Florence? What could Florence do? Bash The Mori over the head with her feather duster?
But I had no time for anything else. “To the bar everyone!” I yelled up the stairs, and then Silvan and I made a run for it.
Shafts of heat were shot at me from all directions as I tumbled down the final flight of stairs and pounded along the downstairs passage. We burst through into the bar and I waved my wand to illuminate the room. The lights came on as Penelope and her partners scampered in after us, several guests hot on their heels. From the main staircase came the sharp sounds of more explosions and Charity crying out. I wanted to go and help her, but Silvan grabbed the neck of my nightshirt and yanked me back.
“Do you hear that?” he asked, and we all became still, listening to the sound of numerous angry hornets.
Not just one member of The Mori. Not even half a dozen. Perhaps not even the group we’d encountered during the Battle for Speckled Wood.
Judging by the volume and the chorus of buzzing there were a battalion of them, and they had managed to infiltrate the inn.
Silvan, Penelope and I stood back to back, the other witches and wizards—many clad in their nightwear—joining us. Frau Krause, dressed in a long and frilly Victorian style bedgown, her wand drawn, her lips pulled back in a fearless sneer, appeared especially fierce.
“How did they get in?” I asked in confusion. “How did they break through Mr Kephisto’s magickal barrier?” But even as I uttered the words, I watched as a spinning red globe drifted past the window, seeming to rise out of the ground and all at once I understood.
“Oh no. No no no.”
They were rising out of the ground. The beer cellar to be exact. They were using the external entrance. I’d been the fool who’d let Norbert from the water board dig down into the well, and no doubt this was exactly what The Mori had planned all along. I’d fallen for their ploy hook, line and sinker.
Charity and the last few guests scuttled down the front stairs into the bar. I grabbed her arm. “Stand next to me,” I said, “and don’t do anything brave or reckless.”
“As if I would,” she muttered.
At that moment all the lights in the inn were extinguished. A few people gasped.
“On guard,” instructed Silvan, lighting his wand and casting shadows around the room. I bent at the knees, taking up a defence stance.
“Alf?” said a voice I recognised intimately. A voice I’d yearned for. “Alf? Don’t shoot at them. It’s me. If you shoot at them they say they’re going to kill me.”
George.
“Don’t shoot at them Alf. They’ve told me to tell you that you’re surrounded. There are hundreds of them here. Under the building. Hiding in the hedges, waiting to break down the barrier. If you don’t surrender instantly, they’re going to kill everyone, starting with me.”
“We’ll never surrender!” growled Silvan with fury.
“George?” I called, and Silvan lit the room with his wand. There by the main door to the bar stood my beau, looking thinner than when I’d seen him last, pale and a little unkempt, in need of a shave and a hair wash, but nonetheless, it was him.
Despite myself, in spite of the photos, my heart tripped over itself with happiness at seeing him again. But I wished with all my heart it had not been under these circumstances, with dozens and dozens of The Mori intent on destroying my inn and possibly terminating me.
“Lay down your wands,” George repeated the words he’d been told to say. I met his eyes. They sparkled with rebellion. I was relieved to see that he too was prepared to fight alongside me.
“Hundreds?” I asked him.
He nodded.
“No surrender,” Silvan repeated doggedly.
I lay a placating hand on my dark instructor’s arm. “A wand is merely a tool,” I reminded him. Hadn’t I been practising my own brand of magick my whole life long, until very recently, with little more than the palm of my hand or a pointed finger?
I met his black eyes, so deep and dark, but far from soulless. Here was a man who would fight to the death for a cause he believed in. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he dropped his wand hand. Together we lay our wands on the ground. The other witches in the room followed suit.
The door of the inn burst open and eight or nine globes, resplendent in red and gold sparkles, floated into the room. They quickly surrounded us. One of them zapped George and he cried out in pain.
“Hey!” I said angrily and Silvan lifted his hand to direct a burst of energy at the globe. It spun on him and sparks flew.
