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

by Lorelei Bell

  “Have mercy, sweet Madeline!” Tillie's heavily lined face had twisted into one of concern as she gaped at the coins. “Where did you get the money?”

  “Stephen.”

  Looking more than just confused, she said, “What for?”

  “I'm going on assignment,” she said, letting the towel drop as she grabbed up the plain chemise, pulled it over her head and chose the jade-green dress.

  With a noisy sigh, Tillie poured herself onto the couch, while Zofia dressed.

  “What's your assignment? Or is it a big secret?”

  “I'm going to some place called Dark Castle,” Zofia said absently, tying a leather girdle around her bloated middle. She would say nothing further; she didn't want Tillie to worry.

  “Dark Castle?” Tillie scrunched her eyes at her again. “Seems I've heard of it.” She tapped her chin with a gnarled finger. “I wish my memory worked better than it does sometimes.”

  A good thing it doesn't, Zofia thought uncomfortably. She strode across the room, and grabbed up the book of Knight Codes. “Look at what he has me studying!” she said incredulously as she tried to shake the tome, but it was just too heavy and almost snapped her wrist. She dropped the heavy thing on the couch next to Tillie.

  “Ouch, looks like a paper weight,” Tillie said in a vacant tone. Leaning over it, she adjusted her glasses to read the title. “Code book for the Knights? Yes. Of course.”

  “I have to learn every one of them, eventually,” Zofia complained bitterly.

  “What are all these papers about?” Tillie asked as she turned over some pages in the opened leather folder. It had a leather cord to wrap around and tie to keep the private contents private. So, naturally, Zofia had left it wide open.

  Zofia surged for the folder. “That's all official, secret stuff, Tillie. You're not supposed to snoop!” She pounced and tore the whole thing out of Tillie's hand. Pages went fluttering to the floor. She didn't really know what all was inside it just yet, but she was real sure that all the junk Stephen had given her was official Witenagemont junk, and surely, it was top secret. She would have to find time to look it all over. There were things about Count Saint Germain she was supposed to read yet. She magicked the scattered pages up into her hand. The one on top was an official piece of parchment with gold lettering across the top.

  KNIGHTS OF THE WITENAGEMONT ~~ VANGUARD ~ CLASS A

  It had her name flourished in the center, and Stephen's signature down on the right, Paradeep's on the left. This was her official document showing that she was a Knight. It even had an iridescent seal in the center of the two official's names with a white ribbon tail. It was quite pretty. Nice enough to hang.

  Tillie shrank back slightly at Zofia's protective zeal.

  “I'm sorry, Tillie,” Zofia said, wincing apologetically.

  “No problem,” she said, arranging her face into a willowy, yet understanding smile. “It's all official, then?”

  “Yep. See?” She showed her the document. “I think I should hang it up, when I get my own place, don't you think?”

  “Oh, yes. I think you should.”

  A knock interrupted them.

  “Come in,” Zofia said, eying the door. Her heart felt as though someone had jump-started it, until she remembered Dorian had gone.

  Elton and Blanche timidly opened the door and peered in.

  “Is it safe?” Blanche asked, hesitating at the threshold.

  Zofia's brows furrowed. This was certainly a new side to her daughter. She would never have knocked, and instead would have just barged in, or Evanished in.

  Zofia's look begged an answer from Tillie.

  “She got into a little trouble last night, Evanishing in and out of rooms throughout the castle, with a friend of hers,” Tillie explained.

  “Trouble?” Zofia said. “Evanishing into private rooms, or homes is against—“

  “Code,” Blanche sighed heavily as she dropped to the divan. “I know. I can't believe I let Evelyn Styles talk me into doing that with her, last night—OH!—I could just kill her!” She slouched, head in her palms, elbows on thighs.

  Zofia left it alone. She looked suitably mortified. Possibly, she had been taken in for a talking to by one of the head commanders.

  “Dufus,” Elton sneered as he marched in, wearing the robe he was issued when he arrived.

