But if you claim your gift a virtue
Stay steady on your path
No friends that meet us on their way
Will face the witches' wrath
She wished for a pen and paper, as if she could even see her hands to quickly scrawl the words. As they drifted along, the song grew muffled, fading like an ambulance siren as it raced into the night. When it was gone, she waved a hand in front of Sebastian, letting him know that it was safe to uncover his ears.
"It's stopped." He sounded surprised and uneasy, as if she might try to steer them into a pointed cliff.
"It's okay. It was just a message, a warning, I think." She repeated the song as best she could, and he listened closely, nodding as if in agreement.
"You could hear them," he said. "I only heard a horrible screeching."
"Yes, but you covered your ears, Sebastian," she argued, not willing to accept this newfound uniqueness.
"No," he shook his head. "We wouldn't have heard the same thing, I'm sure of it."
She didn't say anything because she wanted them to be together, in all of it, no one-sided experiences.
The fog started to lift. It fanned out, moving away from them, and allowing a circle of clarity around the boat. Abby shuffled off the floor, back onto the bench, her feet planted in an inch of water. It soaked through her slip-ons, making her toes squish noisily with each shift.
Sebastian's boxers were soaked. He busied himself scooping handfuls of water back into the lake. They weren't going to sink, but the less water, the better. The cold wetness that earlier had soothed Abby turned into body-numbing agony, accompanied by constant chafing and discomfort. She joined him, thrusting handfuls of water from the boat. She tried to keep her teeth chattering to a minimal, knowing that Sebastian would be motivated by some gene of chivalry to keep her warm, rather than ridding the boat of excess water.
When he reached a knuckle scraping level, he gave up on the water and switched back to rowing. The moonlit lake, sans storm, had returned - a most romantic scene under more pleasant circumstances. Through the water, she saw that they still drifted above the sunken island, but near the rear, in a place where the sand sat peacefully five or more feet below them.
A long silver fish passed beneath the boat, moving so slowly that she wondered if he was wounded. He circled the boat twice and then swam up to the surface, briefly skipping out of the water.
"It's a messenger," Sebastian said excited, peering over the boat edge.
She started to argue, but the fish had begun to swim ahead.
It slid to the right, and Sebastian followed, aiming the small boat. The fish picked up speed, and Sebastian strained to keep up, sweat glazing his face and neck as he pumped the oars. The newly calm waters greatly reduced his effort, but the fish kept gaining, darting beneath the water. Abby leaned forward on her bench, pointing and shouting out directions, but in the deep water she quickly lost sight of him.
She could sense Sebastian's frustration, but he remained silent, simply rowing forward in hopes of spotting their small guide. A mass of gray clouds spilled over the moon, casting them in darkness once again.
"Well, so much for that," she broke the silence, giggling uncomfortably. The foreign bark of her laugh echoed over the still waters.
Sebastian leaned forward and placed a hand on her knee, saying nothing, but comforting her immensely.
A gap opened in the clouds, and the moonlight streamed down. Abby gasped and nearly fell over the side of the boat as she reeled backwards. Looming ominously before them was a massive fortress, turrets twisting toward the sky, their tips like freshly sharpened blades. The castle, as it shifted into full view, sat atop a mass of sandstone cliffs, like those they'd glimpsed earlier in the night, its bulk perched on decaying hunks of rock. Abby stared, mouth agape, at the familiar palace that had not been there only moments before.
"We found it," Sebastian breathed.
"We have?" Her words were barely a squeak.
As they watched, a small object disembarked from the cliffs and began to move towards them. Abby wanted to row away, to hurry back across the lake and not begin this journey, but of course it was too late for that. She remembered the castle from her dream and knew it to be the same.
As the object slid closer, gliding ethereally, as if floating above the water rather than in it, the shape of a narrow, black boat appeared. Abby could see the outline of a tall, slim figure perched behind an enormous silver steering wheel. It was obviously engine powered, but not a sound broke the still night. Abby's stomach bunched in a knot.
The pilot's gaunt face glowed with the pearl-like quality of a man who not only avoided the beach, but also traveled even short distances beneath a vast umbrella. His long, thin arms moved the wheel effortlessly, pulling alongside their boat with expert accuracy. He wore a black shirt beneath a brown tweed coat, and long, gray wool slacks hung over his rail thin legs. Strange boating attire, Abby thought. His eyes looked dark, brown maybe, and they hid beneath a mass of bushy, black eyebrows that were considerably thicker than the thin black hair speckling his skull.
"Follow me," he said curtly in a subdued British accent, his pursed mouth quivering. He immediately veered the boat back toward the cliff.
Sebastian did not question him, but pushed the oars into the water.
Abby started to speak, but what could she say, after all? Take me back to Tobias and the others. I'd rather fight them than this quiet Englishman who looked at us like we were rats caught on the kitchen counter.
She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, massaging her knuckles like rosary beads. She wasn't a religious person, but the idea of rosary beads had always soothed her, as if they were a tangible link to a spiritual higher power. She repeated the few bedtime prayers in her head that she remembered from childhood, her eyes growing wider as they neared the castle.
