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

by Lorelei Bell

  Elton pulled in a breath through his nose and let it out gustily. “You shouldn't have told us, then,” he said, shaking his head slowly.

  Zofia smiled, unable to help herself, she pulled him into a tight hug and kissed him on the cheek. He groaned, as usual, but hugged her back, albeit feebly. Yet, he refused to kiss her back. Girding herself against letting her emotions go completely, she sent Elton off with the signed school enrollment papers, knowing Stephen was awaiting them. He most likely would send them by hawk tout de suite.

  “What a brat,” Blanche said more softly this time. She held an unguarded expression of weakness. She grimaced hard, then Evanished. Probably went to her bed to pout. Or cry a little.

  Zofia sighed heavily. Alone again, she let her tears flow. Turning, she flopped onto the desk top, and burrowed her head into the folds of her arms to cover her whales. This was about as pathetic as it could get. First Dorian had abandoned her, and now her youngest was off to a wizard's school. But mostly she felt wounded, and angry—actually pissed off—that Dorian had left without saying good bye, or trying to mend things between them. Sending their first-born son off to wizarding school was supposed to have been something they did together, like all parents did. This sucked toads.

  Tillie and Blanche would be leaving for First World in the morning, she'd already discussed this with them at mid-day meal. It was quite possible that she would be leaving for Ravenwood tomorrow. She felt scared and alone. She'd read nearly all of The Wandering Traveler before nodding off, and the very idea of going there on her own was frightening. It wasn't just the Weres and shape shifters of every kind, or even the vampires, or the strange, and illegal cults that gathered there.

  What was really making her despondent was that Dorian was also going to be there, according to what Stephen had said, and she was not to even make eye contact with him.

  The mere thought of Dorian returning to that area made her skin craw with goose flesh. In the book, Barty (Bartholomew) Langguth, the author, had had a couple of very near scrapes with various villains of the area. A lone wolfman, by the name of Laurence Talmud, had pulled Barty out of more than one daring escape from the local vampires and Weres. Traveling to Dark Castle during the full moons was not in the best interest of anyone, especially a lone, pregnant woman with a full complement of vampire bites, thank you.

  She sat at the secretary desk, wishing she had some Godiva chocolates to help her get through this, then remembered the wine that had been left in her room upon her first night. She retrieved it from the armoire where she had stashed it. Realizing that it had a cork, she replaced it with a groan. She could call Biddle to uncork it—he somehow had a way of doing it—but why wake him? It was nice and quiet for a change.

  Returning to the desk, and willing herself not to think of Dorian (the ass), she allowed her mind to take a natural course, and began to work on a list to give to Tillie consisting of things to bring back from First World. Mostly whatever could be hauled back in a Sorcerer's Tree in four or five loads, say. And first on the list was about one hundred pounds of chocolate.

  She was interrupted by a knock.

  “Who's there?”

  “Orange,” came the answer through the door. It sounded like Tillie.

  “Come in, Tillie. That's a really old joke,” Zofia called back, unable to resist rolling her eyes.

  The door swung open and in sailed two maids with their arms full of large boxes stacked nearly over their heads. Tillie surged in behind them with a few boxes of her own. “Orange you going to ask me in?” she said anyway. “I wanted to say it, but you messed up my punch line.” She pouted briefly, then instructed the maids to set the parcels onto the bed, and thanked them. The two maids made little bows as they left and closed the door.

  Zofia eyed the parcels on the bed. She knew these to hold the very things she'd sent Tillie out to buy. It was refreshing not to see the plastic Wal-Mart bags. Shopping on her planet everything was either wrapped in paper, or folded neatly and placed in a box tied with string. Depending upon how fancy a place, the boxes were colored or striped, but these were plain cardboard boxes.

  “You wouldn't believe the bargains I got!” Tillie boasted as she opened up one of the boxes she had brought in. “Lookie what I bought you!” She yanked out a pair of brown suede boots that were absolutely gorgeous, and troll-made.

  “Goddess!”

  Chapter 12

  Blanche, Tillie, and Zofia sat in the opulent Restormell family dining room at one end of a twenty-foot mahogany table set just for the three of them, since they were the only guests remaining in the castle. A storm raged outside. Thick curtains were drawn over the large windows to diminish the flickering lightning. Fifteen feet above them, a huge chandelier threw off plenty of golden candlelight, along with several branches of flaming candelabras down the center of the table, two on the sideboards, and three to each of the two mantles of the massive floor to ceiling, triple marble fireplaces at either end of the long room.

