Spell of the Dark Castle

by Lorelei Bell

  She closed and locked the door again. Fighting tears, she leaned against the door. She needed a distraction.

  Stephen's letter called to her, and she went to retrieve it off the table. Fingers trembling, she opened it, found his distinctive handwriting, and almost smiled remembering some of the love notes she would find from him during those tender years before she had settled on a husband.

  Before she began down that perilous road, she began reading the letter.

  Dear Knight N-218,

  Hope this letter gets in your hands before this day is out. Your Ghogal did a very good job in getting yours into mine. Also, hopefully you are alone while you read this.

  Now, to your disturbing account of what transpired while you slept. This has me very upset and worried. From what I have been able to gather from my field agents is that a secretive, dangerous cult is operating there, at the village, and that rogue wizards are possibly leading it. I do not have all the details at this time. However, it is quite possible that the wizards who are in control are the very ones that Dorian has gone out after. They are the very same ones that we discussed earlier: Phineas Gardner, Garrison Trueblood, and Keeler Paplebon—Phineas Gardner being the most ruthless of them all. He has a penchant toward sadism. He enjoys giving out pain to others. Therefore, I beg you take great care in avoiding him at all cost.

  I do not know why Gardner would appear to you, nor why he may have tried to harm you. In any case do not take it lightly. Make sure if you go out that you are not alone, EVER. Be constantly on guard.

  I would hope that you have made Saint Germain aware of this intrusion—from what your Ghogal has told me, you have. Good!

  By all accounts, Saint Germain is a gentleman, acnd if nothing else, I hope that for the time being, he will guard you as well as any gentleman should.

  At the writing of this, I am up to my ears in various situations at all levels, and in three continents! I've no man to spare for the moment. However, don't despair. Because of the very real danger you are in, I have sent word to Knight G-605 about your assignment, and fully disclosed your location and situation. He should have personally delivered this letter. If not, beware of who did.

  Do not take this on yourself. This is a matter for more experienced Knights.

  As Knight G-605 might have told you, we have had trouble locating this cult's meeting places, and finding their lair. Their numbers, also, are unknown to us as well. Very slippery devils, indeed!

  You, meanwhile, must try and find out more about Saint Germain's Portal machine. Where it is located. When you do, write and tell me, or if you can, contact Dorian. He is staying at the Golden Dragon Inn under the assumed name of Horace Wigglesworth.

  Continue on as you have been, in the service of Saint Germain, so that you remain safe until I have more Knights in place, and we have located this cult's whereabouts.

  Take care, Zofia

  Yours Advisedly,

  Head of Witenagemont ~ S. R.

  P.S. Destroy this letter once you have read it.

  Chapter 30

  Elbow propped against the table, chin on the palm of her hand, she used her fork to push bits of wild rice around on her plate of emu, steamed rice, and stuffed onions that Percival had delivered to her door just a few moments ago. The emu was tough, and the rice was cold.

  She could hardly think of eating, anyway. What would happen when Dorian found Phineas and the others filled her mind. Their earlier conversation whirled around in her head too. She wanted to cry, but what was the point? Sure, it would feel good, but her nose would become all runny and red, and her eyes too would be red and then Saint Germain might come in asking what the problem was, and then she'd have to start all over again.

  Stephen's letter had told her nothing new. Or, almost nothing new. The fact he'd told her that Phineas was a sadist shed new light on things. This might explain things. The man that was after her was into sadism. And both men in charge over her had told her to stay put and do nothing. Right. They didn't factor into this equation that Phineas had started all this with her. Did they really think that because she was here in Dark Castle that Phineas would just leave her alone? Even she knew better. Bad guys were pretty resourceful when they wanted to be. Blood had proven that by finding a way to disguise himself as other people. That was a lot of fun, trying to find him when he looked like her neighbor, or best friend.

  Both, Stephen and Dorian knew about Phineas' penchant for sadism. They knew that he could Evanish, and that he was dangerous. Why didn't they just tell her to leave this place?

