9) The Wisecraft is bringing in a Maori shaman to help protect Roanoke from dream magic. It may be the same shaman who gave Zoë her dream-traveling sandals.
10) A prophecy says the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter and a girl born on the Winter Solstice will stop a great evil. This may refer to Joy O’Keefe and Nastasia Romanov.
11) The P.E. tutor can move at high speeds and survive being knocked through fifty yards of earth. The King of Magical Australia called him Roland St. Michael.
12) Mortimer Egg is possessed by a demon named Azrael, who used to posses Aleister Crowley. A demon is a creature of pure malice. It chooses its actions based upon what will cause the most damage. This demon is bound by a spell that is held in place by Mortimer Egg’s love for his wife and son. This spell is weakening.
Vladimir Von Dread read the document silently. Then he handed it to Gaius and William.
“Impressive, Miss Griffin and company.” Vladimir’s deep voice resonated with confidence and command. “You have gathered quite an array of information. I had not known about the Starkadder princes or the demon Azrael. I am afraid you have outdone us.”
“Thank you.” Rachel’s voice was calm, but her eyes shone as if his words ignited a lantern inside her.
After discovering that he knew that the Raven was the Guardian, she had feared nothing she had so painstakingly learned would be new to him.
Tamping down her glee, so as not to betray how much his praise thrilled her, she said in a business-like tone, “That matter I am most concerned about is the binding on the demon. Our sources tell us terrible things—worse than the crimes committed by Hitler, Stalin, and Chairman Mao—will happen if he gets free. I wish there were some step we could take to keep this from occurring.”
Von Dread pressed the tips of his black, gloved fingers together. “I have never heard of a spell that binds a supernatural creature into a human. Normally, one exorcises possession.”
“I have,” Rachel replied. “We use them in Devon to bind brollochan.”
“Brollochan?” the princess asked.
“A British fey creature that looks like a cloud of darkness with eyes,” Gaius offered.
Rachel nodded. “You can only perform a proper banishment while they are in the act of possessing someone. An ancestor of mine, the Fourth Duke, was famous for having banished three of them. He bound them into their hosts and then sent them away.”
“Did the hosts survive?” Von Dread’s eyes flickered with interest.
“Um,” Rachel checked her memory. “The stories do not say.”
“Interesting.” He paused. “I will mention your concern to my father. Perhaps, he can do something to protect Mrs. Egg. Their son, Mortimer Junior should be safe here at school.”
Rachel nodded.
Dread said, “You have found out a great deal, Miss Griffin—including things that it took my father’s intelligence service months to learn. I must admit that you have already discovered the information I had thought to share with you.”
Despite her delight at his praise, Rachel found this disappointing. She had hoped Von Dread would offer an earthshaking revelation that prove to be the key to all the unanswered mysteries.
“I do have a piece of information for you,” Dread continued. “The first name of the red-headed woman who works with Mortimer Egg and Dr. Mordeau is Serena. I do not yet know more than that. But I should soon have a photo of her. I promise to share it with you.”
“What I want to know,” asked Valerie. She sat by the gold golf clubs, scratching Lucky behind his horns, “is why isn’t the Wisecraft sharing these photos with everyone?”
“I cannot say, Miss Hunt. We do things differently in Bavaria.”
I bet you do! Rachel thought wryly, gazing at the dangerous and possibly evil older boy.
The group of them spoke together for a time, comparing notes. While the others were laughing at one of Topher’s jokes, Rachel stepped off to one side to consider all that they had discussed, searching diligently for connections. As random pieces of the grand puzzle snapped into place, a glorious feeling, akin to electricity, ran along her limbs.
From her memory, voices spoke, snippets of longer conversations:
The Raven: The sorcerers who worked for Bismarck used a spell to summon him. Their intent was to send the demon against the British sorcerers in an attempt to wrest Egypt away from Great Britain. However, they picked their target badly. His intended victim bound Azrael with a great spell that locked him into a human host.
The Raven again: The spell that binds Azrael was expertly cast.