  At the beginning of their meal, they had been informed by the very stiff-backed butler who served them now, that Stephen regretted not being able to dine with them. He wouldn't elaborate, but Zofia could just imagine what might draw Stephen away from the dinner table. Stephen was least of her problems at the moment.

  Amidst the subtle, and very live string quartet emitting soothing music from a curtained-off alcove while they dined, Blanche's comment of how many forks, knives and spoons they actually needed to eat a meal had gotten a meager chuckle. Anything, if only to keep Zofia's mind off of their tearful farewell to Elton, earlier, as he had climbed into a white and gold coach, and was whisked away to this new school, twelve kilometers away. He had looked so small getting into the large coach, all by himself. If she, herself, did not have to leave for her own mission in the morning, she would have gone with him. But she had to pack, herself. She remembered Elton's determined look on his face when he parted them, doing his best not to look frightened. She wondered if he had cried, even just a few tears, as he was swept away on the coach, off to a totally new school. One where they taught sorcery and spell casting. One where he would not come home at the end of the day to his mother, and the comforts of home.

  Thunder rumbled outside, making the floor shake. That was one thing she remembered about thunderstorms here on Euphoria. When it stormed, you knew you had a sturdy house if it didn't blow away, and a good thatch job, if the roof didn't leak.

  “We'll have a sale,” Tillie was saying, pulling Zofia out of her gloomy thoughts. “One of them garage or yard sales that Ugwumps have on First World.”

  “Good idea, Tillie,” Zofia encouraged, spearing a piece of delicately cooked quail. (Zofia had to tell Blanche it was chicken, otherwise, she would refuse to eat it.) “Only don't put too large of a price tag on things, or they won't move.”

  “Right,” Tillie said, then burst with a chuckle. “I remember the first time Lolly had a garage sale, and we thought she'd been evicted!”

  Zofia and Tillie chuckled at this for a good minute. Then Zofia glanced at Blanche who sat glumly, staring at the white breast meat on her plate.

  “Isn't the quail delicious?” Tillie prompted.

  Zofia threw her a warning glare, but it was too late.

  “I-I mean, the chicken!” Tillie corrected hastily.

  Blanche's gaze flicked up, her expression one of sheer horror. “You mean I'm eating a cute little bird, not some dumb ass chicken?” Her fork clattered to her plate and she sat back to stare at it. “I'm not eating this!”

  “I'm sorry, Blanche,” Zofia attempted the soft touch. “I don't have any sway over the meals they serve here in the castle.”

  “That's all right, Mom,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her. “I'm not that hungry anyway.”

  “Well, at least eat your peas.”

  “Are you sure that's what they are?” she nettled sarcastically.

  Zofia rolled her eyes. She was going to miss her family terribly.

&
nbsp; “Monique's sister is a Realtor,” Tillie said, pulling the old change-the-subject routine. “I'll call her when we get home and see if she'll sell the house for us.”

  “Good idea, Tillie—”

  A high-pitched sound caught them all by surprise. Looking up, Zofia saw something about the size of a giant dragonfly zoom into view. The red and yellow flash of material made Zofia catch her breath, and then the thing came to a halt right in front of her face and she had to screw up her eyes in order to focus it in.

  “Twilina?” Zofia said, taking in the pixy hovering before her, wearing a long nightgown with just her tiny toes showing, her teeny toenails were painted pink. She realized it was probably the pixie's time to be in bed.

  There came a high-pitched voice from the pixy, just like earlier, only this time Zofia could understand it.

  “Stephen said to give this to you, ma'am,” she said and in her very small, delicate hands was a thick square of folded parchment (her tiny fingernails were painted pink as well).

  “Oh. Thanks.” Zofia took the note from Twilina gently. And with a poof of gold pixie dust, and a buzz of wings, she left. At once Zofia sneezed three times in succession.

  “Oh, dear—obliterate olfactorius!” Tillie said, thrusting a hand toward Zofia's face. “You never could be around pixies when you were a child. I always knew they were in the garden when you sneezed like there was no tomorrow.”

  “That was a pixy?” Blanche said, looking mildly impressed. “Way cool.”

  “What's the note say?” Tillie asked, her eyes riveted on the small, folded up parchment.

