Spell of the Dark Castle (Chronicles of Zofia Trickenbod Book 2)

by Lorelei Bell

  Diana was up out of the chair in one liquid move. “I think she's heads above the others, Stephen. She has cunning, and was extremely brave in facing Erebus like that.”

  “I must agree,” Beelzebub said, straightening, then draining the last of the wine (the carafe on the table was empty), and threw Diana a glance. “Erebus has always had his way with women. Back, before his downfall, women could never resist him. Even as he has been banished, and has not had woman flesh—had desired such for all eternity—and attempted to seduce Zofia, she resisted him. That says much for this sorceress. I, Beelzebub, who speaks for all of us, pronounce Zofia Trickenbod exonerated from any charges of willfully sleeping with a demon. Therefore, we, The Four, put our stamp of approval on her to be voted upon by the conclave.” He turned to Diana. “Diana, it was—interesting—seeing you again, as always.” He bowed to her. “And Stephen, as always, thank you for your hospitality. Your monks make the most superb wine in all the land! Adieu!” He snapped his fingers and a whoosh of flame leapt out of the fire grate and swallowed him in red flames. He was gone.

  “Beelzebub! Wait!” Diana clicked her tongue and cocked a hip. “He always does this to me. You'd think he'd wait for one lousy second and give me a ride. Oh, well.” She turned to Aradia, lifted her arm to the bird of prey and the eagle unfolded her wings, flapped twice and landed on her arm. “I guess we're off as well. Oh, and Zofia, dear,” she fed Zofia a crooked smile, “don't be so hard on yourself. You're not the only one who's been fooled by the best.” She winked. “Ta-ta!” She and Aradia both vanished.

  Chapter 6

  “Wicked good, Zofia,” Stephen said. “I think you made quite an impression on them.”

  “What was that all about?” Zofia asked, fists jammed on her hips as she glared at Stephen.

  “You just made it past your biggest test yet,” he said, turning away from her. “The Four put their stamp of approval on you, and voting will commence very soon, in fact.” He moved toward the curtain, the same way they had come through.

  “Voting?” she brayed, following him through, having to catch the curtain before it fell back after him. He was all blue robes and gold hair, swishing swiftly away from her, through that grim room with his father's head. “Voting for what?”

  “The next inductee!” he said, speaking quite excitedly. “The feast will be held at the twelfth hour, and the inductee will be announced before dinner.” Stopping, he turned to usher her back into the entryway, where she had first come across Kitty. “Now, you need to go and change into your robe—”

  “Robe!” She stalled beside him.

  “Yes,” he said, gazing down at her. “There should be a white one in your closet by now. Go change into that.”

  “But—why?”

  “Because, you are now officially on the list of initiates, and as an initiate, you must dress in the initiates' robes,” he said as he held open the large oaken door for her, smiling down at her, looking very happy about all this.

  “Stephen, I don't understand this,” she said, pulling up beside him. “Why me?”

  He blinked. “What do you mean, why you? Why not you? In fact you are a perfect candidate. Everything from dealing with Blood, to sabotaging Xilomorah's plans in gaining the Stone, killing her—which I had no idea about—and then dealing with the Head of Soul Snatchers, and dealing with Dorian as a vampire. I must say you passed each and every test.”

  “Test?” She stood in the door arch, her body shaking with rising outrage. “You tested me?”

  “Not I,” he said soothingly. “Them.”

  “Who?” She arched her brows at him, trying for an expression of complete disdain. And, as usual, Stephen rose above it all, like a true ruler, and flashed his smile at her.

  “Why, The Four, of course.” His answer stumped her. She had gotten a head of steam up, ready to be angry with him and his answer threw her for a loop.

  “Don't be late to the Induction Tea, Zofia. Punctuality is also important.” He pushed her through the door and closed it. Zofia had to jump out of the way, into the dimly lit, musky hallway.

  She turned swiftly back, and banged on the door with the fleshy side of her fist. “Stephen! Wait a troll minute, here!”

  But Stephen didn't answer, and she heard the lock click in place. She turned away from the door with a heavy sigh, and Transvected back down the tower stairway that corkscrewed its way around and around to the bottom.