The Dean speaking of Jasper Hawke: He died a hero!
And Dr. Mordeau’s response: Certainly he did, defeating Bismarck’s sorcerers…alongside Aleister Crowley and General Blaise Griffin.
The Germans had sent the demon Azrael against British sorcerers. They had attacked someone who had happened to know a spell for binding a creature into a human host. Who would know such a spell, except a sorcerer from a family famous for binding brollochan?
Her grandfather.
Was this the great tragedy suffered by Blaise Griffin, The Tenth Duke of Devon? Had he had to bind a demon into Aleister Crowley, one of his closest friends? And then been unable to banish it? If so, why did Dean Moth not know about Azrael? Or had she known that a monster had possessed Crowley but not that it had transferred to Egg?
It occurred to her someone must have known Crowley was terribly evil, or, when he was finally defeated in 1947, he would have been executed.
Instead, when Aaron Marley found him, he had been turned to stone and placed in the cave that was sacred to Nemesis, along with the other members of the Terrible Five. Being turned to stone was a punishment reserved for only the most nefarious practitioners of black magic—those thought to be so powerful that it was feared mere death might not stop them.
The idea that her grandfather had been the demon’s first target shook Rachel. She turned back toward where the others sat to share her revelation and paused, horrified.
Without her there to keep them in line, her friends were eroding any respect Gaius and his companions might have had for them. The princess was so frigid with disapproval that she could have cooled a steaming elixir without an ice bar. Sigfried was behaving like a crazy goon—hugging the gold golf clubs and babbling about his plans for a moon shot using a broomstick the size of a sequoia. Joy talked loudly and giggled like a six-year-old. Zoë rested her feet on a second chair, playing with her feather and paying no attention to the proceedings. Only Valerie behaved appropriately, scribbling down notes as she spoke quietly with Topher.
Rachel had hoped for so much more. She had imagined speaking with Von Dread as she might have with her grandfather—straightforwardly, without concern for the niceties of human nature. It was an approach she was certain would have appealed to Dread. But she could not do this in front of the princess. Nastasia took umbrage at the littlest impropriety. If Rachel worded her comments to appeal to Von Dread, Nastasia would take offense. As for the rest of them, barring Valerie, they were a disgrace. She felt embarrassed and worse, hurt, as if their lack of curiosity about the matters at hand were a personal slight.
How foolish Von Dread and his people must find her and her friends.
With a sigh, she decided this was not the time to voice her suspicions regarding her grandfather and the demon. They were just that, suspicions. If she made claims about her grandfather, and they turned out to be wrong, she would look even more foolish.
If only she had insisted on a private meeting with Gaius and Von Dread.
As she gazed at the others, she was struck by what a handsome couple Dread and Nastasia made as they sat near each other, both straight-backed and listening, with similarly regal expressions. If they could only overcome the princess’s resentment towards him, they might make a splendid match. They were both mind-bogglingly gorgeous, he commanding and dark, she gentle and fair. And yet they were both so severe, so reserved—like two
fortresses.
Rachel drew in her breath. The comparison between the two of them and a fortress seemed suddenly extraordinarily fitting. With it, however, came an astonishing thought. Perhaps, Nastasia and the Bavarian prince would not suit each other. How would one fortress earn the love of another? Rachel could imagine them standing in the same room for years, without ever interacting—each locked away behind defensive walls, closed off, never reaching out to each other. What a fortress needed was to be besieged, for someone to scale their walls, make it over their ramparts, and reach their hearts.
Someone like her.
With the same clarity that had brought the fortress revelation, Rachel knew suddenly: she could pierce Dread’s defenses. It was as if the camera of her point-of-view had swiveled and showed her the postern door in the wall surrounding the castle that was Vladimir Von Dread. She could not have said what that meant. She only knew with absolute clarity that the same tactics that had allowed her to win the heart of her arrogant, taciturn grandfather would work on Dread.