“No!” I shouted and pushed Silvan out of the way. Too late. He fell to his knees clutching his chest. He raised his hands once more, to dispense swift justice. I knocked against him, spoiling his aim, then stood defiantly in front of him, determined he would not be hurt.
“Alfhild.” From the drive outside I heard someone calling my name. The disembodied voice sent chills running through my spine. I recognised that voice. The man who had abducted me the day before George went missing.
Casting a worried glance at Silvan, hoping he would remain calm and not provoke The Mori into further retaliation, I walked slowly to the door. I followed a deep thrumming sound, side-stepping the globes that spun and rotated around me, watching my every move, supervising me every step of the way.
An enormous globe spun above the lawn, reminding me of the one I’d last seen Jed inhabiting in Speckled Wood. The size of a small family car, it slowed to a stop as I edged towards it, then dissipated in a bubbling explosion of gold glitter. A tall man stepped forwards to confront me.
“Hello again, Alfhild,” he said, and my vision greyed slightly at the edges as I recalled the night this man had almost drowned me.
Fury sparked within me. How dare he treat my friends like this? I took rapid steps towards him intent on a showdown. Instantly, two globes the size of beach balls closed in on me, buzzing their angry hornet noise. I halted and glared at him with intense hatred instead.
“Ah you remember me.” He laughed, the sound lightly floating on the night air.
“I remember you,” I retorted. “But I don’t know who you are.” If I could have shot bolts of lightning out of my eyes I would have done.
He shrugged, so cavalier. “My name is James Edward Bailey. I believe you knew my son.”
Jed!
“Knew him and banished him from my land.” I straightened my back. “Just like I’m going to do for you.”
This time his laugh was a roar of genuine humour, and I bristled in response.
“Oh, Alfhild.” His voice wheedled away at my indignation. “How sweet. Do you really have no concept of who I am or how powerful we are?”
“You’re the leader of The Mori?” I asked, making a brave attempt to sound unafraid, but I have to be honest, of course I felt shaken to the core. I hoped nobody else could hear the tremble in my voice. Where was my father? Now would be a really good time for the cavalry to arrive.
“Me? Goodness no. Not me. I’m just a General in these parts. A cog in a magnificent machine. And you—my dear—have been jamming up our gears. We’re getting a bit fed up with you.”
“You were the one who tried to drown me in the village pond?”
He smiled, his eyes icy. “Yes. You’ll have to tell me how you managed to extricate yourself from that situation. I thought we’d achieved our aim that night.”
“Friends in watery places.” I looked around at the other spinning globes. Who were they all? “You weren’t alone that night.”
“Well I too have friends, Alfhild.”
I sneered at the idea. “I somehow doubt that.”
The pretence of the smile plastered on James’s face fell away. “Anyhow this is tiresome. I have plenty of business to get through tonight.”
I looked in confusion at Speckled Wood. Where was Erik? And the Circle of Querkus? Why weren’t they here fighting back against these reprehensible bullies?
James followed my glance. “There will be no-o
ne rushing to your aid tonight, Alfhild. Your father and his cronies have been rounded up in the wood, and we’ve cast our own forcefield to hold them secure until we have no further need of them.”
Need of them? That sounded ominous. What did he mean?
“You have consistently underestimated the power of dark magick, seeming to prefer the notion that your magick—good magick—can right all wrongs and solve all problems. Well, tonight I’ll finally have the chance to school you in a few home truths.”
James walked the few steps towards me and drew his wand—long, thin and black, it looked like a skeleton’s charred and crooked finger. He tapped me on the chin, and I experienced a sharp pain which briefly flared and then died back. “Your Wizard Shadowmender seems to have deserted you in your hour of need, doesn’t he? Poor Alfhild.”
I lifted my fingers to my chin and glanced down at them. Blood pooled between my index and middle finger.
“What are you going to do to me?” I asked, lifting my gaze to his.
