by Joshua Khan
Iblis tapped his forehead. “What you need is brains.”
“I’m studying every night, Father. Learning magic isn’t easy.”
“No. Fresh brains. Feed the zombies some, and they’ll be able to handle more.”
Lily shook her head. “We tried that on an earlier batch. Fed them some sheep brains. They started eating grass and bleating. It was odd.”
“Human brains, not sheep,” said the ghost. “I know a man in Gallowsgate who can supply them. No questions asked.”
Was that a joke? It was hard to tell with ghosts.
“My reputation is bad enough without getting involved with brain robbery, Father.”
Custard yapped and jumped up onto the table. He ran up and down, scurrying through the piles of scrolls and open spell books, not stirring a single page.
“No one takes me seriously. They just see a girl playing at being a grown-up.” She stopped by a marble bust of old Lord Malfeus Shadow and picked a cobweb from between his fangs. “My own nobles think I’m a joke. Count Tenebrae is late with his taxes, again. He owes Castle Gloom over fifty sacks of flour and a herd of cows. You know what he sent me instead? Dolls.” Lily flushed with shame as she remembered the package arriving. “Baron Sable wanted to go and burn his castle down. Maybe I should send Tyburn? When he’s back?” Her executioner had ways of keeping rebellious nobles in line.
“Send him flowers. A dozen black roses from the Night Garden,” suggested her father.
“Flowers? How will that get him to cough up what he owes?”
“Lazarus Shadow planted the roses. He used his victims for compost. And most of his victims were—”
Lily grinned wickedly. “From House Tenebrae.”
Iblis touched her hand. Lily felt a cold breeze, but that was all. “I never wanted this for you, Lily. Rulership was meant to be your brother’s burden.”
“It would be easier if you could be with me, in the Great Hall.”
The ghost sighed. “I’m stuck down here. You know that.”
“There has to be a way. Custard’s a ghost—”
Custard growled.
“You are,” said Lily, giving him her sternest look, “whether you like it or not.” She shook her head. Silly dog. “Custard’s a…the same as you, and he roams all over the castle.”
Iblis picked up the puppy. “Custard was at home in every nook and cranny. I was most at home here. I spent too many hours among these scrolls and books when I should have been with you, Dante, and your mother. I’ve been given another chance, and the irony is not lost to me that this place is now the whole of my kingdom. One of paper and dust. It’s something I deeply regret, but we dead can do nothing about our regrets.”
Lily wished she could find some way of bringing her father out of the Shadow Library, not just to help her but also to share her life, see what she was up to. See how Gehenna was changing.
“Which reminds me. I have something for you.” Iblis glided over to a nearby shelf.
The library wasn’t all books and scrolls. It was a junkyard of magical objects, some real, most fake, collected by the Shadows over many centuries. Swords and armor, crowns and wands, and hundreds of other items lay scattered over tables and stacked in corners, blanketed with dust.
Iblis summoned a black lacquered box from one of the shelves. It floated, led by his fingers, to rest on the table. “Look inside.”
Lily wiped the lid with her sleeve, then slid it open.
She found some letters, wrinkled and yellowed, wrapped in a black ribbon. A few small trinkets cluttered the bottom, including an old quill and some coins from other kingdoms.
“There’s a ring in there,” said Iblis. “You can’t miss it.”
Lily rummaged around until she spotted a large, chunky ring made of obsidian, bearing the twin crescent moon seal of their house. She held it up to examine it. “Is it magical?”
“No, not at all. It’s just a small thing. I carved it for your mother when I first met her. Once we were married, it was replaced by finer jewelry. It ended up in here, with other forgotten things. I came across the box yesterday and thought the ring would suit you.”
“What are these letters?” She recognized her father’s handwriting, but some were written by others, their strokes unfamiliar.
“Just personal correspondence. They must have meant something to me once. I don’t remember now.” He took the box and put it back on the shelf.