This did not make her want to try. Well, she could not help being a little curious as to whether she could actually do it. But it did not make her wish to prove the truth of her revelation by pursuing Dread. She just knew.
She did wonder whether she might have insights that she could share with someone who was interested in winning the heart of the Prince of Bavaria—should such a person appear.
• • •
Only at the very end of the meeting, as they were breaking up, did Rachel get a brief chance to speak privately with Von Dread.
“Thank you, Miss Griffin,” he nodded curtly, folding the papers she had given him. “You have given me much to think about.”
“You are welcome.” Rachel curtseyed. Then she blurted out before she could lose her nerve. “Um…may I ask you a favor? Two favors, really.”
“You may ask,” he replied coldly, in a tone that made her feel as if he meant anything but. “I give no promise.”
“The first is for Magdalene. Gaius probably told you that her doll came alive and talked to us. She wanted to be allowed to go through the Familiar Bonding Ceremony with it, but they didn’t let her. A chance to do so might comfort her—at least a tiny bit.”
Dread nodded. “I will arrange it at once.”
Wow. Rachel blinked. Just like that. Not even an I will try to arrange.
He truly was impressive.
“And your second request?”
“May I call you Vlad…the way Gaius does?”
He inclined his head a second time. “Of course, Miss Griffin.”
“Thank you, Vlad.” Rachel curtseyed again and dashed off to find her boyfriend.
• • •
Gaius walked her to the door of the gym. They spoke softly in the darkness while the princess waited nearby, radiating palpable disapproval.
“You gathered a great deal of information.” Gaius leaned over and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. “I’m impressed.”
“Thank you.” She blushed, basking in the warmth of his regard.
“Makes me feel mildly inadequate.” Gaius grinned lazily. “Vlad’s going to think I’m a slackard and get himself a new lieutenant.”
“Never,” Rachel beamed at him, approval shining in her eyes.
“You are adorable, Miss Griffin.” He kissed her nose. “Till tomorrow?”
She nodded, her face aglow. He winked and walked off into the night, whistling.
Chapter Twenty-Seven:
Dragonsmith’s Patented Crush Crusher
Two more weeks passed, and no disasters ensued, unless being apart from one’s new boyfriend counted as a disaster.
Rachel and Gaius spent time together during the Knights of Walpurgis meetings. Occasionally, they found a moment to stroll, hand-in-hand, around the reflecting lake. Gaius was so busy refilling his wand, however, that he could seldom pause for more than the briefest of chats. He did promise repeatedly that they would see more of each other in the future, but so far, that future had not come to pass. Rachel wished she could help him with the restoration of his wand. After all, he had lost it on her behalf. But what help could a new freshman give?
At least, when they did find a few minutes together, he always seemed happy to see her.
So, she attended her classes and tried to absorb every smidgeon of information. The Roanoke curriculum was based on the premise that Sorcery was best taught through the works of the masters who invented each Art. While tutors did occasionally assign reading in modern textbooks, students mainly studied the original treatises, written by ancient worthies.
Each of Rachel’s classes covered something fascinating. In science, they were discussing a treatise by Fu Xi, the ancient Chinese Heavenly Sovereign, called A Debate on Salt and Fire. It delved into the discovery of magical essences and how to remove them from objects. On the practical side, they finished making their first warding athames—Rachel made hers of cedar and the spirit-warding essence of salt—and began work on creating shadowcloaks. Siggy added the Elf’s herbs to elixirs and prospered.
Language was Rachel’s favorite class. She loved learning new words. The course covered both English grammar and the Original Language. Currently, they were learning basics by translating an early epic about Alulim, an antediluvian king of Sumeria, and how he passed his blessing to grant names to things to his son Iaptesh.
Language was also the class with the most practical magic. They covered Oré and Obé, the Words of Bridging and Ending. Rachel remained awful at performing cantrips, staring glumly as repeated tries brought few results. She might not have felt so inadequate had she been in another class. Many freshmen were much worse than she. But when compared to the amazing talents of Siggy, Nastasia, Joy, and Wulfgang, her efforts were insignificant.
