by Lucia Ashta
“Miranda held her against her body. Priscilla was there when the light exploded. When the light dimmed, she was gone.”
“So she could still be alive?”
Nando met my eyes. He must have seen my desperation there because he said, “She could be.” But his eyes told me he didn’t believe what he’d said for a second.
“How... What... She is... was a vampire,” I finally spat out.
Thankfully, my brother knew me well enough to decipher what I meant by that. “Apparently a blast of magic like that is enough to kill a vampire.”
“B—but where’s her body?”
“Gone.”
I realized Priscilla’s body was gone. Even though I couldn’t make out Miranda or Count Vabu anymore, I was certain of what my eyes had seen. Priscilla had completely vanished.
No, she’d died, not vanished.
“Maybe she’ll come back to life like I did?” I hadn’t particularly liked or trusted Priscilla, but I found the thought of the dark-haired, tall, composed vampire incinerated in a blast to be entirely unbearable.
“No, she won’t. She was already dead, remember?” He cleared his throat several times. The effort of making ourselves heard above the roar of the wind was taking its toll.
I nodded to myself sadly. She’d been dead, or undead as she and her brother had said. What happened to the undead when they died definitively? Was it something terrible? Was that why Count Vabu was attacking Miranda with such fury?
I pondered all the possibilities, most of them bad, and decided I didn’t want to any longer. “What’s going on over there now?” I shouted, my voice beginning to get scratchy. Nando and I would both be hoarse by the end of this.
“Uh....” Nando squirmed; my brother rarely squirmed, and whenever he did, it was surely a bad sign.
“Uh, what?” I turned on him, forcing his grip on me to loosen as I studied him.
Nando frowned. “Count Vabu is tearing into Miranda.”
“Tearing into her? What do you mean, tearing into her?”
“I mean, he’s killing her.”
I gasped, even though I didn’t know what else I’d expected. The evil sorceress had seemingly wiped his sister from existence. If that had been Nando, what would I be willing to do? Probably more than I wanted to admit to. “Is he killing her to save the rest of us, or to punish her for what she did to Priscilla?”
“Does it matter?”
It did, a whole lot. “I think it does.”
“I’d do the same if she killed you.” My brother, usually light-hearted and jovial, spoke in a cold voice that sent shivers through me.
He turned his attention back to the alcove across the way that I couldn’t see, but he could, with his extraordinary vision, a gift that had come seemingly out of nowhere. He’d always had good eyesight like me, but this wasn’t normal good. Humans weren’t expected to see in the inky darkness, especially at great distances.
The wind whipped and hooted and howled so intensely that it dislodged my concern for Count Vabu’s actions, and the motivations for them. I sought out Clara, and found her as she’d been before. Her face, eyes closed to the horrors of death, remained placid, while her hair and clothing wove around her in non-stop undulations.
Marcelo stood next to her, ready to charge into action. How he’d intervene if things got out of hand, I had no idea, but it was clear from the expression on his face that he was willing to die trying to save his wife, if that’s what it took.
The wind had long snuffed the few torches we’d carried—all but one that Brave had deposited in a bracket meant for it on the wall, where it flickered with every breath of the wind, but held, protected from the currents by the curvature in the wall.
Sir Lancelot dug his talons into Brave’s shoulder with such intensity that I could make out pools of scarlet, leaking from beneath Brave’s shirt. Clearly, our feathered teacher had punctured his flesh. I couldn’t entirely blame him however, and it seemed as if Brave didn’t either, doing nothing more than wincing against the injury.
The owl was so light that the wind would have long whisked him away to the abyss if not for Brave, who braced the bird with a firm hand, while holding onto Gertrude with the other.
“It’s done,” Nando said.
“What’s done?”
“Miranda.”
“Miranda’s done? What’s that mean?” But I already knew. Of course I knew. There was only one way the fight between Count Vabu and Miranda would end: in the death of one of them.
“Miranda is dead. Count Vabu killed her.”
“How?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“He, uh, took her head off.”
“He ‘took her head off?’” I screeched.
“Yes, he ripped it from her body.”
“Oh,” was all I said. I was definitely out of my element. I didn’t know what else to say. “At least she won’t be able to hurt any of us again.” I hadn’t forgotten about her threat of delivering some magical potion of hers to the academy, where it was supposed to kill all of us in one swoop.
“She definitely won’t.”
“Hmmph,” I said, wholly unprepared to deal with the circumstances I found myself in. So I did the only thing I could think to. I faced toward Clara and leaned into my stalwart brother once more.
Together we’d brave the storm, and if we were very lucky, we’d actually get out of here alive.
Chapter 3
I’d believed the air had gathered as much strength as it would, and that Clara’s attempt to dissolve the remnants of Maurisse’s spell wouldn’t require any more force—after all, this was already more force than we could comfortably handle.
As usual, my expectations about magic were wrong.
The air surged with renewed vigor, obliterating any chance of thinking about anything beyond our immediate survival. The wind whipped the final burning torch into submission. Its flame puttered to a quick death, and we were plunged into overwhelming darkness.