  Tillie sat beside Blanche and pulled her into a motherly hug.

  “You have to remember where you are, now, dearie,” Tillie said soothingly into her ear. Catching Zofia's quizzical gaze, she went on, “Believe me, Evelyn's mother—that's Ester Sparrowgrove, of Ogenthow, not Ingersoll,” she explained in a lower tone for Zofia's benefit, “has thoroughly chastised her daughter and this one here.”

  Blanche wore a fitting mortified expression, even swiped a tear from her eye. She must have felt terrible; even the dazzling dresses had not caught her eye.

  “So, Mom, who're you after?” Elton asked, excitedly. “Are you going to put them into Hamparzum's?”

  “No, that isn't my assignment,” she said, running a hand through his tousled hair, trying to tame it. He immediately did what he always did and evaded her combing fingers, then loped across to the bed, and hopped onto it, eyeing the dresses, only half interested.

  “I'm a spy,” Zofia announced to the room at large, tying the leather string around the folder, and tossing it onto the bed along with the clothes.

  “Who are you spying on?” Elton wanted to know.

  “His name is Count Saint Germain,” Zofia said.

  “That rings a bell,” Tillie said, screwing up her face again. “I know I've heard that name somewhere.”

  “A count?” Blanche said, sitting up now. “That's the same as a king, or a prince, isn't it?”

  “Pretty much,” Zofia said.

  “What did he do? Is he a bad, wicked wizard, like Blood?” Elton wondered, his voice going dark and deep.

  “Uh, no. Actually, I don't know a whole lot about him. Neither does Stephen. That's why I'm going there. To spy.”

  “Cool! And Dad left on his assignment this morning,” Elton said.

  “I know,” Zofia said, wondering how she was going to give him the news he was about to be shipped off to school quite soon.

  “He also told me I'm going to wizarding school!” he said boastfully. “Boy, if only I could tell Mark Kress, he'd mess his pants. He'd never believe it in a million years!”

  Zofia had to stifle a snigger. “Elton,” she gathered in her motherly tone, “Watch what you say,” she reminded.

  “I know, I know.” Jumping off the bed, he twirled away, and skipped around the room. “I'm no longer on First World, where I wasn't supposed to say anything about this world, and now that I'm on my planet, I can't say anything about First World—” He cupped his hands over his face muffling his cry of frustration as he fell back onto the bed.

  Tillie, meanwhile, was mumbling to herself. “Saint Germain… Saint Germain… I know I've heard of him!” She snapped her finger in frustration. “It's there, in my brain, but I can't dig it out.”

  Another knock brought the room to poised silence. A maid entered to Zofia's bidding. In a black dress with white ruffled apron, and a simple ruffle treatment on top of her head, the maid curtsied and said, “Lord Stephen has sent me to request that you all join 'im on the terrace for mid-day meal, madam.”

  “Thank you,” Zofia said. “We'll be down presently.”

  “Food! I'm starved!” Elton launched himself off the couch as though he were a cannon ball.

  Ten minutes later, all five of them sat at a large, round wrought iron table with a glass top. Their meal consisted of poached trout with sorrel sauce—which Elton grimaced and picked at—steamed peas with sautéed mushrooms, asparagus, a spring salad, a white cake smothered in whipping cream and strawberries for desert. The good news was, so far Zofia's morning sickness was squelched by whatever Baruche had given her last night. Or, maybe she wasn't going to get sick again.

&nb
sp; Stephen held meaningful, bright, and even serious conversations with her, Tillie and both of her offspring during the course of the meal. He had explained everything about Myrddin's School for Sorcerers, to Elton, since he had gone there himself. He even drew Elton a map on a piece of parchment of where the dorms were, and the main halls and classes would be. “Just to give him a little head start over the other boys who also will be new,” Stephen said with a wink to Zofia.

