Spell of the Dark Castle

by Lorelei Bell

  “It's true,” she said. “The Immortals had a difficult time in taking certain places over from them. They had their own magic. The Immortals knew they could not be controlled, nor could they make peace with them. They were not peace-loving creatures. So, the Immortals had to bring their Powers together—something they do not do, not ever, except in extreme cases like this—and sent them into the Dark Realm.”

  “They didn't kill them?” he asked quietly.

  “No. Immortals are sworn to never take a life, no matter how small or large. They deal with the problem, and find a way to reduce the danger to others. The Helsingas were not creatures who could be dealt with like any others on this planet.”

  “Do you know of the god Apep?” he asked.

  A chill shot down Zofia's spine at the mere mention of the god's name. She didn't know why, only that it had been spoken a mere few times in her presence. But also, knowing something was planned that would involve her and this god—and it sounded as though she was quite expendable in this endeavor—gave her great discomfort.

  “Yes. It was mentioned by the rogue wizards, when I overheard them the other day. Why? What do you know about it?” she prodded.

  “In what context did they speak of you and this god?”

  “That I was to be part of a ritual to bring him back. I'm to be used as an offering of some sort. Why?”

  “I am loath to tell you about it, but I must, if it would help protect you. And after I have told you, I must insist you to leave this place. I will not take no for an answer, this time, Zofia.” His tone was firm, and she could tell by his expression he was deeply troubled. “I will take you by coach, only because of the danger we would be in should we enter my Teleport Room again.”

  “But, I can't,” she said.

  He grabbed up the book which was lying next to him and held it up. “I have found the published pieces of Cagliostro's Egyptian Lodge, and I can tell you that he once tried to bring Apep forth, on Earth, but failed. But this time, I think he will succeed because he has something he did not have back then.”

  “What?”

  “Enough Philosopher's Stone to create a large enough circle. Plus, the place they have chosen for this, the ley line power is very strong. Strong enough to pull him from the Dark Realm should they be able to harness it—which I think they will.”

  Zofia sat there staring at the book in his hand and then back at him, stunned that he actually found something written on this. He replaced the book on the table.

  “How do you know this is what he's up to?” she asked, hoping he was wrong.

  “Because of the things missing from my lab.” He began counting the items on his fingers. “Various missing ingredients—mostly the Philosopher's Stone—certain herbs, chemicals, and the large amount of candles stolen from Mrs. Clutterbutt's store. Plus they need a female offering—namely you.” He paused and stared at her. “Did you know that they also need a male sacrifice?”

  “Oh, my goddess! Dorian!” she said, feeling her face flush and then her whole body went from hot to cold in a flash of sudden dread.

  “Where did your husband go, after you told him about the hiding place of the cult?”

  “The entrance was through the back room of the inn, down in the wine cellar. He went to investigate, as I've told you he did.” Her hands began to shake again.

  “He went down there because of what you told him?”

  “Yes. It's his job. Why?”

  “The information you got from Mrs. Clutterbutt may have deliberately been given to her knowing you would pass it along to Dorian. Obviously, they know who you are, just as you've said. They know you are here, and that you are staying in my castle and that was why Myron made an attempt at snatching you tonight.”

  “Yes. He was being payed to abduct me.” Zofia's gaze fell to the floor. “I must get word to Stephen.”

  “Stephen?”

  “He's Head of the Knights. I've been keeping him informed the best I can. But this has turned bad quicker than even he thought it would. And in different ways.”

  “I could have someone send a message to him, if you wish?”

  “I've been sending my messages by Knight Hawk, and by my Ghogal.”

  “Ghogal?” he looked surprised.

  “Yes, you know, invisible servants—”

  “Yes, yes,” he said, holding up a hand to stop her explanation. “I know what they are. I had no idea you had one here.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Dread washed through her then. Dorian went below, where he might meet up with the cult. She wondered if he was alright. She still had feelings for the lout. She needed to know if he'd gotten there safely and back. She didn't like the fact that Phineas had plenty of Philosopher's Stone, and all the potential power to pull a huge spell. All he needed was her, and a male sacrifice. She didn't like how this was all adding up.

