Ahead, a storm front rushed upriver on a collision course with the two students. Lightning arced beneath the enormous thunderheads, illuminating torrents of driving rain. In the glow of the electric brightness, Rachel thought she could make out grimacing, howling faces in the dark gray clouds.
“Um,” Gaius swallowed, “I gather that’s dangerous.”
Rachel was too busy gauging speeds and calculating distances to answer right away. Finally, she said abstractedly, “I think I can make it to the docks.”
Leaning forward, she coaxed the broom to greater speed. To her dismay, its response was sluggish, not at all what she was expecting. Terror gripped her chest, choking her. Was something wrong with her beloved Vroomie? It had never…
Ooohhh.
“Gaius,” she called, “the becalming enchantments are producing drag. I have to turn them off.”
“Do what you must,” he replied gamely. “I promise not to embarrass you.”
With a brisk nod, Rachel released the becalming enchantments. The violent gale winds struck them, flipping them end over end. Driving rain hit them in bursts. Rachel could feel it washing make-up from her face. She gripped the handlebars with extreme determination, fighting to steady the device.
“Hold on!” she shouted.
Gaius’s arms held her firmly around her waist, but not so tightly as to interfere with her breathing. He had his wand in his hand, the back sticking up his sleeve, so as to be certain that he did not lose it. In the brief glimpse she had of him as they flipped head over heels, he was keeping watch intently, his face determined, if a bit green.
Rachel righted Vroomie and zoomed forward, driving against the winds. She urged the steeplechaser to greater and greater speeds, but it was like pushing through rushing water. Half of the time she went backward more than forward. She felt like one of those logs Old Thom had mentioned, the ones that tried to make it from Albany to New York by floating down the River That Runs Both Ways.
“I don’t think we can make it before the storm reaches us!” she yelled over the winds.
“We’ll have to land!” Gaius shouted back. “What about the walled orchard? Where we saw Romanov and his friends?”
Rachel gauged the distance, adjusting for the winds. “I think we can make it!”
She pressed forward. The wind resistance grew stronger. She pushed the broom, bringing it to even higher speeds. Never before had she reached the steeplechaser’s top speed, but perhaps she was nearing it now because the bristleless began to tremble. Rachel pressed hard.
The steeplechaser stalled.
Down plummeted Rachel, Gaius, and all. Rachel screamed.
“Should I panic now?” her boyfriend called calmly in her ear, his wand in his hand.
“Yes. Definitely panic,” she shouted back, but his calmness stiffened her resolve. She had deliberately stalled her broom out many times and then engaged it again. Unless she had actually damaged it somehow, this time should be no different. She urged the broom forward.
Nothing happened.
Refusing to squander her time on fear, Rachel stayed focused. From the library of her mind, she withdrew all at once every reference to “broom” and “stall” she had previously encountered, searching for something that might help. Immediately, a possible cause leapt out: jammed tail fan. She glanced back but could not see around her boyfriend.
“Gaius,” she shouted, “kick the tail blades for me.”
“What?” he yelled back over the roaring winds.
“The tail blades.”
“What?”
“Tail fan! Move the blades toward each other.” She tried to pantomime what she meant with one hand.
“Like this.” He pointed his wand behind him.
The steeplechaser caught and shot upward. They cheered. Then their voices died in their throats.
The Horseman bore down on them. He galloped in the midst of the thunderhead, gale-force winds whipping the night around him. He rode on a black charger, a headless man in a Hessian uniform and a billowing mantle. Under his arm, he carried a Jack-O’-Lantern. Light flickered from the sharply triangular eyes and leering, angry mouth. It was not a cheery candle flame, however, but the blue-violet glow that had illuminated the ballroom of the dead. In its light, the storm clouds seemed to be filled with phantoms and specters, all circling the Horseman like hurricane winds around the eye of the storm.
The spooks were not the only things accompanying the headless rider. A pack of blind, eyeless hounds, as pale as corpses except for their blood red ears, loped through the night air. Their baying cries echoed up and down the Hudson Valley.
The Wild Hunt approached.
“Go down!” Gaius screamed.