The wind whistled as it tore through the enclosed space, which had at first felt big in comparison to the dungeon. Now it felt like a death trap. If the wind picked up even a degree more, it would surely kill us.
Nando struggled to guide me toward the wall, and that was with me working along with him to get there. My shirt whipped so furiously in the gale that it tore free of its lower buttons. It came untucked from my trousers and lashed behind me over and again with a snapping sound. It was a good thing Arianne had allowed us to forego the usual dresses expected of young women. In these circumstances, any one of my dresses might have strangled me to death.
“Get as close to the wall as you can!” Nando yelled at the top of his lungs; his voice sounded as a faraway whisper.
“I’m trying!”
I battened against the wall and crouched down as low as I could. Seconds later Nando was doing the same over me. He was trying to deflect the attack from me.
I suddenly remembered the many spirits that were there with us that I’d promised to get out of the castle. I wondered if the wind would destroy them, whisking them back down toward the dungeons, or whether they’d all be like Albacus, who last I’d seen was completely unaffected by the physical effects of the world of the living.
Of course, I couldn’t make out any of the spirits. I couldn’t even find Albacus, who’d been next to Mordecai. It was so dark that I wasn’t able to see my hand in front of my face.
The wind pummeled us. Even beneath the protection of my brother’s body, I wondered if we’d survive it. I’d never witnessed a tornado or a hurricane, but I imagined this must be what it felt like to live through one.
The wind began moaning, like a wounded old crone, who was lashing out in a desire for retribution.
The air beat against us, pounding the shells of our bodies. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. Most of all, I wanted it to end. I shook in fear, thankful that my brother was there with me, at the same time as I was sorry that he was suffering along with me.
Then it somehow got worse.
My brother and I lost traction and began to skid across the worn stone floor. I dug my feet into it, desperate to find purchase and failing.
“Clara!” Marcelo roared, making himself heard over the wind, an impressive feat. “Clara!” he screamed again, panic lacing his voice.
If Marcelo was panicked, that definitely wasn’t a good sign. That could only mean that he believed his wife had lost control of the air element and that it would kill us.
Clara didn’t answer. The wind only increased to such levels that the dragon Humbert roared from somewhere behind us.
The dragon’s roar, as powerful as the air, shook the walls. I felt the vibration of his cry of protest through my forehead. I pressed it, along with any other body part I could, against the wall, fighting to hold myself in place. The stones weren’t smooth, but neither did they provide a way to grip. Nando and I were fighting to hang on.
Sir Lancelot! But I didn’t manage to hold onto my concern for the petite owl who surely wouldn’t survive something like this.
Flame burst behind us, illuminating the hall where we stood for several moments, long enough for me to take in the stricken expressions on Walt and Marie’s faces. Walt made eye contact with me. I sensed regret and hope there, before the flame died down, and I no longer saw him.
My ears still rang in the aftermath of Humbert’s fiery roar, when the next flame erupted behind us.
This time Walt was waiting for me. I peeked at him from beneath Nando. He offered me a tentative smile, one that I suspected conveyed many of the thoughts he hadn’t dared speak. He liked me. Here, trapped in this terror, he was attaching hope to me, to all he hoped we might share together—if we managed to survive this.
Did I want to share things with Walt? A first kiss, perhaps? A walk through Acquaine’s gardens while holding hands? I couldn’t think through the implications of it, and maybe that was better. I didn’t think, I felt. And yes, I did want to share those things with Walt, I definitely did. I was supposed to live life to its fullest now, wasn’t I?
Before I could stop myself, I smiled timidly at him. I was sure the effect of it would be dimmed by the hair sticking up all over my head, never still, and my torn clothes and windburned cheeks.
But from the sudden grin that lit up his face, it was clear he saw me in a way I didn’t see myself.
I grinned back, I couldn’t help myself. I realized how much I did like Walt, and how now I wanted to escape this castle more than ever.
Humbert’s flame petered out only to be replaced by the baying of Wizard Meedles’ hellhounds and the prehistoric-like screeches of fourteen firedrakes, united in their desperation to flee this place.
I wanted to close my ears so I couldn’t hear the raging sounds, too loud for an enclosed space. My flesh was battered, all of me was beaten. I feared I’d taken all I could endure.
Then the air slowed until it nearly stilled, and I dared draw a full breath deep into my lungs. One second. Two. Three.
Was the wind going to stop? I raised my head from beneath Nando’s arms and wished I could see his face to figure out what he thought.
The next second, I was hurrying to burrow my face back into the pocket of Nando’s arms and my own. The wind hadn’t softened at all. It had just been gathering strength to pummel us some more.
The air unleashed its worst yet on us.
I found it impossible to do anything but focus on the essentials of survival. Take a breath. Let it out. Don’t focus on how you have no control. Don’t think about where you are. Take a breath. Let it out. Keep your eyes shut. Keep your head down. Don’t pee yourself out of fright.
Somewhere along the way since Clara began to try to save us—by almost killing us—I’d begun to tremble. The shaking had intensified so greatly that my teeth chattered and now I struggled to keep my mouth shut.
