by Mac Flynn
I turned my glare on him. "I don't like zombie movies, and I don't like zombies."
"You're in a different world, and there are different rules here," he reminded me.
A sly smile slipped onto my face. "Then maybe it's time a few rules were broken."
David clasped my hand and chuckled. "I thought there was a reason you would make a suitable mate. Other than your frisky nature, that is."
We moved down the stairs and went into the hallway beside the steps. The dozen doors on the right-hand were much like those upstairs, but closer together. On the left was a side hallway that led into the employees-only section of the castle. The end of the wide hallway stopped at a pair of French doors that led out onto a small lawn. To the left of the doors and set three feet into the wall was a small landing that was stopped by a thick door with a small barred window in the upper center. A large lock shut what lay behind the door from prying eyes.
Blake stopped us at the thick door and opened the lock with a key with a head shaped like a skull. The rust and brittleness of the key informed us of its great age.
"The previous owners were kind enough to pass me the key to this very unique basement," Blake commented as he swung open the door.
The entrance swung inward and revealed a narrow, winding stone staircase. The stairs spiraled around a thick column of stone that sank deep into the earth. The walls were a mix of placed stone and those hewn from the earth where they were found. We were hit with a blast of damp air that made me cringe.
Even David wrinkled his nose and his eyes flickered to Blake. "You really need to air out your basement."
Blake pocketed his key and smiled. "That would be quite difficult considering there are no windows down there."
David squeeze my hand and glanced down at me. "And that's why you're staying close."
Blake chuckled and turned away from us towards the stairs. "That, and for other reasons."
Blake guided us into the depths of the island. Lit torches every twenty feet offered some flickering light, but did little to vanquish the darkness that lay in the walls where the corners of the stones met. Water slid down the walls and created utopias for mold and moss.
We traveled straight down some fifty feet before we reached the bottom. A hallway ran in three directions: left, right, and straight ahead of us. More torches revealed cell doors in the walls to our immediate left and right, and in front of us on either side.
Blake paused and half-turned to us. The flickering light aged his serious features. "I feel I must remind you to keep to the center of the hallway. Otherwise, I can't account for the consequences."
We nodded. The dank, quiet place demanded as much silence as possible. Blake led us down the hallway straight ahead of us. I stepped to one side and peeked through the barred doors. The torchlight didn't penetrate more than a foot into those small, damp confines. Each shadowed cell held a stone bench carved from the wall and nothing more.
David tugged on my hand and I looked over my shoulder at him. "Not too close," he warned me.
Then he tugged again. Harder this time, and on the wrong hand. I whipped my head around and saw what held my right hand. It was a faint gray fog with the barely discernible outline of a woman in a tattered dress. The figure leaned against the cell bars and had its arm stretched out to trap mine. The apparition's eyes glowed a malevolent red, and she gave another tug that pulled me closer to her cell.
I did the only reasonable thing I could think of. I screamed. Nice, long, loud and clear.
My high-pitched note of terror startled the creature. It slipped back into the darkness and disappeared beneath the stone bench. David pulled me against his chest, and I gladly clutched onto him with shaking hands.
Blake hurried over to us, having continued the journey a few steps without us. His eyes fell on me and he pursed his lips. "You stepped too close to a cell." It was a statement, not a question.
I swallowed my diminishing fear and turned to look into the cell. My voice was hoarse, but steady. "What was it?"
Blake followed my gaze and pursed his lips. "A soul of one of the many unfortunate people who died here. They are trapped to this place by their final strong emotions."
"Even women?" I asked him.
He turned to me and a sly smile slipped onto his lips. "Women commit crimes as well as men, but come. Madam Bentley waits for us."
We continued on, and I stayed close to David.
7
Blake led us to the end of the hallway. Another thick door, but without an opening, stood in the rear wall. The door was opened a crack and I heard the sounds of soft chanting. Blake pushed open the door and stepped inside.
We followed, and I saw the room was hewn from the natural stone of the island. The shape of the space was circular and a dome-shaped ceiling rose above us. The smooth stone floor was carved into four-cornered blocks that had a wide end away from the center and a smaller end closer to the center.
The most startling part of the room, however, was the countless words scrolled on the walls. They were written in various hands by every variety of ink. It was a rainbow of language, and most of them I didn't understand. Some appeared to be Latin, others Arabic, and there was definitely some German written in a strong, black ink.
An old woman with shut eyes sat in the middle of the room on a plush silk pillow. In front of her was a small black cauldron, and on either side of the clawed-foot pot were bottles of various colors. The woman appeared to be just shy of Methuselah's age with her thin strands of white hair and so many wrinkles she would make a basset hound jealous. She was short, barely five foot, and her gnarled hands with long, sharp fingernails sat in her lap. Her attire was a simple black dress, and beside her was a small, round felt hat only slightly taller than a beret.
Blake shut the door behind us and walked over to her. The old woman didn't open her eyes as he knelt by her side. He cupped a hand over his mouth. "Madam Bentley!"
The old woman's eyes flew open and she started back. Her head whipped from side to side. "What? Where? What's wanted?"