  I'm the bait, she thought miserably. It couldn't be anything else.

  It didn't matter what Stephen had written, or what Dorian had said to her. Phineas' sights were set on her for his ritual. The best thing she could do was to leave, surely. But that didn't seem likely. If only she had the Stone of Irdisi. Not in a thousand years would she even try and go up against a freaking lunatic who could out-spell her, and disappear in a blink. The cards were stacked against her.

  The knock at the door startled her. Her fork went flipping wildly off the table, spitting rice all over the floor. The little bits of rice would be lost in the carpet.

  Once on her feet, she dipped to pick up her fork. “Who is it?” she asked, and replaced the fork back on the table. I wasn't hungry anyway.

  “Zofia? It is I, Franz,” came Saint Germain's rich, deep voice. “I know the hour is late, but may I see you?”

  Her heart seemed to suddenly begin to beat, as though it had been still all this time. She couldn't rein in her excitement over seeing Saint Germain again, but had some reservations about his reasons for being here at this hour. She bit on her lower lip in resignation. A good think it had healed. It sounded like he needed to have that little talk with her. No doubt Jacques had blabbed everything to him, as soon as he came back. She had rehearsed what she was going to tell him all afternoon in her head. She was more than happy to get this over with. Relieved, really. Almost hoping he'd send her packing so that she'd be away from here, and away from Phineas.

  “You've the key, don't you? The door is locked on your side,” she called out.

  After a moment she heard the rattle, and then the key turned. The latch disengaged and the door opened to his dark form silhouetted by the back lighting from the hall. She'd turned out most of her lights, earlier, as she hadn't needed them.

  “Why was the door locked on the other side?” he asked, genuinely perplexed.

  “Jacques locked me in. You must have seen him?”

  “No. No, I haven't,” he said. He sounded very distracted and slightly anxious. He was no longer in the Ugwump suit of First World origins, but now back into his usual garb of the mid-18th century, but really dressed down. He'd changed into a white, silk shirt with small ruffles at the wrists, and along the neckline. His shirt was open enough to give her an enticing view of his thick neck, and a peek at the dark hairs that began high on his chest. Over the shirt, he wore a black vest, buttoned. She thought his attire was a bit on the casual side. Especially for one so finicky about his looks and mannerisms in front of her. His black pants and simple black hose appeared to have hastily pulled on. One of the seams in his hose looked crooked, and he wore no garters. He smelled of ozone and sulfur, the smell of ley line power. Had he just returned, quickly donned his comfort clothes and darted down the stairs from his rooms to see her?

  “I know the hour is late,” he said, as if he were perplexed by the way she had just greeted him. She was pretty sure if Jacques had told him anything about her, he would at least have some hint of anger in his voice. Especially if he'd told him about how she had found her way down into his transporter room. A woman who invaded a man's private spaces was just asking for trouble. “But I could not rest until I saw your lovely face.”

  That took the breath from her, and she took a moment to recover, all the while trying to not look too shocked. Dorian had said a man would fall in love with her for her beauty alone. Not that she thought she was a
ll that beautiful. But she could hardly think of spy business right now while in Saint Germain's aura.

  “Okay,” she said finally, staring at him.

  “Also, I've brought you something. May I come in?” He had not set foot inside her room. In fact he was being ever the gentleman, and standing on the stoop, hands clasped behind his back.

  On a relenting puff of air, she said, “Of course. This is your castle, after all.”

  “My child, it is dark in here,” he said as he stepped inside and closed the door. “Did I disturb your sleep?” She had donned her night gown and robe earlier, having grown tired in the middle of the day, and while she was dressed for it, she'd taken a nap. After all, what was there to do but to nap and puke?

  Saint Germain held a quiet, calm expression on his face.

  “No,” she answered. Clumsily, she reached for the large globe lamp, found the turnkey, and turned it on. They were suddenly immersed in a lovely orangy glow.