  Saint Germain stood. “I will take you to your room—to pack.”

  “Pack?” she said, gaining her feet, feeling startled.

  “Yes. I have Randal preparing the carriage to take you on to Raven's Hollow.”

  “But, my message—”

  “You will have time, I think to pen something, and I will get it off by falcon. It would be the swiftest way,” he said, escorting her toward the doors. “Let him know that you will be taken to Raven's Inn, where you will await someone to come and fetch you.” They stepped out into the hallway.

  “But what about—”

  The lights all went out and they stood in the pitch-black doorway.

  Chapter 36

  Pulling in a breath, Zofia went still and eventually eased the breath through parted lips.

  “Do not move,” Saint Germain said quietly.

  “Is it the storm?” Zofia asked, standing quite still, and yet sensed that Saint Germain was no longer next to her but moving around the room.

  Zofia turned back toward the room. She saw Saint Germain's motions against the amber glow of the fireplace. He lit a hurricane lantern. Turning, he held it before himself, the glow illuminating his face, throwing his features into a weird grimace as he hurried back out to her.

  “Here,” he said, taking her arm with his other hand. “We can now see our way back to your room.”

  “Now, you see why the Immortals didn't allow electricity.”

  He gave her a side glance. “Oh?”

  “Lights go out, you have to light candles. Just not worth it in the long run.”

  He was chuckling as they moved down the corridor.

  As soon as she was safely back in her room she penned a very short message to Stephen: “HELP!” and gave it to Saint Germain to get off with a falcon. After he left her, she called Biddle out of his slumber.

  Yawning hugely, he answered, “Yes, madam?”

  “I need you to do something for me?”

  He muttered something under his breath, and she ignored it.

  “I need you to go to the tavern, you know the one called Raven Inn?”

  “Yes, madam, the one you went to with Count Saint Germain?”

  “That's the one. I need you to go down to the cellar, and there should be a hidden passageway. Follow it, and find Dorian.”

  “Dorian has gone down into a passageway, and you want me to find him. Is that all?”

  “No. Report back to me—wait! First warn him, if he's still down there that Phineas wants a male sacrifice, and he should get out of there as quickly as possible. Saint Germain is sending me back. I may not be here when you get back.”

  “Where will you be?” he sounded worried.

  “Well, probably heading back to Raven's Hollow, I expect, since there's really no where else for me to go.”

  “Very well, madam,” Biddle said with a weary voice.

  A few moments later, Zofia was darting around her room, pulling everything from the armoire and drawers, skipping the folding part, and magicked it all into her trunk. She opened the small drawer where she kept her brush and make-up, and came
across the small vial which she knew held something important to Saint Germain. Of course it was the Philosopher's Stone. She gazed at it through the green-tinted glass. He had trusted her with his precious elixir for safe keeping. She would have to give it back to him, now, since she was leaving.

  She picked up the silk hanky that was twisted tightly around the two diamonds he'd given her. These she would give back as well. She had duped him at least she felt as though she had, and felt terrible about it.

  The knock on her door made her spin, nearly dropping the hanky as well as the glass container in her hands. Goddess, she was jumpy!

  Pulling in a breath, she let it out as she called, “Who is it?”

  “It is I, Franz.”

  He had given her the key, and told her to lock herself in. She thought that was a waste of time, since the wizards would be able to Evanish right into the room.

  Not feeling like jogging the length of the room to unlock it the Ugwump way, she Twizzled it open.

  Saint Germain stepped inside, closed the door, and turned the key again to lock it. She noticed he'd rid himself of the coat, but hadn't changed out of the muslin shirt, and it was now open a little more, revealing his broad chest. She had delighted in running cool fingers over his chest last night. His body, she recalled, was excessively hot to the touch, as though with fever. When she mentioned this, he'd explained that he always ran on the hot side of normal. Possibly a side effect of being immortal. So, being immortal meant you could melt a glacier, she supposed, which was good only if your world wasn't going through global warming.