  “I can't believe this,” Tillie said, her brow crinkled deeply with worry ten minutes later in Zofia's bedroom. Blanche and Tillie had gaped at her while she told them what had happened.

  “Mom, you're really going to be a Knight?” Blanche blurted excitedly. “I can't believe this! My father and mother are both Knights of the Witenagemont.”

  “Wait a moment,” Zofia said. “I'm not inducted yet.”

  “Yeah, but you should be,” Blanche said. “You killed Blood!” she said brightly. “Even the best Knights weren't able to catch him. You did. That's why they're inducting you, Mom.”

  “I didn't kill—”

  “She's right, you know,” Tillie said, hiking one shoulder in agreement.

  A deep-sounding bell went off somewhere. Zofia remembered the tower bell of the castle. They all listened for the number of rings. Twelve bongs.

  “It's tea time,” Tillie announced, glancing at her First World watch as though it would coincide with the time here on Euphoria. She squinted at it, then put her ear to it. “My watch seems to have stopped.”

  “That's weird,” Blanche said, looking at her own watch. “Mine has too!”

  “Never mind the watches,” Zofia interrupted, surging for her armoire. She threw the door open. Inside were two white robes. One was edged in white satin, the other edged in bronze. “Tillie, which one do I wear?” she asked, pulling them both out to show her.

  Tillie bustled over to her. “The bronze one is only if you're chosen. I would say the white one,” she said, pointing to the one with the white satin.

  “What do I wear under it?”

  “Whatever you'd like. But I'd wear something substantial underneath, or you'll freeze in this old castle,” she suggested.

  Zofia slipped out of her over dress and flopped the robe over her chemise and undergarments. The robe covered her well. Too well, in fact. The hem dragged several inches on the floor.

  “There's no time to hem it up,” Tillie informed quickly. “You'll just have to lift it as you walk, dearie.”

  “I wish I could have brought the stone,” Zofia said, looking in the mirror.

  “You didn't bring it?” Blanche gave her a startled look.

  “I was told to leave it behind,” Zofia explained. “It's no big deal. Ugwumps would just think it's a pretty rock.”

  “Until they touch it,” Tillie said in a warning tone.

  “No, it's not charged up,” Zofia said. “I used its Power all up on changing Perth and Argyll into human form. Remember?”

  “Ah,” Tillie nodded. “That's right.”

  “Why do you think they asked me to leave it?” Zofia wondered absently, checking her hair in the mirror. She picked up a brush and ran it through the dark lengths of her hair quickly.

  “They probably decided that it would be considered a weapon, or in the very least leverage for you to induce the others to vote for you,” Tillie explained.

  “I wouldn't have done that,” Zofia said holding the robe up off the floor and deciding on the shoes she was already wearing. They didn't match, but who'd see them?

  “Wow,” Blanche said as she twirled in place. “My own mother is being inducted into Knighthood! I'll be famous!” she shrieked girlishly.

  “There'll be no stopping her, once you're a Knight,” Tillie said hopelessly.

  “I'm not going to be inducted,” Zofia said.

  A knock on the door interrupted them. Zofia felt her heart stutter at the thought that it might be Dorian. She turned, took one step—stepping on the hem—and went down painfully
to her knees.

  Blanche giggled, but said, “Mom, you okay?” while trying to control her chuckle, but failing.

  “I'm fine, I'm fine!” Zofia struggled to her feet.

  “Lift it as you walk, dearie,” Tillie reminded.

  “Thanks,” Zofia grumbled as she gained her feet again. “Come in!”

  The little butler entered the room.

  “Pardon the intrusion,” he said, “but I was told to deliver this.” He held out a small silver tray, like before, hand shaking. His eyes darted around the room, as though looking for someone suspicious. Zofia realized he was looking for Biddle, who couldn't be seen, but she realized the man was frightened of Biddle. Or was he frightened of Ghogals in general?

  Zofia moved forward, remembering to lift the robe as she walked, and took the envelope off the tray.

  The servant bowed and left swiftly.

  “It's for you, Blanche,” Zofia said, noticing the envelope was of the best paper, and had the official Witenagemont logo on it in gold foil on the front, and sealed with a gold wax in the back.