  “I've brought you something,” he repeated. From behind his back he pulled a gold foil-wrapped box, a sheer gold ribbon tied around it. The size and shape of the box suggested chocolates. It nearly set her to drool just seeing it.

  She pulled in a surprised gasp. “This is so unexpected, Franz!” She hadn't even thought of his bringing her a gift from First World. “You shouldn't have,” she said, accepting the box from his hand.

  “I simply had to bring you something, my heart,” he said, smiling broadly. “Just hunting for them gave me the greatest joy. They are Belgium chocolates,” he explained. “The very best kind, found only on Earth.” He was only one step away and his individual scent—the clove spice—lit up her senses. She was aware that her heart was throbbing wildly. Why he could send her heart reeling like this, she couldn't really fathom. She couldn't be falling for him. Certainly his sexual magnetism was working on her, as it had been during these past few days. It were as though she were enthralled by a vampire. But she knew he wasn't one, so that couldn't be it. It was more as if she were falling for him, and now that she thought about it, she had been restlessly awaiting his return.

  She had to step out of his space, or risk throwing her arms around him—for bringing her chocolates, of course. Taking two steps away, and averting her eyes did the trick, severing his thrall over her.

  “How was your trip?” she asked, negligently toying with the lace of a doily under the lamp. “You went back to your world? Is it nice to visit? I can't imagine how you do that.” She brought her eyes up to meet his, but he was no longer standing there. Instead, he was at the fireplace.

  “Your fire needs stoking. Let me do that for you.” He bent, just as Dorian had hours ago, and fed more firewood into the grate. Soon the flames licked at the dry wood and threw out more light and heat into the room.

  Rising, he turned to face her. His gaze ran up her form and then down. Finally those simmering black orbs rested on hers. “I have an invention that lets me travel wherever I wish in order to get the things I need to survive in this world of yours. I call it my Teleport Machine.”

  Silently taking him in, she remembered that she'd had a dream about him. What he had been doing in the dream she now couldn't recall, but somehow he seemed terribly dashing just then, just like in the dream.

  “What is it?” he asked, having come close again. His eyes had grown concerned.

  She was reminded that much had happened while he was gone. Since Jacques had not had the chance to tell him what had transpired—his own version—she would have to tell him. But she sensed that he still had something to tell her, even yet. She was certain that he could have waited until the morning to give her the chocolates. In fact, she wasn't all that certain that the chocolates were just a gift, somehow. Possibly it was to pave the way to make a pass at her. But he was holding back; holding off his passions for now. Was it that 18th century man who seemed to be in no hurry? Or was it something more?

  She found herself dry-mouthed again and sought her glass and the pitcher. She downed half the glass, all the while trying to act as untroubled about his visiting her at this hour, when she knew all along he had some ulterior motive. Finally her memory of this morning kicked in, helping her fill the silent void with some sort of chit-chat. She was not very good at this, and even if she ever had been, she was out of practice.

  “You said you had to replace some things that were taken from your lab? Did you find what you needed?”

  “Almost,” he said, clearly stalling, and looking suddenly uncomfortable.

  “What is it then?” she asked, wanting him to just come out with it. He didn't come here to converse with her on chocolates, or his Teleport Machine, apparently. “My heart, I have a very large favor to ask of you.”

  Well, now she knew for sure that the chocolates were a bribe. Whatever he wanted, she hoped it wasn't something she could get into trouble with.

  “And what would that be?” She threw him an assuring smile.

  “I need you to hide something for me.”

  “Hide?” She gazed around herself. “Here? In my room?”

  “A little more seclusion than that,” he said, taking a few steps toward her, closing the gap. “I was hoping that you would be able to hide it among your personal things.” Now in front of her, he took both her hands gently into his and pressed the backs of them to his lips. This gesture seemed to bring out his desperation slightly. Bringing his hands down, hers still in his, he stared into her eyes. “I would be so very grateful.”