Rachel tried to dive, but the winds buffeted them backwards, spinning them first left and then right. Without direct control over the fan blades, she had to gauge how far their spin would take them and compensate with the levers, which often led to overcompensation and sent them spinning in the opposite direction.
The Horseman and his Hunt grew ever closer. The hoof beats of his horse smote the air like thunderclaps. The headless body raised its false head on high. The eyes of his Jack-O’-Lantern flamed with malice.
They were not going to make it.
“I love you, Gaius,” Rachel shouted out as her last words, but the wind tore the syllables from her lips before they reached his ears.
Caw!
Silence fell.
The winds grew still.
The spinning steeplechaser slowed, coming to a stop in mid-air with Vroomie facing the other way, northward up the river. Enormous feathered wings of black stretched out before them. To either side of the wings, the winds raged and whirled. Between the thirty-foot wingspan, however, all was calm and motionless. At the center of the two arching wings, a eight-foot-tall man stood in mid-air. He was shirtless with black pants and bare feet. His face was as calm and solemn, as an ageless mountain range. His eyes were red as blood. In his hand, he held a hoop of gold.
Behind them, the Horseman thundered closer. The eyes in the Jack-O’-Lantern glared with wrath. The winged figure gazed back, his wings curved ever so slightly around the little oasis of calm.
Then the hounds parted, and the Hunt thundered to either side, leaving the tiny island of tranquility untouched. The Horseman veered to the left. He passed so close to them that Rachel swore she could feel the breath of his enormous coal-black steed. The Wild Hunt raced onward, upriver toward Bannerman’s mansion, with the Horseman cantering behind them.
Rachel watched them go. Then she looked back at the winged figure. His eyes were gray now. Steady and serene, they rested upon her face. He nodded once.
Rachel nodded back, smiling very slightly.
His eyes returned to scarlet. He cupped his great wings with their huge black pinions. As if pulled by a string, he suddenly moved upward and away, dwindling and transforming as he sped backwards, until he was but a black speck of a bird that flew untroubled by the raging storm.
The driving rain and sleet struck Rachel and Gaius, soaking their hair and garments. Rachel ducked her head, to protect her eyes, and pressed forward. Two tendrils of icy-cold wetness slipped around her collar and ran down the back of her neck, causing her whole body to twitch. Shivering in the October cold, she dived.
“What, in the name of everything that is sacred, was that?” Gaius’s voice sounded uncharacteristically high.
Rachel called back, “That was the Raven.”
“You mean that was the thing I promised to protect you against? Good grief!” There was a pause, then, grimly, “I’ll do my best.”
Warmed by his devotion, Rachel seized control of the broom once more and dived down, until they reached the safety of the walled orchard. Dismounting on shaky legs, they huddled together on the leeward side of the wall. Gaius wrapped his arms around her and stood over her, doing his best to protect her from the brunt of the icy storm.
“I must say,” Gaius said, when they had stopp
ed trembling quite so violently, “I’m not sure I am going to have to. Protect you, that is. I had the distinct impression that this Raven likes you. He did just save our lives.”
“I like him, too,” whispered Rachel, whose heart was too full to yet speak of it.
“Wait. What happened to evil Doom of Worlds and all that?”
“Remember the thing I can only tell one person?”
“Yes! I’ve been thinking about that! Just haven’t had a chance to ask you about it.”
“It’s too long to tell now.” Her teeth were chattering violently.
“Tomorrow, then.” He pulled her more tightly against him, trying futilely to protect her from the elements. She leaned on him and took comfort in the warmth of his strong arms.
“Definitely!” she replied firmly.
They huddled together in the cold and wet until the winds died down. Then, they hopped aboard the steeplechaser and quickly flew back to campus.
Rachel forced her near-frozen jaws to move. “I’ll drop you off at Drake.”
“You certainly will not!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“No girlfriend of mine is going to have to go home alone on All-Hallow’s-Eve. Even an amazing, super-brave girlfriend. You fly to Dare. I’ll walk from there.”