  Blanche trotted over and took the envelope lithely. “I'm already popular!” She snatched the envelope from Zofia's hand and opened it up.

  “What is it?” Zofia asked.

  Tillie was peering over the girl's shoulder.

  “I'm invited to a party, out on the lawn!” she gasped looking up, looking stumped. “Where's the lawn?”

  “If I'm not mistaken, it's just outside the Garden Room,” Zofia said. “What time?”

  “It doesn't say,” Blanche said.

  Tillie took it from her hand and gazed at it, front and back. “Nothing about the time.”

  “Then, it means right now,” Zofia said, recalling that's how things worked here, in Restormell Castle. If you got an invitation, and there was no time on it, that meant you'd better get moving, or you'd be late.

  “Good, we can all go together,” Zofia said, and stumbled forward. Tillie and Blanche grabbed her by the arms, catching her.

  “Lift the robe, dearie. Lift the robe,” Tillie coached, as though Zofia were as dumb as a door knob.

  “Yes, yes. Where's Elton?” Zofia said as she lifted her robe and strode for the door.

  “I told you, Dad already came and got him,” Blanche said.

  “Good,” Zofia said, heart fluttering madly inside her chest. She felt slightly sick to her stomach at the thought of everything that was happening. She realized the only way she would be able to get through this was to believe that no one in their right minds would vote her into Knighthood. A sorceress a Knight? What rubbish!

  They stepped out into the hall, which was congested with other white-robed initiates and their parents—mostly mothers. The fathers, if they were Knights, would already be down in the Garden Room, waiting for them. Voices bounced off the stone walls while excitement permeated the air around them. Zofia could see the bright smiles on the young adult boys in white robes like hers. Their ages varied from sixteen to twenty. Usually the older ones were chosen. Vary rarely were inductees under the age of eighteen. It was then that realization hit her that, at age forty, she was the oldest of the Vanguard. She gazed to the head of the crowd as it flowed down the sweeping steps. Now understanding gripped her as to why Stephen insisted she and her family return so abruptly. But his excitement of her being inducted would be dashed. The chances that Knights voting her in was slim. Voting was very political. It all came down to who you knew, and who owed you a favor for a past vote. There were Knights who had no son to vote in, so, it all boiled down to who owed you. And when there was a tie, from what she'd heard, a tie-breaking vote would be cast by one Immortal—anonymously.

  Zofia, Blanche, and Tillie followed the river of people down the stairs, and through corridors, and finally, into a glassed-in arboretum. It was huge, with a beautiful arrangement of trees, flowers, and ponds. Bricked pathways wound through the whole thing. Everyone filed through the entrance and into the large room along with other inductees, and then through a set of led glass doors, and out onto a huge veranda. White gowned tables were set for the tea with several pedestals of cakes, and tea in silver tea urns dispensed by butlers all in white with gold ties. The heavenly perfume from white flowers, which grew all along the castle walls, caught on the breeze and threw Zofia into a reverie on the spot. The three or four summers she had lived here seemed encapsulated in that one aroma. Gazing up, she saw garlands of these same white flowers were hung along the rafters of the sheltered veranda. It nearly reminded of all the teas and parties at the school she had attended, but nothing on such a grand scale. She felt a heightened excitement which swirled on the air. But this was more than a party. It wasn't a ball, and now awe tightened her chest, and nearly brought a tear to her eyes. This was a matter of great importance to her kind. Some young man would become a Knight and go into dangerous places, and do important tasks. If this were Elton's indictment she'd feel a thousand times more excited, and a hundred times more proud to be part of it.

  But it wasn't. It was hers—and about fifty other strangers.

  “Oh, my granny's fanny!” Tillie murmured, gazing about. “There seems to be a huge number of Vanguard this year.”

  “You'd think they'd induct more than just one initiate a year, wouldn't you?” Zofia said, noticing that about every fifth person was in a white robe. And more of them were filtering in behind them. There were Knights in their various robes of gold, silver or bronze, milling around. She scanned the room for Dorian. It wasn't too late to try and catch him and talk to him. But she couldn't spot him through the throng.

  “Ah,” a smooth-as-silk voice said. “There you are, and just on time, too.”