The hounds tried to howl but ended up emitting a chorus of strangled cries. Even Humbert, who attempted to roar another time, choked and coughed. The screeches of the firedrakes sounded distant, as if the dinosaur-looking beasts were truly no more than a memory, from the long-ago past.
I shook and chattered and—finally—began to cry. Tears didn’t make much progress down my cheeks. The wind whisked them away as soon as they coalesced into something substantial.
If this was what it took to break the spell trapping us, the price was too great. How much force could the human body withstand? Surely not much more than this. If the gale increased even slightly, it would surely pick us apart in flecks and chunks.
We’d all die here. As Maurisse had planned.
Whatever hope I’d managed to hold onto rose to the surface of my being, ready to offer itself to the wind. I was about to give up.
Am I imagining it, or is the wind slowing down?
No, the wind was definitely slowing... but for how long? How long would we have before the wind attacked us again?
My ears popped painfully, signaling a sudden change in air pressure. My hair settled against my head, my locks whipped into something beyond recognition. My clothing lay against my skin, and I pulled in a long, ragged breath.
Was that it? Oh, please, please, please let it be it.
Nando, still curled around me, looked up. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him moving his head about. “I think it might be stopping.” His voice was raspy, but he hadn’t had to yell, and I’d still heard him.
I wanted to say something, but found that I couldn’t. I was shaken to my core.
I didn’t dare move from my place pressed against the wall in case this was another temporary respite from the barrage. Nando wasn’t letting me move either, making it clear he didn’t trust the safety of our environment any more than I did.
But then the whistling sound of the wind died entirely, and there were no more howls—not of wind or beast. I felt the beating of my heart for the first time since it started. My heart was beating far too fast. My throat was parched.
“Clara?” Marcelo said. “Are you all right?”
I strained my ears to hear her response. I liked Clara. I very much wanted her to be well. After a demonstration like that, though, I wasn’t sure she would be.
“Clara!” Concern colored Marcelo’s voice.
I was sure that every single one of us, including the many magical creatures, waited—and hoped—to hear her response.
“Clara?”
“I’m here,” she finally said. “I’m all right.”
Nando let out a big sigh of relief along with me.
“Is the wind finished?” Mordecai asked. “Can we light the torches?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice revealing strain. “You can light them. It’s over.”
I made out Mordecai’s mumbles, softer than usual after our experience, and then torches, placed intermittently along the walls, flared to life.
Being able to see again was a great relief. My trembling began to subside.
Nando stood and pulled me along with him. But once upright, he didn’t want me out of reach. He pressed my back against the front of his body, just as Miranda had done with Priscilla before she’d killed her.
I shook the thought from my head, and forced myself to focus instead on my brother’s comfort. I leaned my head back against his shoulder and allowed the relief to wash over me.
We weren’t free yet. We weren’t even safe, but at least that... horrible experience was over—I hoped.
“What happened?” Grand Witch Tillsdale asked of Clara, while also glancing at Marcelo, Mordecai, and Albacus. “What was that?”
“That was Clara doing her unique version of magic,” Mordecai said.
“That was... that was... well, I don’t even know what to say about that.” The witch put both hands on her hips, akimbo, and studied Clara. “That’s how you interact with the elements?”
“It’s not usually that intense,” she said, sounding exhausted. Marcelo realized it too, and swooped in so she could lean o
n him.
“So you don’t use spells, you just connect straight to the four elements?”
“Five elements.”
“No, there are only four.”
“There are five,” Clara said firmly despite her tiredness.
“Five?” Giselle asked, sounding awed, as if her entire world just got turned upside down. Then she pinned an accusatory glare on Mordecai and Albacus. “You two, did you know about this?”
Mordecai and Albacus nodded. The tinkling of the beads in Mordecai’s hair and beard sounded in the hall, whisking in a new wave of relief. If I could hear the clinking of beads, then the wind was gone.
“And you didn’t tell me?” Giselle growled. The tone of her voice made it easy to appreciate how she was both admired and feared in the magical world.
“There wasn’t the chance.”
“Are you seriously going to try to tell me that there was no chance to tell me that there aren’t four fundamental building blocks of all magic, but five?” Her voice was rising in pitch.
“Now isn’t the time, Giselle,” Mordecai said tiredly. “We’ve been through enough for one day, and we aren’t finished yet.”
“Fine. But don’t think for a second that I’m letting this go.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Mordecai grimaced, but turned to Clara. His tone softened when he addressed her. It looked like Marcelo was all but holding her up. “Is the spell broken?”
She nodded and attempted a small smile. She barely succeeded. She looked like she needed to sleep for a week to recover. “For Albacus, too.”
“Really?” Mordecai’s eyes shot wide.
Clara’s smile widened and she nodded.
“You did it?” he asked again.
“I did.”
“Well, that’s just... amazing. That’s just....” He seemed overcome with emotion. “You get to come home, brother.” He gazed into Albacus’ eyes, the ones that were already pinned on him.
“I guess so,” Albacus said, awe coloring his voice. He grinned at his brother, then turned to Clara. “Thank you, child.”