  His state of dress had her heart palpitating uncontrollably, because it was almost exactly how he had been dressed last night when he'd come to her. Had it only been last night when they'd made love? It seemed like a hundred years ago.

  His black pants and simple black hose looked dusty, or smudged, suggesting he had been working somewhere that was sooty, or dusty. Perhaps he'd ventured down below. He did smell faintly of smoke and something else. Something more mysterious, with that bitter tang to it. Sulfur, perhaps?

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “All is well, for now,” he said hastily as he surged into the room, eyes sparkling, but not with merriment, but of something else. Danger? It were as though he loved the danger, she could feel that from where she stood. Yes. He had lived close to the flame, he'd told her that. Danger was his excitement. He was the 007 of the eighteenth century, the way he'd told it.

  She watched as he came to a halt in the middle of the room, several feet away. He glanced at the fireplace, then looked at her and brought his hands together and rubbed them, as if to warm them. She sensed a stilted air toward her. Of course their conversation just a while ago was somewhat painful, and terribly revealing. She had gone from welcomed guest, to lover to—what? Enemy? Not quite. But not exactly as trusted as before, since she admitted she was a spy for the Witenagemont.

  “What happened? Did Cagliostro sabotage the electricity?” she wondered, hoping to open up the conversation with a subject that was as far away from herself as possible.

  “It was difficult to tell,” he said, stepping a little closer, hands still clasped. “I have sent word to the people of the village to lock their doors and not venture out tonight. I explained that the storm was coming in.” He shrugged. “No one else is aware of what is going on below us. I only hope that whatever happens doesn't affect them.”

  “You sent word? How?”

  “I sent Jacques.”

  “Oh. So, you saw him.”

  “Yes.”

  “Spoke to him?”

  “Of course,” he said, tilting his head a little, still looking at her.

  “Then he must have told you—everything?”

  “Everything?” he questioned.

  “The things he knows about me, and threatened to tell you since a few days ago.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said. “Jacques gets very excitable. I assured him I knew everything about you. I felt it best to send him out on this task, nevertheless. He was willing to do as I bid. Knocking on doors would take a while, even in a town this small.”

  She made a hand gesture toward her trunk and bags. “Well, I'm packed,” she announced into the awkward silence as he stood staring at her. She still had the handkerchief with the diamonds and the small vial in her hand.

  “So I see,” he said, glancing at the trunk, and then back at her. Probably wondering how he would get that heavy thing down to the awaiting carriage. A Portal would do it.

  “Here.” She held both hands out to him, each holding the things he'd given her. She placed the vial in his right hand. “You may need this. And I don't deserve these, so here.” She pressed the diamonds bundled up in the silk handkerchief into his left hand.

  He opened up the black handkerchief. Twinkling against the midnight of silk sparkled the twin diamonds. He gazed back up at her. She couldn't fathom what his thoughts were at this point, but his eyes glittered nearly as brilliantly as the diamonds in his hand.

  Tears burning at the corners of her eyes, she turned away.

  “My heart,” he said softly.

  “I feel dreadful,” she said, miserably. “I don't have what it takes to be a spy. I've no spine whatsoever!”

  He closed in on her, a small chuckle vibrating in his throat; she felt him before he even put a hand on her. Warm hands grasped her shoulders. “My dear heart,” he said, voice resonating through her. “I thank you for returning the Philosopher's Stone. But these…” he turned her around and placed the bundled up handkerchief back into her hand. “You do deserve them. You deserve so much more, and what is more, if we both survive this night, I will make certain all that I have will become yours.”

  Blubbering, using the hanky ends to try and ebb the flow of tears, to no avail, she was barely cognizant of his words. Finger under her chin, he tipped her head back to look up into his face. She had no choice but to look into those compelling shards of obsidian which now seemed to hold fire in them.