“What am I going to do? I’m going to kill all your friends, banish your ghosts and burn the inn to the ground. That’s what I’m going to do for starters.” I stared at him in revulsion. “Then I’ll have you torn limb from limb, but only after you’ve begged me to do so.”
He threw his head back and laughed loudly. “It’s going to be so much fun, Alfhild.”
“I’ll never beg for you,” I spat.
“Oh I think you will.” He composed himself and moved closer to me, tapping my left shoulder lightly with his wand. Yet again I felt the sharp pain, this time more deeply in the tissue. I cried out and jabbed my hand to where he’d hurt me. More blood flowed between my fingertips.
“But first, before we attend to the interesting part of the evening, I believe you have something of mine.”
What did he mean? “Do I?” I asked, puzzled. “Not that I’m aware of.”
He lifted his wand again and I cringed. “I’m a patient man generally, but I do have a lot to do. Just tell me where to find it, Alfhild.”
I shook my head. “Find what? What do I have?”
“A Moridot.”
I frowned in confusion. “A Moridot?”
“The cornerstone of The Mori’s power is the Morimonolitus. A Moridot is a stone cut from the Morimonolitus. I believe you may have stumbled across it when you trespassed on my farm the other night.”
The red stone I’d found? That’s what it was? If that was the case then I’d unearthed a treasure indeed. There was no way on our good green earth that I was handing something that precious back to James.
“I don’t know what you mean.” I dissembled, trying to think on my feet. “I went to Piddlecombe Farm in search of my fiancé. We didn’t take anything from there.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Alfhild,” growled James, lifting his wand again, impatient to get down to the business of causing me more pain.
I know I am. I dropped my head, studying the blood on my fingers, whilst avoiding his intense scrutiny. I moved my feet part, relaxed into attack stance, my knees loosely flexed beneath my nightshirt, my shoulders rolled back.
“We’ll take the inn apart brick by brick, beam by beam if we have to. We will find it. With or without your help.”
I remained silent. If what I had in the little jewel box meant that much to him, then perhaps my inn seemed a fair exchange.
“And of course we can start by eliminating a few of your friends.”
He gestured at a globe spinning alongside him. “Go in there and pick someone. Anyone.” It buzzed happily off. “In fact, make it the boyfriend,” James called after it. “Drag him out here.”
George.
James would kill him.
I had to act.
Now.
If ever there was a time to remember everything Silvan had taught me, this was it.
I felt the dirt beneath my bare feet, grounded myself on the earth of Whittle Estate, and drew strength from the Daemonnes who had come before me. I envisioned the women of Whittlecombe who had lost their lives at the hands of men driven by hatred, much like The Mori.
And I drew on the fear and anxiety I’d experienced after losing my father, and the discontent at the relationship I’d had with my mother. I recalled the anger and hurt that had followed in the wake of Jed’s betrayal, and the fear and loathing The Mori had instilled in me every time they came after me.
I pooled all of that with my anger at the pain and suffering this rotten organisation had caused Finbarr and Silvan, and Stan and Godfrey, and Mr Hoo. And not forgetting poor Derek Pearce who had lost his life simply because he’d tried to take a stand against his oppressors.
I garnered all those negative emotions, sucked them up from deep within me, up into my stomach, then my chest and into my shoulders, down into my arms and to my fingertips.
Then, with my head tucked down I poked at my chin, pressing the edges of the injury together to harvest fresh drops of my own blood. With them sticky on my fingers, I spoke my spell loudly and clearly.
A witch’s curse using a witch’s blood, is not one to be cast lightly.
Sinking through my hips, I threw my head back and fixed James in my gaze, flinging my right hand forward and spraying him with the drops of blood I’d gathered, sending every ounce of magickal power I had his way. “Corrupta es qui es, crescas in fletu influunt et infirma!”
And what a spell I cast.
The force of it knocked me backwards.
Several things happened at once. He tried to block my attack and failed, only deflecting it in part, by twisting sideways. He screamed, and with a kick of his wand hand sent a ball of malicious energy my way. Already off balance I continued to drop, just as Silvan had drilled into me, time and time again.