Despite the bitter cold and wetness of the night, a warm, buoyant feeling rose inside Rachel. She flew to her dorm and landed. Climbing from the steeplechaser again, Gaius gave her another hug. Then, he took a step back.
“Thank you, Miss Griffin,” he stated, “for a most entertaining night.”
Leaning forward, he gave her the sweetest of goodnight kisses.
• • •
When she reached her room, she took a long hot shower, to drive away the bone-deep chill, and then curled up under her quilts. Outside, the storm winds raged and howled. The chimes that hung from the eaves and nearby trees shook violently. Bell-like notes rang out like fairy horns amidst the cacophony.
Lying in bed, Rachel reviewed the entire evening. To her chagrin, she discovered that there were nearly twice as many denizens of Bannerman’s mansion in her memory as she had seen with her eye. She felt like kicking herself for not having taken the time to examine her memory while she was there.
She thought about all the things that had happened in one evening: her decision to be the one who told Valerie about the Elf; the exploding chestnut; the trip with Gaius to the Dead Men’s Ball; meeting Gertji, Major Andre, Old Thom, Percy Cornelius Taylor and his band mates, including her grandfather’s friend Wallace Hartley; and dancing with Myrddin. She felt especially clever about having found a potential treasure for Sigfried. Oh, and she finally had a translation of the Beaumont plaque from Remus Starkadder!—she made a mental note to speak with Freka the next day. She contemplated the strange things they had learned about Gaius and Von Dread from the fetch-maiden. How brave and dear Gaius had been! Finally, she recalled their wild race home.
She lay for a time half-asleep. In her head, the shades from the Dead Men’s Ball danced among the great trees of the Elf’s homeland. As she drifted off to sleep, she wondered idly if the fetch-maiden could leave the porcelain doll any time, or whether the girl was bound into it, and could only depart on a night when the dead were free to wander the earth. And if the fetch-maiden was bound, was it by a spell similar to the one that had restrained Azrael? Was her possession of the doll similar to Azrael’s possession of the hapless Mortimer Egg and Morax’s of the purple-robed man whom the demon had entered? And if similar, could all such entities possess bodies in a similar fashion?
Even the Raven?
That night, she dreamed she stood upon a roof with Sigfried and some others. She did not have her broom. Across the commons, an enemy dropped one of her friends from a great height. Terrified for the falling one, Rachel leapt from the roof, shouting:
“Jariel!”
Caw!
In the dream, the Raven dived out of the sky and into her body. Black wings sprouted from her shoulders, and her eyes turned red as blood. The two of them, acting as one, swooped forward, rescued the falling friend, and defeated the enemy.
It was the most wonderful dream she had ever dreamt.
Chapter Twenty-Eight:
Though the World May Burn
“Eeevil! I told you he was evil!” Salome arched her back into a bridge atop a table in the Storm King Café and raised one leg, pointing her toe toward the ceiling. Her skirt slipped down revealing her black-tights-clad thigh. She pursed her deep red lips. “Vladimir Von Dread is sooo evil! Not that I object to him anymore, mind you. He’s actually kind of cool, not to mention brain-stunningly gorgeous, but…conqueror of sixty-five worlds! Totally eeeeevil!”
Siggy’s eyes grew huge, fixed on the shapeliness of her inner thigh. A happy dreamy look came over his face. Then, yanking his gaze away, he grabbed a fork off the table and stuck it into his own thigh until he grunted with discomfort.
“Um, Miss Iscariot,” Siggy raised his palm to form blinders, blocking his view of the young lady. “I don’t mean to sound critical, but this may not be the best place for a display of modern dance. Right, Lucky?”
“I don’t know,” Lucky cocked his head to one side and then the other, “maybe it’s a mating dance. You should bite her on the back of her neck and drag her off to the harem cave. Do you have the hot volcanic sands ready for the eggs?”
“Lucky,” Sigfried replied sternly, “I have explained to you about no harems.” He leaned over and put his arm around Valerie, who rolled her eyes. “Miss Iscariot may be eye-burningly attractive, but I am a one-woman man.”
“I am with Mr. Smith, Miss Iscariot. Perhaps this is not the best venue to appear so unclad,” murmured the Princess, who sat at the same table as Siggy, sipping her tea. Her Tasmanian tiger sat regally beside her.