Lily slipped the ring onto her left forefinger, turning her hand this way and that to see how it caught the light. The symbol was crude, but she liked that. “Thank you.”
“Now let us begin. The baron delayed you long enough.”
“He tried to stop me from coming. Sable knows, Father. They all do,” she said. “Why are they all so afraid of women using magic?”
“Legend has it that the Six Princes laid a curse on women sorcerers,” said Iblis. “There have been many stories of women using magic through the ages, and a terrible doom swiftly following. The Poison Sea was caused by the granddaughter of Prince Coral.”
“In her war against her brother,” added Lily. “Anyway, how could a curse last this long, even if it were true? The Six Princes existed thousands of years ago.”
“They were the greatest sorcerers the world has ever known, Lily. No one knows the full extent of their powers. So much of their history is now just legend, much of it contradictory.” Iblis looked around the crowded shelves.
“And what do you think, Father?”
“What do I think? I think the trouble could stem from the simplest thing: lack of education.”
Lily cocked an eyebrow. “On whose part?”
“Consider that women sorcerers have rarely had anyone to teach them because of the penalty if caught doing so.”
“Death by burning,” said Lily.
“Yes. So women have had to learn magic in a haphazard fashion. Which leads to the greater likelihood of something going wrong, wouldn’t you agree?”
“That does make sense.”
“You have relied on raw emotion and desire to fuel your magic. Those are very powerful, but they are uncontrolled.” Iblis spread out his hands. “You summoned Custard. You entered the Twilight; you defeated Pan. And all without a single lesson. But that is the danger, too. No one has taught you to temper it. If you don’t learn how to moderate your powers, disaster will strike, sooner or later.”
Lily winced slightly. “And people will say it was because of the Princes’ curse.”
Iblis nodded. “Most likely. So, before we get to Lucifer’s spells, let us do a control exercise.” Iblis waved the moon orbs closer to him, to illuminate an object on the table. “Look at this.”
“It’s a dead mouse.”
“The skeleton of a dead mouse,” he corrected.
The pile of bones could fit in her palm. The ribs were no thicker than grass blades, and the skull was smaller than her thumb. It was curled up, skull resting on its folded forepaws and tail wrapped all the way around.
“Beautiful, don’t you think?” said Iblis.
“In its own way, yes.” But perhaps it was a beauty only someone brought up in Castle Gloom could appreciate.
“Make it move.”
“I don’t know how. I haven’t studied that spell.”
The ghost gestured at the endless rows of books. “These writings will help you become a necromancer, but they are nothing without the ability to create with your mind. Imagination is the fuel of magic.” He caressed the bones with a fingernail. “Magic is an art, like music, or dancing. Sometimes the best way to learn is just by doing it.”
“But how?”
“Use your imagination. Think about how a mouse moves. Think about how its joints are assembled. How the claws clink upon stone. How the tail twitches. Then give it a little push, just a small breath to remind it of what it was like to be alive and able to do such things. The bones will remember.”
Lily sat down and placed her palms flat on the table
, on either side of the skeleton.
Right. How do you start up a mouse?
What about cheese? Great big yellow wheels of cheese stacked on top of each other, towering high in their stinking, odorous glory?
Or perhaps she could awaken it with a dose of fear. With a stalking, hungry cat, moving paw by silent paw toward it.
Lily hunched over it, squeezing her shoulder blades into each other. She tensed herself, like a mouse preparing to flee. A trickle of excitement, or power, passed down her spine to an imaginary tail. Lily concentrated on moving each joint, right to the tip.
The mouse’s tail twitched.
The skull raised itself off its forepaws and looked about.
Custard stared. He edged closer and lowered his head to sniff the skeleton.
The mouse tested its legs. Lily felt its uncertainty. True enough, it wobbled and collapsed into a trembling pile of bones.
“Give it another try,” urged her father.
Lily’s brow creased as she focused. The mouse untangled itself, first its tail and then one foot after another. It stumbled, then grew more confident and soon darted across the table, Custard yapping and chasing after it. The mouse wove between the piles of books until it leaped onto a stack and looked at Lily, tail flicking back and forth.