  He also dropped the names of very affluent schools for sorceresses, and discussed the whole process of going to the balls for Blanche's selection to the schools, and knew which balls were held when. The first one, in fact, was held next month. Tillie made a list of all the things they needed to do in order to get prepared. Blanche looked on with interest, but Zofia could tell that her heart wasn't in this. She would miss all the friends she'd made. This change would be very drastic, but it was necessary. She didn't look forward to the arguments that would be coming up in the very near future.

  Zofia could not help but admire how Stephen could interact with her children, speak to them one-on-one as though they were adults. She found herself looking at Stephen in a new way. He was now a man; not the teenager she once knew.

  Satiated, and running out of topics to talk about, Tillie announced she had some shopping to do, and left; Blanche and Elton spotted Withershins—how they knew it was him, she hadn't a clue, because now he was white, just like five other unicorns in the grassy knoll, sleeping under a great oak tree, just across the garden—and parted company. But then, he was the only unicorn who didn't run away.

  This conveniently left Zofia alone with Stephen. She knew he had some things to go over with her, and so, allowed him to start first. After the maid poured them some more iced tea, he launched into it.

  “I think we can resume our conversation about your assignment,” Stephen said as the last of the dishes were cleared from the table. Stephen motioned to his page. Nelms handed him a leather folder, then stepped back to his corner.

  Zofia pulled hers up, opened it, and spread it out on the now cleared table, as had Stephen with his. Shuffling through her mess, she found the resumé she had copied. At least she had accomplished this much today.

  “I need to go over just a few more things with you about this case,” Stephen said, and pulled out another sheet of parchment which had writing on it. “This is your Right to Search Premises document. With it, you are hereby clear to search all or any part of Dark Castle, and any place within its courtyard, as well as the village.”

  “Village?” she said, taking the page he handed her.

  “Ravenwood. I told you about it, this morning.”

  “Oh—” she honestly had forgotten all about it, but it came back to her readily enough.

  “I need you to sign both copies,” he said as he shuffled through his stack, found his own copy and turned it toward her. “Nelms? Quill,” he said. Dutifully Nelms was at her elbow handing her an ink-dipped quill.

  Zofia signed both papers.

  “That will be all, Nelms. Thank you,” Stephen said, and Nelms made no haste in taking his leave of them.

  “At last,” Stephen said around a sigh. “We can talk.”

  A little breeze sent a strand of sienna hair across Zofia's face, and she had to draw it back behind an ear, flipping it back over a shoulder. She made with a nervous smile. She knew some things he had not told her this morning, and wanted to wait until now to tell her. She felt slightly on edge because of it.

  “About my assignment?”

  Shifting back in his chair, and squaring an ankle over his knee, he gave their tête-à-tête a relaxed feel.

  “That, and more,” he said, flicking a piece of lint off his knee. “There are some things I do need to speak to you about. Some of these things may shock you. Mostly, though, it's important that I fill you in on, well, everything.” He placed one hand on the cleared table. She stared at it, the fine chiseled lines of it. Perfection. She realized just then, the man had to be perfect down to every last hair and follicle. “First off, one very important thing you should know is that Dark Castle is on the territorial line between the Oblast and the Province.”

  She nodded.

  “In fact, it is considered an enclave by both our Province and the Oblast.”

  “I didn't know that,” she said.

  “This means that we have no rule over it, nor does the Oblast.”

  “I see,” she said. “So, I'm going into a place where—”

  “We have no jurisdiction, except when one of ours is in danger,” he put it simply enough even she could understand. “I want you to know there are some pockets of demon worshipers, vampire nests, and several Were societies within or without the village, and in surrounding neighboring communities.

  Pulling in a deep breath, she let it out with her words, “I see.”

  “Need I caution you to stay inside during the full moons?” Stephen asked, flashing one of his dazzling smiles.

  “No. I'm not venturing one toe outside after sunset!”