“Oh you people. You’re such prudes.” Salome flipped her legs over her head and landed lightly on her feet on the floor. She spread her arms. “Ta-da!”
She adjusted her skirt with lackadaisical slowness. The older boys at the far table were not as chivalrous as Sigfried and watched the whole thing with prurient interest. She turned and gave them a languid, smoky glance over her shoulder.
“Does your boyfriend mind you doing that?” Rachel asked, thinking with pleasure of the moment, during the Knight’s dueling period, when she had bested the handsome and arrogant Ethan Warhol.
Rachel was sitting beside the princess drinking an egg cream. Sigfried was next to her, eating three separate banana splits at once. He had needed to buy three in order to be able to taste every flavor the café carried. Lucky stood next to him. His four legs, the bottoms of which were scaled, were fully extended. He was loyally helping his master eat the ice cream feast. Beside Lucky sat Valerie and Joy. Zoë sat at another table, her feet stretched across two chairs, reading the latest issue of the comic book, James Darling, Agent.
On the table in front of Valerie lay the information Old Thom had given Rachel. Valerie had agreed to send it to her father to see if he could find any surviving members of the old sailor’s family. Rachel had given the information about the stolen violin to Gaius, since he had so clearly wanted a chance to help. He figured between Vlad and William, he would be able to take care of contacting the Unwary authorities.
“What can he do about it?” Salome shrugged her shoulders in a fashion pleasing to the upperclassman boys. “If he wants the gorgeous lusciousness that is me,” she made a cute, cheerful gesture, ending with both her hands—and her now flaming pink and fire-truck red nails—pointing at her face, “my entourage of lust-maddened boy-toys is part of the package.”
“Miss Griffin, please do not encourage her.” Nastasia sat primly, her napkin tucked into her collar. “As to your trip last night to the Dead Men’s Ball, it was ill done to leave campus, after we promised the assistant dean that we would not. I must admit, however, that the information you gathered is quite interesting.”
“I didn’t leave school gr
ounds,” Rachel replied, resisting the urge to smirk. “Bannerman’s mansion belongs to the school.”
Nastasia started to object, but, thankfully, Joy talked over her.
“I can’t believe you went to where ghosts were on purpose!” Joy squealed. “My sister Hope sees ghosts occasionally. The rest of us are terrified. We don’t even want to stay in the same room with her on All Hallow’s Eve and Walpurgisnacht. She went to light candles last night for our deceased great, great aunt. Faith went with her.” Joy pointed at the spirited dark-haired girl with a mischievous smile working behind the café counter. The young woman was dressed in a smart, blue sailor dress and a white paper hat with blue trim. Faith, who was polishing the bar, waved back at her little sister.
“Faith went with her,” Joy continued, “but the rest of us stayed far, far away.”
“Ha, O’Keefe!” Sigfried declared. “You can no longer make me feel inadequate because you have sixteen hundred sisters, and I have none. Now I have a sister, too! See!”
He drew back his sleeve and pointed at the faintest of scars on his wrist. Rachel pulled back her sleeve, too, and pointed at her slight but more substantial scar.
“Blood brothers!” Rachel declared with delight.
“Blood sister and brother,” Sigfried corrected.
“Ew!” Valerie shivered. “That is sooo unsanitary. I feel ill just thinking about it.” But that did not keep her from grabbing her camera and snapping a picture of their displayed wrists.
“This from a girl who lets her dog lick her face,” murmured Zoë.
Valerie ignored her. “If you like, I can announce your new family relations in the Roanoke Glass.”
“Do that!” Sigfried commanded. “Say: Sigfried Smith and his brother Lucky acquire a new sister-accomplice!”
That made Rachel giggle. She smiled at everyone and then glanced at her drink, using the moment to recall her friends’ expressions as Sigfried announced their new relationship. If the princess was upset about not having been included in the blood brother ceremony, it did not show on her face.
Rachel and the Many-Splendored Dreamland (The Books of Unexpected Enlightenment Book 3) Page 35