  Face warming, she felt it radiate down her neck to her chest, meanwhile her stomach did a lazy cartwheel. She was pretty sure she wasn't going to hurl on him, though. Swallowing she paused and then asked. “How large is it? This thing you need me to hide?”

  Releasing one hand, he reached into the pocket of his vest. Opening his hand, he revealed between the thumb and index finger a crystal vial. It was about the size and length of her pinky finger.

  Eyes fixed on it, she said, “What is it?” The contents looked slightly pinkish-orange, and maybe a little burnt in places.

  “Inside is something very important to me, and I fear, what with all that has been going on as of late, that it might be stolen. It is something—an ingredient—by which I make my Elixir.”

  “But you might need—” His hand came up to interrupt her.

  “I have a few grams hidden in a snuff box,” he assured. “This is a very large amount compared to what I need on a daily bases. I will, from time to time, need to ask that you produce this for me.”

  “Of course.” Gingerly, she took the vial from his fingers and examined the contents again. “I know exactly where I could put it.” She turned away from him and went to the dresser. “Sometimes things hidden in plain view are hidden well.” She opened the middle drawer and placed it into the drawer, next to her brush. “It looks like a powder of some sort.”

  “A dense powder, actually.” His voice was startlingly close. Warm hands ran up her arms, making her whole body tingle. She straighten, feeling him lean into her, his breath against her neck. “I regret that I cannot tell you exactly what it is,” he whispered into her ear, giving her electrifying tingles. “I fear that should something happen; should someone try and make you tell them where it is, if you know what it is it would be hard for you to be convincing. Thus, I shall not tell you.”

  “This is important to you, Franz, I know. But why do you trust me with it? Why not give it to Jacques, or to Percival?”

  “That would be very obvious, my dear. You are a stranger to my house, thus one would reason I should not trust you with something like this.”

  Eyes slipping shut she allowed the quavering tingles to intoxicate her as she leaned back against him, allowing him to stroke her arms. Trust was the very word that triggered her guilt and she stiffened and turned out of his arms to face him.

  “You haven't spoken to Jacques, by any chance, have you? Tonight?” she asked.

  “No. I came almost straight away to you, dear heart.” He gave her
a confused look. “Why?”

  She had to turn away from him. Head bowed she said, “I know all about your Teleport Machine.”

  “Yes. As I have told you about it.”

  “No. I—” she had rehearsed her words carefully. But somehow those words sounded hollow in her head. She tried to remind herself of the Knight's Code, but for some reason it no longer seemed valid to her. Sworn to keep her identity a secret, for everyone's sake (including her own), she had to turn the words carefully through her head before she let them out of her mouth. In a way, Saint Germain entrusting to her something of his that quite possibly kept him alive might work to her advantage. She didn't like being responsible like this, but he knew nothing about her, not really, and she didn't blame him for thinking of her as an innocent. And he had no idea what was going on beneath his castle.

  “This is very difficult,” she said, turning slightly to peer back at him. “And it may anger you to the point of sending me away.”

  “What? Never!”

  She threw up her hand. “Hear me out. Earlier today, after you'd left, I was caught up in one of the Portals, right there in your library.”

  A frown creased his brow. She saw his handsome image in her mirror. Seeing him with her like this made her mind quaver slightly on some other memory. She had to mentally shake herself and continue with what she needed to impart.

  “I don't understand. You came back to the library?”

  “After I left you, I thought of something and wanted to come and ask you about it. And there came this huge sound. Frightened, I ran into your library. You weren't there. I became frightened. Then, I was suddenly inside a huge room with lots of catwalks, gears, and the largest organ I've ever seen.”

  “You say a Portal opened up?”

  “Yes. But there's more.” She grasped onto the back of her chair by the desk and went on. “I was standing above the organ, on the catwalk, and saw two men down there beside it. One of them was the very same man who'd attacked me in my room the other night.”