  “Tell me, dear heart, to my face that you do not feel something toward me. Tell me that you do not, so that as I leave you, I will not be wondering, fretting forever that you had never cared about me, even one small bit.”

  She couldn't lie to him, although it would be easier to tell him no. Easier on both of them. Or would it? She didn't know. Who was she to decide?

  “I would be a liar to say I don't feel attracted to you, and I do care about you. That was why it frightened me when Phineas unplugged the organ, and I went and tried to find what he'd done. I was given the order to destroy your machine. But I couldn't! If it weren't for Jacques—I don't know what would have happened, if you'd tried to return here. You would have been stuck on First World, wouldn't you?”

  “Quite possibly, yes,” he said. “But, it would not have been the worst case scenario, I must say.”

  “I would have found a way to bring you back,” she said, and pressed her lips together against her raging emotions. Why was it so hard to say what she wanted to say?

  He chuckled, lightly touching her face. “I have no doubt of it, now.” Why did she enjoy his touch? It gave her a little chill just then; the power he had over her.

  “You don't seem very upset over being stuck on First World,” she observed.

  “I am but a mortal man, yet have lived too long for my own good. But I must admit to you I have never met another woman who had made my heart ache if I were to loose her, I can not recall her in your presence, except the one woman I married. And you, my dear, I do believe with all my heart and soul, are her reincarnate.”

  Dumbfounded, Zofia stared at him for a few heartbeats. “No.” She shook her head.

  He released her. “You do not believe in reincarnation?”

  “I do, but—” she couldn't continue. Dropping her hands to her sides, she gazed back at him. “I don't understand my feelings for you, Franz. Before I came here I didn't know who you were. Yet, the moment our eyes met, it was as though I've
known you for a long time. I can't explain it, I don't understand my sudden, very deep feelings for you. But how, if I am not your wife reincarnated, could I have knowledge of you? I think I even know your favorite color is gold. I don't know how I know that.”

  He was nodding. “Yes. It is. But it is also my favorite metal. But then, I am an alchemist.” He shrugged then as if it would be simple to deduce this.

  “How-but—?” She was sputtering now, unable to comprehend it all. “I can't be Christina.”

  “You are. Only in a different body, several hundred years separated as well as a world away. I have now lived hundreds of life-times—on Earth, and now here. You, however, have had at least two separate lives. One on Earth, and now here. Some people do not realize their soul has returned until something familiar happens, or they meet someone they feel they've always known upon first meeting them and falling in love in a very short time, and cannot understand why they are so attracted to them.”

  She shook her head. “I don't know. I feel so confused,” she blabbered, and felt a catch in her voice, so quickly went on. “When I'm with you, I forget all about Dorian. I forget what he's done to me, and how hurt I am over it. I just feel—I feel freed, and strangely—no—desperately attracted to you.”

  He drew closer once more, fingers took her chin again, so she would have to look into his intense dark eyes. “But whatever has happened between you and your husband holds you back because you're not sure, or you simply can't let go?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, wanting to turn her head away, but he wouldn't allow it.

  “Tell me,” he said softly, “what happened between you to sever his love?”

  “It's a long story. But I can give you a short version.”

  He nodded.

  “Five years ago, Dorian came here with Phineas and the other two Knights. Somehow he was turned into a vampire. I know they must have been behind it, so that they could continue with whatever they were doing—this cult stuff. A Lamia, known as Xilomorah, as far as we can determine, was the one who had turned him.”

  “Ah, I see,” he said.

  “With the help of my aunt, we were able to bring back his soul, and turn him back into a wizard again,” she continued. “We had a fight, just a few days before I arrived here. He revealed what little he remembered—that he'd allowed Xilomorah to seduce him, and I became mad. We couldn't finish the fight; I wanted to tell him what happened to me, but every time I tried to, something would happen, or someone would interrupt us—”