  Zofia turned to find Stephen smiling down at her, dressed now in a pure gold robe. His unfettered golden hair competed with his attire, giving him a surprisingly sexy look. She had never seen Stephen with his hair down, ever. Before she could stop herself, she gazed up at him, taking him in, noticing how the spun golden locks framed the angles of his face and the sun didn't simply glance off its silkiness, but imbued it with an angelic glow. His eyes, too, had turned to a sort of whiskey-gold. What more surprises the man had, Zofia didn't want to vex her already whirling brain with at the moment, and tea was not the brew she needed right at the moment to deal with it all.

  The golden, part-god turned to Tillie and Blanche. Blanche's eyes had gone huge, and her jaw had gone slack. Even she was speechless for once. Zofia had to believe that the teenager's hormones had just been kicked by a mule. Stephen did that to women of all ages.

  “Ottillie,” Stephen said smoothly, as he swept her ganglion hand into his huge, perfectly chiseled one and brushed a kiss across the back of it. “Welcome to my abode. I'm very happy you could attend this fête.” He made a gesture to the room at large.

  Tillie, who was beyond child-bearing years by more than two centuries, giggled coquettishly behind her other hand. Zofia rolled her eyes a little. She had never seen Aunt Tillie go so goofy over any man like this before.

  “Wouldn't miss it for the world,” Tillie finally croaked, using a higher than normal voice that sounded just a teensy bit forced.

  He turned his attentions on Blanche. “And, my, but how you've grown, Blanche,” he said. “You'll have all the young wizards bumping one another for a chance to dance with you, this evening.”

  “I will?” she sputtered. “I mean … there's a dance?” Her eyes became even more round at the thought of this.

  “Of course,” he said. “And, right now, you are fashionably late for your own birthday party.” He offered his arm to her. “Come. I will lead you out onto the lawn where the attendees are all waiting for you.” Blanche looped her hand through the crook of his arm, and they strode away. “I'll return soon, Zofia. Don't disappear,” Stephen called over his shoulder.

  “I won't,” she sang back to him. To Tillie she said, “I'm starved.” She eyed the pastries all laid out on silver trays. Licking her lips, she found she was salivating.
/>   “I am too, to tell the truth,” Tillie said.

  Zofia lifted her robes to move. Someone Evanished right in front of them. Their combined shrieks yanked stares from everyone around them. It had been so long since they had been home where people who Evanished in and out of buildings, right in front of you, took some getting used to.

  The elderly man who stood before them now wore the gold robes of one of the Commanders. His pure white hair fell past his broad shoulders, and a bushy white mustache nearly obliterated his lips, except the very bottom lip, that seemed full and somewhat pink in hue.

  “Dilly!” Tillie barked and punched him in the arm. “You just about scared the cheese out of me!”

  “Blessed be!” he greeted, and they in turn greeted him back in the same way. Then Dilly chuckled with mischievous gleam in his blue eyes glinting under brows that were like snowdrifts. When he laughed, the gap between his two front teeth stood out, giving him the look of a rogue on the prowl.

  “Tillie, it's been too long,” he said. “I saw you over here and just had to come over.”

  “Oh, you old poop!” Tillie swatted him playfully this time, a smile had spread across her crinkled face.

  Dilly's eyes swept to Zofia. “My word. You must be Zofia?”

  “Oh, Dilly, this is my great niece, Zofia. Zofia this is Dilly—um—Alben Dillman. Everyone just calls him Dilly.”

  “How do you do, Dilly,” Zofia said, making with the curtsy.

  Dilly took her all in. “So, you're in the Vanguard?”

  “It looks that way,” she said, trying to force a smile to her lips. “Sort of took me by surprise, too.”

  “I didn't even know you were on the list,” he said, pulling out a piece of parchment. It was long and narrow, just wide enough to write names on it.

  “So, you're coordinator this year?” Tillie asked him.

  “Yes,” he said on a sigh. “No one volunteered, so, naturally, I got the job. Been doing it for seven years in a row, now.” He went down the list, squinting at the names.

  Tillie craned her neck to inspect it too. “Ah,” she said, pointing. “At the very end.”