  “Good. One or two communities lie just a half day's travel from Ravenwood. One is Colona, the other is Elspeth. Both are Were communities. They mostly stay to themselves, but often they travel for food, or jobs, just like the rest of the populace. I would be remiss in not telling you that it isn't unusual to have to send a couple Knights up there to capture someone Wereing outside of their own jurisdiction every now and then. Usually, they're taken back to their community, unless they've killed humans, of course.

  “Of course,” she said, frowning hard at him. Weres generally hunted animals. No one disputed that, and it was within their right as a race. It was when they killed humans when it got ugly. She knew that Dorian had done his share of hunting down Weres and vampires in his early years as a Knight.

  Another beat went by before she said, “So, I'm spying on Count Saint Germain to find out if he is, or is not a vampire. Right?” She just wanted him to make it clear.

  “Right, Zofia. We're not absolutely sure of his status. We need to know in order to put him down in our vampire files, if he is, you see.” She was nodding. That sounded logical to her. “But there is something else, more important I need to discuss with you. We didn't have time to go through this earlier. And frankly, I didn't want to throw it all at you at once this morning. This morning we discussed the Portal, which was opened in your backyard—the one that sucked in the neighbor lady, her dog, and your two cats.”

  “Right.”

  “And, as I've said, we've been keeping close tabs on where this Portal has been issuing from, and it does appear to have come from Dark Castle—or rather from the menhir upon which Dark Castle rests.”

  “Menhir?” she said. A menhir was a prehistoric monument, usually an upright megalith. They could be very small, or quite huge, and sometimes constructed in circles, but not always. She figured that since Dark Castle rested on one, it had to be huge.

  “Have you ever seen one?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she said. “I went to the ones in Daeghref, during my last year at school.” Those had been huge slabs settled into the earth, arranged in a circle. The ones at Stonehenge on First World were like these. In fact they had been made by her people before everyone vacated Earth.

  “This one was built—we must presume—by the Helsingas,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, a hand went to his chin to rub at what little stubble grew there.

  She thought on this for a beat. The Helsingas were here for millions of years before the Immortals had arrived on this planet. They were monsters which stood anywhere from ten to fifteen feet tall. She could see them tipping very large stones into place easily.

  “Menhirs usually rest at natural Power points,” she said. Squeezing her eyes in thought, she added, “The ley line must be very potent if it's creating a Portal strong enough to melt the time barrier and generate such a powerful vortex that it can jump across space to Earth.”

  “Yes. Very potent,” he agreed, no lon
ger smiling. His foot came down to rest on the flagstone beneath him beside the other one, and he leaned forward, placing both hands together on the table. “This spot is very special. Very ancient. There are standing stones and burial mounds built by both the Helsingas and other cultures who lived in the area along these ley lines. They cross our two boundaries. If Saint Germain is harnessing this power, he may not realize the dangerous potential of such folly. We want to know what he's using the Portal for. Is he trying to open up a hell mouth? I would like you to find out, if at all possible. And if he is creating this Portal, how and where is he doing it from?”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, mulling this new information over. “What am I supposed to look for?”

  “I really don't know. Saint Germain is, as I've told you, an Ugwump, not a wizard. It's quite possible that he has developed some sort of machine,” Stephen explained at length. “If this is the case, once you have discovered it, you could see if you can somehow disable it. There could be some part, some ingredient that he needs for it to work.”

  She was nodding. A machine. Great. She remembered when her car had broken down and thought she had opened the hood, when actually, she'd opened the trunk and saw a tire and a jack and nothing else and thought, no wonder this dumb thing doesn't work. But another motorist happened along, and opened the hood—where the engine was—and she couldn't believe all the wires, hoses and junk inside. How the man had known what to do, she couldn't even fathom. But she guessed it wouldn't be so difficult to disable something from working. Just pull stuff out and that should do it.

  “Okay,” she said, finally. “I think I could do that.”

  “Good,” he said, shifting in his seat to lean back into that reposed position with his hands clasped across his stomach. “Do you still have a Ghogal?”

  “Yes.”