Could she make it stand up, like a person? Do a little dance? Its body was hers to control any way she liked.
The mouse jerked. Its body arched back, quivering. If she could just make it wave its paw…
“Enough, Lily…”
Just a little wave…
The skeleton exploded. The bones flew in all directions, obliterated to minute splinters.
“I’m sorry,” said Lily. “I broke it.”
“The lesson was meant to be about control, Lily.” Iblis wound his finger in a circle over the table, gathering up the shards. His expression was pleased, not angry. “You know, it took me two months to get the mouse just to scratch its nose.”
Lily glowed inside. “Can I try something bigger?” she asked. “How about a dog?”
Custard barked.
“I mean another animal that’s not a dog.”
“In good time, daughter. There are dangers involved with overextending yourself. Didn’t you read that diary I gave you? The one by Mephistopheles Shadow?”
“I did. The magic changed him.”
“That is putting it mildly. Sensitivity to light. Premature aging. His skin sloughed off, and he had no appetite for anything but blood. All the great houses are similarly cursed. Overusing magic can turn the lords of light into glass—first their eyes, then their bones, and finally their flesh. The sorcerers of House Djinn can end up as beings of fire, which, as you can imagine, is highly awkward. And half the druids of Herne’s Forest have leaves for hair and bark skin.” Her father smiled at her. “So take it easy. We have time.” He reached for a scroll.
But before he could open it, Custard growled. He faced the door, his four small legs braced wide and his tail low. The short bristles on his shoulders rose.
“What’s wrong, Custard?” asked Lily.
He barked loudly and ran out.
“He’s sensed something,” Lily said. “I have to go.”
“All right, then. You know where to find me.”
“Wait for me!” Lily yelled.
Gathering up her skirts, Lily raced off after her dog. She caught up with him as they ascended the stairs leading into the courtyard of Dead Man’s Gate. Lily heard shouting.
The first thing she saw were the wagons, three of them. Gaudy and festooned with ribbons, bunting, and flags. Across each was a painted banner: MERRICK’S WORLD-FAMOUS TRAVELING PLAYERS.
Luggage lay abandoned on the slush. About a score of performers stood gathered in a semicircle.
Watching a fight.
A pair of her soldiers wrestled in the muddy snow with two others. One was a skinny old man with a jingling three-belled jester’s cap planted unevenly on a bald head. He was thwacking one of the soldiers with an inflated pig’s bladder. “Unhand my master, you brute! Unhand him, I say!”
The second figure wore an outfit of pure white and lay face deep in the snow, struggling helplessly while a soldier knelt on his back. He spat out some dirty snow. “Get off me! Do you know who I am?”
Oh no. Not him.
Custard ran up and tried to bite the struggling boy, but his ghost teeth went straight through his leg. That only made the dog angrier.
“Get off me! I am Gabriel Sol—mmmrpgh!” yelled the boy before his face was pushed back down for another mouthful.
“Let him go!” commanded Lily.
The kneeling guard reluctantly stood and straightened his armor. The other guard helped the boy up, also reluctantly.
The boy glared, face red with fury, at the guard who had pinned him. “I’ll have your head for this, peasant!” He brushed the dirt from his now-not-so-white fur coat. “How dare you! How dare you!”
The guard met Lily’s gaze. “Do you know this person, m’lady?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Yes, unfortunately.” Lily sighed. “He’s my fiancé.”
I’ll go see Tyburn. He’ll know what to do.
The thought went around and around in Thorn’s head as Hades carried him through the night sky.
The executioner had gone off on one of his missions, but Thorn expected him to be back by now. Tyburn hadn’t asked Thorn to come with him, even though Thorn was supposed to be his squire.
Tyburn had saved him from a life as a slave working down in a mine. But that didn’t mean that he liked Tyburn, or what he did for a living.
Executioner. The title said it all.