"Did you finish your casting?" Blake asked her.
She noticed him and scowled.
"Of course I've finished it! What do you think I am?" she snapped.
"Science has yet to explain," David quipped.
Madam Bentley's gaze fell on David and her eyes narrowed. "So you've come."
He smiled and shrugged. "It's hard to say 'no' to a personal invitation from Blake."
Her frown deepened. "That's Lord Basileus to you." Her eyes flickered to Blake. "I told you he wasn't needed. I could just as well have made a wooden doll with his personality and thrown that to the curse."
David grinned. "I don't think you would have done justice to my likeness, Madam Bentley."
She sneered at him and her eyes fell on me. "I would have done better than you've done with it."
Blake stepped between the two adversaries and frowned. "You both have received your insults, now manage yourselves so we can find out to what end this spell was cast."
Madam Bentley glanced at her patron and thrust a thumb at David. "I have it all prepared. He need only touch the curse to activate it."
David swept his arm over the room. "Lead me to it, and I shall touch it."
I raised an eyebrow. "Touch it?"
He looked to me and jerked his head towards the walls. "Every single one of those little love notes is a curse on someone. That's why they call this place the Cursed Chamber."
"It's Curse Chamber, you idiot," Madam Bentley growled.
I grabbed his arm and gave a tug. He glanced at me with that devilish smile of his. "You rang?"
I nodded at the walls. "What if this is a death curse? Wouldn't activating it kill you?"
Madam Bentley turned her nose up at me and frowned. "I've softened the curse so the worst effects will be a minor cramp."
David moved to face me and clasped our hands together. He jerked his head towards the witch. "You heard the old crone. This w
on't hurt me much."
Madam Bentley's face took on an unhealthy shade of red. She balled her hands into fists and her shoulders shook. "C-crone? You dare-"
"Enough," Blake interceded. He glanced from David to the madam. "Begin your tasks."
Madam Bentley's darkened expression didn't disappear before she turned away to face the wall. David followed her, and together they went to the rear-left of the conical chamber. A fresh coat of red words had been applied to the wall some four feet above the floor. Bentley grabbed David's hands and pressed the palms against the words.
A bright red light burst from the red letters and shone off the smooth walls. Blake and I turned our faces away and shielded our eyes with our arms. The brilliance lasted for only a few moments, and then I heard a distinct voice.
"What the fuck?"
I whipped my head back. Bentley and David were broken apart. The witch studied the red words which glowed softly. Beside her and a few feet away stood David. He was doubled over and one of his arms was wrapped around his stomach. His other palm was pressed against the wall.
David lifted his head and glared at the witch. His voice was tense and hoarse. "That's more than a little cramp!" I rushed to his side and grasped his arms. He turned to me and smiled. Sweat trickled down his temples. "Hey."
I looked him over, but couldn't see any obvious signs of a death curse infection. "Where does it hurt?"
He winced and hung his head. "Let's just say this. I think I know how you girls feel every month."
Blake strode over to us and stood close beside Bentley. His eyes settled on the old witch. "Well?"
She squinted and pursed her lips. "It was definitely a death curse."
"No kidding," David retorted.
Her narrowed eyes flickered to him. "Quit your whining. If the curse had worked as intended you would have already died a very painful death."
David winced. "Are you sure it just isn't taking longer than usual?"
Blake stepped in their line of sight and glanced at Bentley. "Do you know who cast the curse and how to break it?"
Bentley closed her eyes and shook her head. "No, but I do know this. After the alarms were set off by the curse activation the novice who wrote this wouldn't have had time to escape the castle. They wouldn't have had the skill to levitate a pen to write the curse from afar."
I blinked at her. "Curse activation?"
Blake half-turned to me and nodded. "Yes. The danger of this room necessitates an alarm system that activates when a new curse is created in this room."
Madam Bentley stood straight and puffed out her chest. "It's a system of my own design."
"Which explains how it didn't help this time," David quipped.
She shrank and scowled at him. "You ungrateful wretch. I should relinquish the curse and let you-"
"That's enough," Blake interrupted. "We have more pressing business than your personal squabbles."
Bentley closed her eyes and bowed her head. "Yes, Lord Basileus."
David took a deep breath and his eyes flickered to Blake. "Could the person who let them in have also hidden them?"
Blake nodded. "It's the only way. A malevolent person would not have been able to hide in any of the rooms without another opening the door for them. Also, we found the boat that took them to the island, and no other boat but my own has left so they couldn't have snuck away."
David straightened and grimaced. "So now it's a matter of playing hide-and-seek."
I tightened my grip on his upper arms and turned him towards the door. "You're seeking no one. The only place you're going is to bed."
I marched him towards the door, but he dug his heels into the floor and stopped us. "As much as I enjoy going to bed now, that won't quite work."
I glared at him. "Why not?"
"He's right," Blake spoke up. "Until the curse is lifted he will feel the effects."
David glanced over his shoulder and grinned at me. "I'd really like to get off my Period as soon as possible."
I rolled my eyes and let go of him. "Fine, but don't blame me if you need to use the restroom every ten seconds."