The rock wall was a flat sheath, slippery with lake water. Algae snaked up the face like ivy. No stairs or dock revealed their passage to the fortress above, but the weedy man continued on, pointing his boat directly at the cliff.
"Oh," Abby gasped as the black boat nearly collided with the rock, but no explosion boomed. Instead, the man disappeared into the wall as if he were merely a spirit traveling on a ghost ship.
"There's a hole," Sebastian told her, apparently reading the horror in her scrunched shoulders.
And there was a hole, though such a deep black that it blended completely into the cliff and easily tricked the eye. As they sailed through it, Abby looked up at the rock ceiling bearing down on them. Tiny black pearls layered the surface like oil-sheathed bubble wrap.
"Bats," Sebastian told her, looking up as well. "Micro bats."
As he said it, one of them shifted and the entire bed shuddered. Abby shuddered in response. Bats were not a great fear, but considering her only escape from the greasy creatures was the ebony water below, she didn't want to disturb them.
They emerged from the cave into an enormous lagoon that glittered gloriously in the night. A wide, stone staircase wound down from the castle, ending at a weather beaten dock.
The strange man docked quickly, leaping from his boat like a gazelle and securely fastening it with ropes. He reached a slender hand toward their rowboat and pulled it in, tying it quickly, without a word.
Abby g
azed at the lagoon in silent awe. Lush bushes and flowers fell down the sloping grasses that led from castle to beach. Thick, colorful blossoms bloomed in the moonlight. She saw lilies and jasmine and mounds of flowers that she could not name, but imagined grew in private tropical gardens. The flowers scrambled along the edge of the staircase, racing to the castle, which stood over them like a loving, but stern, mother.
Sebastian took her hand and pulled her from the boat, squeezing it as they followed the gaunt man away from the water. Up the steps and across a cobblestone pathway, they passed a grand mahogany door adorned with a heavy brass pentacle doorknocker.
They curved around a stone tower and advanced down a short staircase passing beneath a glassy eyed gargoyle protecting a stained glass door. The man pulled out a long skeleton key and inserted it into the lock. It clicked, and a deadbolt slid back. They entered a giant chamber with a cement staircase spiraling up the center. Dozens of doors stood along the stairway; their footsteps clapped loudly as they moved up. The man stopped at the fourth doorway, again inserted his skeleton key, and pushed them into a brightly lit room.
Chapter 17
Sebastian and Abby stumbled in together. Abby blinked around the room, light from the candles leaving pockets of darkness that her eyes could not pierce.
"Our guests have arrived." The thin man addressed several people clustered in chairs.
As Abby and Sebastian moved deeper into the space, she scanned their surroundings. The circular room housed a vast library with bookshelves climbing to the exquisite ceiling. The ceiling dipped and soared in rounded arches, painted with elaborate images of the zodiac, symbolized by pink skinned goddesses and enchanted beasts. It reminded her of the Sistine Chapel, although Michelangelo may have begged to differ.
A woman, with long silver hair flowing over each shoulder, beckoned them to a set of empty chairs near a blazing fire. Her face was lined but lovely, her skin softly worn like nude rose petals.
"Please, sit."
Abby lowered herself into a squat chair upholstered in velvety fuchsia, her legs and butt warmed by the hot seat. Sebastian moved his chair closer to hers and sat down as well, facing the group.
Abby counted seven people seated, including the gaunt man who had led them in. He took a seat close to the silver-haired woman and stared at them suspiciously. The woman had the same ageless beauty as Audrey Hepburn. Her gray eyes sparkled in the firelight and she clasped her slender hands together as she studied them, her face kind, but interested.
Abby wanted to observe the rest of the group, but feared their probing eyes, so stared into her lap instead, which comforted her.
"I'm Sebastian. This is Abby," Sebastian told them bravely, sitting up straighter as he did so. His voice was mingled with curiosity, but no fear. He seemed prepared for the group of strangers.
"Welcome, Sebastian, and welcome, Abby," the silver haired woman began. "We are very excited and quite curious to have you here. Shall I begin with introductions?" They did not speak, so she continued. "I am Elda, and your guide here is Faustine." She pointed to their skinny escort, who grumbled in response. "Across from you, there, is Helena, and then Max, Lydie, and Dafne." Her finger pointed lightly at each face as she traveled around the room, and Abby took a moment to stare. Lydie looked, by far, the youngest, not much older than twelve or thirteen, her eyes bright with interest. "So, please, do tell us how you came to find our rather secluded location? I dare say that you found us." Elda's eyes were trained carefully on Abby, as were the others.
Abby cleared her throat, but Sebastian spoke first.
"No, I brought her." Each pair of eyes turned to him quickly, suspicion alighting on some of their faces.
"How is that possible?" the woman called Dafne shrilled, igniting the room in tension.