The wind, icy and sharp, cut deeper against Thorn’s exposed face as Hades began to pick up the pace. That meant only one thing.
They were nearing home.
Torches shone brightly along the battlements of Castle Gloom.
Home.
It was now. Thorn shared a room with Wade, but back in Stour, he’d shared a similar-size room with his whole family and, in winter, the goats, too.
Thorn smiled. Wade and the rest were a day or two behind him, so he’d have the room to himself, free of Wade’s snoring, smelly feet and stupid dancing.
Tonight was going to be a two-mango night.
Hades twisted suddenly, diving down through a break in the clouds.
A host of bats flew up to greet them, hundreds of lesser creatures that gathered thickly around their returning king. Hades snapped at them, and they shrieked and swarmed behind him as they all swooped over the castle.
On they flew, between the towers and along the top of Ghoul Gate to circle over Old Keep.
“Easy, boy. No need to rush.” Thorn wanted a look at the ruins.
Castle Gloom wasn’t a mere castle; it was a city, thousands of years old, sprawling for miles. Gehenna had once been a great kingdom, controlling lands and seas in all directions. Rising out of the legendary age of the Six Princes, countless Shadows had added to it, stretching it east to west, north to south, with buildings somber, macabre, and just plain spooky. Those days were long gone, but the grandeur of past glories remained in its crumbling halls, abandoned towers, ruined old mansions, overgrown parks, and endless corridors that included catacombs deep underground.
But one area stood separate from the chaotic expanse.
Moonlight shone on the iced-up moat surrounding Old Keep. There was snow sparkling on the gatehouse and its broken drawbridge. Old Keep was small, especially compared to the Needle, the Great Hall, and other later constructions. Even the stables were bigger.
But Old Keep was where the zombies lived. Or unlived. Or whatever it was they did.
There they were, snow-covered figures among the tumbledown stone. Not one moved. Had they frozen solid?
There—one turned his head.
Then another. Up they looked as Hades flapped fifty feet and more above them. Moonlight shone in their rheumy silvery eyes. Thorn shivered. They gave him
the creeps. What was Lily going to do with them?
“Let’s go, Hades.”
The bat didn’t need to be told twice. He twitched his left wing, and they glided toward another roofless ruin. Murk Hall.
Hades settled on the stub of a broken column. Thorn slid off and inspected his bandaged arm. He flexed his fingers. “Ow.”
Old Colm had coated the wounds with a healing salve, but Thorn needed to see Dr. Byle. Bites carried diseases.
Hades hunched his shoulders and hissed as someone came toward them.
Ying, the Eagle Knight, raised his hand in greeting. “May I approach?”
Thorn smoothed down Hades’s chin bristles. “Of course, m’lord.”
Ying stood a few yards back but stared at Hades with awe. “House Typhoon had giant war hawks once. What a wonder it would have been to ride one into battle. You are very fortunate, young Thorn.”
Thorn smiled. “There ain’t no one in the world like Hades.”
Hades raised his head proudly.
“Nor as pigheaded,” Thorn added.
Ying walked slowly around the giant bat, admiring Hades from all directions. The young man’s flowing robes were the blue of House Typhoon but decorated with a white feather symbol. Three eagle feathers rose out of his topknot of silky black hair. He was a few years older than Thorn, and his boyish physique had given way to a man’s muscular litheness. He moved with an easy, fluid warrior’s grace.
Ying wanted to marry Lily. He’d brought her a mechanical aviary as a gift, all the way from Lu Feng, the Land of Endless Winds, thousands of miles to the east. He was a prince, the sort of prince whom minstrels sang about and young girls dreamed of. Thorn shifted uneasily, painfully aware of his own weather-stained coat, his torn sleeves, and his smell of bat. He roughly brushed his hair from his eyes. Not that it did any good; it remained the color and texture of straw.
Ying belonged to the Feathered Council. The council had overthrown House Typhoon, despite the fact that the council had no sorcerers. What sort of man could overthrow an ancient house of magic?