He chuckled. "I'll be sure not complain."
"That would be a first. . ." Bentley grumbled.
Blake glanced at her and nodded at the writing on the wall. "You will remain here and study the curse. We will try to find the caster."
She bowed her head. "As you wish, My Lord."
He turned to us and gestured to the door. "If you would."
I pushed David towards the entrance. "Gladly."
8
We traversed the haunted hallways and arrived at the top of the spiraling stone staircase a few minutes later. Blake shut and locked the door behind us.
David leaned his shoulder against the clean walls of the ground floor and took a deep breath. "I think that old hag weakened the curse just enough so it wouldn't quite kill me."
Blake set his hand on David's shoulder and smiled. "You have given her a great many reasons to dislike you."
"But to curse me with this is low," David argued.
Blake patted his shoulder and strode past us. "It will give you incentive to find the person who cursed you."
David frowned. "And you're going to do what?"
Blake paused and glanced over his shoulder at us. "I will try to determine who among my staff allowed such a person on my island. If you will excuse me." He bowed his head and left us.
David grimaced and shook his head. "Just like that guy to leave us hanging."
I grasped his shoulders and caught his eyes. "You're sure you're going to be all right?"
He pushed off the wall and nodded. "Yeah, but let's hurry."
I glanced down the hall at the dozen doors to our left and the hallway on our right. "I hate to disappoint you, but this could take a while."
He chuckled and tapped the side of his nose. "Not with this sniffer."
I arched an eyebrow. "You're going to sniff him out?"
"Or her, and yes," he confirmed. "That's probably one of the reasons Blake brought me here. That, and to watch me suffer from get menstrual cramps."
"He knew you'd follow the smell of the caster?" I guessed.
David nodded. "Yep. Now that I know the scent of the Cursed Chamber-"
"Curse Chamber," I corrected him.
He leaned down and pecked a small kiss on my forehead. His eyes twinkled with mischief. "What would I do without you, my own personal Bentley?"
I grinned. "Probably mispronounce every room's name."
He straightened and shrugged. "Possibly. Anyway, let's get this sniffing party started before I start bleeding." He lifted his nose to the air and smiled. "And it seems I have my first trail. Come on."
I followed him down the hall and we turned right into the employees-only area. White doors led into rooms with nameplates on the top front with words like Closet, Changing Room, and Skin Stretching Room.
I shuddered and glanced to David. "So why doesn't an ancient vampire with a witch and zombie on his payroll have a werewolf?"
"He's not fond of the scent of wet fur," David told me.
We reached the end of the hall. The way opened into a large kitchen with fresh steel counters and cupboards. Large, long islands broke the room into separate spaces, and pots and pans hung from the ceiling and obscured a clear view of the whole area.
A middle-aged man my height with a tall white hat and apron stood over a cutting board. His dark face was brutish and curly black hair poked out from beneath his hat. In one hand was a larger cleaver, and in the other was a defenseless carrot. In a split-second the carrot was chopped into small bits and brushed aside for the next victim from a pile of vegetables beside the board.
David skirted around the islands and walked over to the man. I held back. The knife was long enough to heed caution.
"Good afternoon," David greeted the man.
The chef whipped his head up, but didn't stop his chopping. He curled his lips into a sneer. "What are ya two doin
g back here. No guests allowed in the kitchen."
My eyes widened and I pointed at the board. "Your finger!"
His lack of attention meant the knife cut clean through one digit. There wasn't any blood, but there was definitely a severed finger. He lifted his hand and growled. "Now look what ya made me do." The man grabbed his detached joint and screwed it back on. He flexed his hand and grinned. "There it is. Good as new."
My eyes bulged out of my head. I whipped my head to David and pointed at the man. "How? What? Huh?"
"He's a ghoul," he explained.
The chef glared at us and wagged his knife in our direction. "Yer just lucky I didn't have to grow it back."
"With a trick like that you must be popular at cannibal parties," David quipped.
The ghoul pointed his knife at a pair of double swinging doors. "Get out."
David held up his hands. "No need for that. We're here with permission from Blake."
The chef raised an eyebrow. "Lord Basilius? What's he complaining about now? Too much garlic in his spaghetti?"
David shook his head. "No, he was curious if you saw anyone come in here yesterday who shouldn't have been."
The man scratched his chin with the point of his knife. "Ya know, there was the bellhop in here during lunch. Ah remember because Ah had to yell at him to get out of my way. He seemed awful nervous about something."
David smiled and bowed his head. "Thanks for the info. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr-?"
"Al."
David shook the ghoul's non-knife hand. "Thanks, Al. Be seeing you."
David led me out of the kitchen through the double doors. We came out in the dining room that lay in the left wing of the castle. A long oak table with thick legs and clawed feet graced the center, and around the table stood two dozen high-backed, ornate chairs. The chair closest to the kitchen was the tallest.
David didn't stop to sniff, but strode forward down the long dining hall. I hurried after him. "You think we've got our man?" I asked him.
He grinned. "We can't be sure until we have a little talk with Mr. Hop."