After two week of substitutes, Dr. Mordeau’s replacement was announced. To everyone’s amazement, Scarlett MacDannan stepped down from her position as an Agent of the Wisecraft and came to Roanoke Academy to teach. Students teased Ian, claiming he was now on easy street, since his mother would be his math tutor. Ian looked glum. His pessimism was well-founded. Mrs. MacDannan proved to be a tough instructor, and she was even harder on her son.
Rachel very much enjoyed having Mrs. MacDannan as a tutor. Her range of knowledge and her exacting standards were both to Rachel’s liking. It did take several classes, however, before Rachel ceased to be plagued by disturbing memories of the other Scarlett MacDannan, the one she had seen in the buff in the janitor’s dream office.
If Language was her favorite class, Music was her least. Rachel was diligent about the rest of her homework, but she still avoided practicing her flute. She hated playing. Currently, she was doing well in class, thanks to her ability to instantly memorize sheet music, and her meager playing skills were still better than those of some of her fellow students, many of whom were new to their instrument. But she knew it was only a matter of time before her lack of practicing would catch up with her.
The theory part of music class fascinated her, however. The tutor explained the seven modes of music and which mode was used for which of the seven kinds of enchantment. In one of Rachel’s favorite sessions, Miss Cyrene played Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star in all seven modes, demonstrating the differences. The tutor also taught them songs for clearing fog and for summoning domestic will-o-the-wisps, neither of which Rachel managed to play successfully.
In art, Rachel continued to be the only student without a familiar. She finally cornered Mistletoe and brought the cat to class. He spent the entire period chasing Zoë’s tiger-striped quoll and Juma O’Malley’s miniature elephant, knocking over paints, and causing a general commotion. After that, she did not even bother trying to catch him before class.
True history class was fascinating when it covered new material. Alas, this did not happen as often as Rachel would have liked, as a great deal of the class was review drills. The tutor emphasized learning by reading original works but explained that this woul
d mainly come later, as the early shamans had left few written records.
Rachel listened attentively—when the tutors covered new material. When they droned on, repeating material previously covered, her mind drifted. And when it did, there was nothing to stave off the darkness. The tutor’s voice would fade, and Rachel would suddenly find herself reliving her harrowing ride across campus, as she warned her fellow students of Mordeau’s perfidy. Or she would again find herself being yelled at by John Darling in front of a faceless crowd. Or her imagination would begin to picture the encounter between Valerie and Jonah Strega, or what Misty Lark might have seen while she was tied to the couch, watching Egg and his cohorts murder her family.
It was all she could do to keep from crying out in fear in the middle of class.
She tried keeping her mind occupied by rereading books from the library of her memory—her favorite activity before she came to school; however, she often became absorbed in the story and missed some important class point. The only thing she could do during review periods that successfully kept the horror at bay was to contemplate how to stop these terrible events from happening again.
So long as she kept her thoughts focused on this goal, she felt calm.
The first day after the meeting with Dread, Rachel spent her time musing about her grandfather. Had he been the one to cast the spell that bound Azrael into Aleister Crowley? If so, was this incident related to the tragedy he had suffered? And what could this tragedy be that she had never heard so much as a word of it?
Then, it struck her.
Rachel sat straight up in the midst of an Alchemy review session, startling Siggy, who was snoozing beside her. If her grandfather, the great cryptomancer, had cast the original spell on Azrael, wouldn’t he have used cryptomancy?
If so, they needed only to pronounce the masterword, and the binding on Azrael would be restored to full strength!
From that moment on, during the review periods, Rachel mentally searched the journals her grandfather had kept in his tower library, looking for clues. In her memory, she could recall each crisp, yellowing page clearly enough to reread its firm, looping handwriting. She found no mention of Azrael or demon. Crowley was mentioned quite often, but always in reference to either youthful capers, or Grandfather’s efforts to restrain the other magician’s excesses during World War II. Crowley had fought on the side of the Allies, but her grandfather had disapproved of his methods.
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