I hit the ground, rolled, then bounced back onto my feet, squatting in a crouch, sending pulses of energy at the globes that spun around us, knocking them about. They spun in confusion like billiard balls on a slippery surface.
I’d done some damage to James even if I hadn’t wiped him out completely. His left arm hung uselessly by his side and as he hopped towards me, he had the appearance of a man who’d suffered a sudden stroke. I sent another bolt of energy his way for good measure and made a dash towards the inn.
George was coming out, the spinning globe James had sent inside buzzed angrily at head height, pushing George ahead of itself. As I lifted my hand to cast a new spell at George’s captor, I heard James shout from behind me. “Kill them! Kill them all!”
Before the globe could do anything else, I sent a deadly curse its way. It shattered into a million burning pieces with a spine-shuddering squeal.
“George, get down,” I yelled as he looked around in consternation. He dropped to all fours and rolled back towards the protection of the external wall of the inn, throwing his hands over his head to protect himself. He glanced up at me as I took out another couple of globes, but everywhere I looked there appeared to be more and more of them. I couldn’t fight an army on my own.
“Silvan,” I cried, hoping he could hear me and wasn’t badly injured. “I need you!”
A flash of light from the ground blinded me, and a pain shot through my ankle. James had resumed firing at me. I hopped onto one foot in agony and he shot at my good leg. I fell to the floor and he was on me, his wand pointed at my neck, the tip digging into my jugular.
“I’ll cut your head off,” he snarled and in that instant I knew I was done for. I’d failed. Everything would be for nothing. George would be killed, and Charity and Silvan, and everyone else I loved along with him.
James would banish my ghosts. My beloved wonky inn would burn, and Speckled Wood and all its inhabitants would be allowed to die.
Think only of love, I told myself, and breathed in, the faces of all those who meant something to me forming in my mind’s eye.
“No!” A voice, oddly familiar and unexpected, erupted from the darkness out of nowhere.
A bolt of bright red lightning blaste
d through the sky above me, and the pressure on my neck eased as James crumpled to the ground. I pushed myself to sitting, and observed James sprawled beside me, evidently dead, his eyes staring glassily in my direction. Silvan burst through the door behind me, his wand raised, blasting away at globes as they spun around us. “Alf?” he called.
But I focused instead, on the figure who had come to my rescue, and my jaw dropped. Tall, over six-feet, muscular build. Looking rougher than the last time I’d seen him, stubble on his cheeks, wrinkles around tired cornflower blue eyes.
“Jed?” I whispered.
He cast an inscrutable look my way. “The very same,” he nodded and winked, then swivelled about to face Speckled Wood, and lifted his hands. “Et claustra cadunt,” he ordered. Let the barriers fall.
And they did.
The battle that followed was vicious, but ultimately fairly short-lived.
I dragged myself back to where George was sheltering. We held each other as a firestorm erupted around our heads. The Circle of Querkus—in their spinning green globe forms—broke out of the woods as the barrier fell. They set upon The Mori with deadly and unforgiving intent. It was no surprise at all to see them joined by Wizard Shadowmender and Mr Kephisto. Neither of the elderly wizards were ever far away when I desperately needed them.
They were backed up by a gleeful Silvan, who led a posse of the current Whittle Inn guests in a flanking action. I watched in bemusement as Frau Krauss and Gwyn worked together, rounding up several of the spinning globes and incapacitating them, each exhibiting a light and lethally-accurate touch with their wands.
Jed stood among it all, seemingly unsure what to do or what his role should be—perhaps unclear which side he truly belonged with. The Mori, without a leader were directionless. They fell back to the boundaries of Whittle Inn and rapidly dispersed under relentless fire from Erik and his friends.
In less than ten minutes an ecstatic cheer erupted around the grounds and Silvan ran back to me in jubilation.
“We’ve seen them off,” he reported. “Are you alright?”
The Mystery of the Marsh Malaise: Wonky Inn Book 5 Page 16