She was matchstick thin, except where the tiny red bulb would lie was a long plait of purple black hair, so dark it seemed invisible, as if it sucked the light from the room and ate it. Her face, nose and chin were pointed and pale, which should have made her ugly, but somehow worked. She was a dazzling ice queen - only desirable from the corner of your eye. Abby guessed her age around twenty-five, but the severity of her expression made her appear older. Although Dafne's words were directed at Sebastian, Abby felt them herself, like steel wool rubbed over skin. She leaned back in her seat and shot Sebastian a warning glance. She didn't want to enrage a room of strangers. Sebastian met their gazes, not flinching at Dafne, who glared at him.
"What she means, Sebastian," Elda continued slowly, ignoring Dafne's hardened gaze, "is that this is a very special place, and we were not under the impression that you possessed those faculties."
"I don't," he told them, slightly defeated. "My sister did."
Dafne leaned toward Helena and whispered something angrily, but no one spoke.
"Your sister?" Max asked, sliding to the edge of his chair. Max was grandfatherly with a lined puddly face that reminded Abby of a shar-pei. His hair was short but thick, black and silver making up equal parts.
"Yes, Claire." Sebastian's face looked hopeful as if he expected them to register her name, but no dawning appeared on their faces.
"She was like you," he gestured to their group, and fury flashed across Dafne's face.
"Like us?" She acted as if he'd called them a derogatory name, and Helena turned red, embarrassed by her outburst.
"I don't mean it as an insult. She was special, she had powers," Sebastian quickly corrected.
Elda nodded, but Dafne continued to look furious.
Abby shifted uncomfortably. She wanted to defend Sebastian, but felt too lost to contribute - lost, tired, overwhelmed and scared.
The door to the room swung open, bringing with it a gust of cool air and sending flickers through hundreds of candles adorning the walls. The man that followed was soaking wet, and his bare feet left a trail of water in the thick rug beneath him.
Abby stared at him - mouth agape. Sebastian stiffened beside her. It was the man from the forest, the one who saved them.
"Have I missed the party?" He laughed, striding across the room to Lydie and shaking his hair, like a wet dog, in her face.
He wore the same clothing - a short sleeved white t-shirt of nylon fabric and loose fitting linen pants. He did not carry his bow, but the leather strap and his arrows still hung from his back.
Lydie squealed and batted at him as the water fell onto her face and head.
He stopped shaking, stood and looked at Abby and Sebastian.
"If you'd hung around a bit longer, I would have brought you here myself. Saved you some trouble."
Dafne shot him a look of angry surprise, and he shrugged casually.
He smiled at Abby, and small lines creased his full mouth. He was boyish looking, but not a boy, a man.
Abby blushed beneath the pierce of his green eyes as they sparkled in the light of the candles. She glanced at Sebastian who stared indignantly at their savior, his lips a line of contempt.
"Oliver, you've met our guests, then?" Elda asked, but did not sound surprised.
He grinned, unstrapped his arrows and let them fall to the floor, pulling a stool from Lydie's feet and straddling it. She protested, but giggled and let him take it.
"Yes, though I dare say not under the most happy of circumstances. Our friends were in the clutches of Tobias and Vesta and a new one, I didn't catch his name."
"Tane," Sebastian answered, continuing to stare at Oliver, sizing him up.
Oliver nodded dismissively.
"He's not a Vepar, just a wanna-be right now."
"And Tobias - did you get him?" Sebastian demanded, fidgeting in his seat.
"What business is it of yours?" Dafne snapped, her face coloring when Elda frowned at her.
Oliver cast Abby a mischievous smile and continued. "I did not kill him. The Vepars have a new lair that I have not been able to track. Twice now, he has escaped me."
"Drat," Helena chimed in, slapping her palm angrily on her leg. Like E
lda, she had a strange beauty and a calming quality, though she was younger and reminded Abby of her Aunt Sydney. Her long auburn hair was pushed entirely over one shoulder and her brown eyes were soft and creamy, like puppy eyes. She blinked them, and Abby could see light blond lashes against her golden skin. Unlike Elda, who wore a simple floor length black dress, Helena's attire set her apart from the group. She wore a caramel colored tunic that fell mid-thigh over black leggings. Her wrists were nearly covered in bangles of gold and silver and they jangled when she moved.
"Yeah, pretty nasty beasts, those two," Oliver continued, wringing his shirt out onto the floor. "I do apologize for my late arrival," he said to Abby. "I would have liked to reach you sooner."
"How did you find us?" she asked.
"Luck, really," Oliver answered. "I've been visiting the area on and off. We sensed a death there, and Faustine suspected that it was a witch who died."
He paused and cast a questioning gaze at Elda, who nodded for him to continue.
"But Vepars are good at covering their tracks and erasing any signs of the death and of the witch."
Abby listened, bothered by the word 'witch.' Did he mean that literally?
"They usually stay near a ritual scene for several days to absorb any remaining power, and they picked up your scent and started to hunt you. I found you by chance. I sensed something in the woods the last time I visited and decided to return to the spot, and there you were."
"That's it?" Sebastian asked incredulously. "You sensed something there?"
"And what did you do?" Dafne asked coldly, knowing how to hit Sebastian where it hurt. "Were you planning to save her yourself?"
Sebastian exploded from his chair and pointed a finger towards Dafne, his hand shaking visibly.
Born of Shadows- Complete Series Page 15