  Zofia unfolded the little note and read it to herself.

  Meet me on your balcony, after dinner

  ~ Stephen

  “Ahh—” She folded up the note quickly and placed it up her sleeve. “Stephen wants to meet me after dinner. That's all.” Could they hear that her heart had just begun thundering in her chest? Or was that the storm raging outside?

  The meal was consumed at a snail's pace, but it didn't last nearly long enough. Zofia was bothered by the note, of course. Two questions were swirling inside her head. Why did Stephen ask to meet her on her balcony (or in his office),when the door was just as good? And what was on his mind? Also, why didn't he just come down to supper? Okay, three questions, but they only invoked more questions the further she went with it, until her mind was in a fever worried about what she was to do if he wanted a night cap—and she was the night cap.

  Could she resist him this time? Maybe, if only he kept his hair back in a tail, and not wear that sexy silk shirt that had no buttons, and those damned tight pants. After all what was she? A martyr? Hardly.

  After dinner, the three women Transvected together through the quiet castle to their hallway on the second floor. They said good night before splitting up to go to their respective rooms.

  Upon entering her room, Zofia found the fireplace was lit cheerily, and there were plenty of candles and lanterns glowing from every corner, but it was still too dark and sultry for her. She took two steps in, trying to sense if someone, other than Biddle, was occupying it. Like Stephen—who may not have waited until she came to let him in off the balcony, since he would have been sopped by now, waiting for her. But she could see no one, heard no one.

  Biddle had come out, just before she'd gone to dinner, glowed over her new clothes and asked if he should pack them or hang them up. Zofia had told him to pack them into whatever he could find. He'd most likely gone to his roost in the chimney, by now. He was trying to be a very good Ghogal, and not get in the way. She hadn't told him he was coming along. That would just spoil his good behavior streak.

  Lightning burst against the large windows, throwing the room into sudden brilliance, and then back to comparative darkness. Stephen couldn't have been serious about waiting for her on her balcony, surely. Even so, curiosity got the better of her, and she went to check. Sure enough, there was no one out there. Just cold rain coming down.

  Shrugging, she turned away. Of course, the note may have been written well before the storm had come in. He'd probably told Twilina to hand deliver it to her when Zofia sat down to dinner. Poor dear had to come in her bed clothes. Obviously, the balcony would have been rather romantic. Stephen could have Transvected himself there easily. For all she knew, he could probably Evanish wherever he wanted. Thanking the stars he was not quite that brash, she blew out a sigh, only to pull it back in when the knock came to her door, making her jump.

  Dragon do-do. It was Stephen at the door. Who else could it be? She was on pins and needles wondering why he had sent her such a note, and what he wanted. As if she couldn't guess, after thinking about how he had come to her room last night; how he had so nonchalantly press his lips to her shoulder when she revealed to him she was pregnant, as though he had the right to do so.

  Automatically adjusting the dress collar so that it set upon her shoulders nicely, she strode to the door, not particularly ready to greet Stephen, no matter what attire he had donned.

  But when she opened it she was not at all prepared to come eye-to-eye with none other than the alchemist, Baruche.

  “Oh,” she said. “I wasn't expecting—”

  Baruche gave her a long, level stare, one brow arched at her. “Perhaps you were expecting another alchemist?” he simpered and just as he had last night, barged right in with his bag.

  Zofia took a long, measured breath and eased it out through parted lips before closing the door. She had not expected Baruche again, but after noticing that her stomach had become queasy, right around when she'd gotten that note, she thought it best to humor the man.

  “No,” she said. “Of course not.” Turning back into the room, she watched the alchemist riffling through his vials and potions and dug out the same things he had used last night. “I didn't realize you would automatically return—”

  “My lord has given me instructions to give you the same exact potion I gave you last night. I am here on his orders,” he said, going about his business of mixing the potion in a short glass of water.

  Zofia wordlessly watched as he mixed the elixir in the glass, and then handed it to her. She drank it down, reluctantly.

  “How are your vampire bites?” he asked, while replacing the phials into his bag.

  “They feel much better, thank you,” she said, wiping residue liquid from her lips. The potion had tasted just as nasty tonight as last, but she endured it, since it had worked marvelously against her sickness.

  “You understand—do you not—that any vampire within twenty feet of you can will you to him?”

  “You mean, he can summon me?”

  “Correct.” He was looking hard at her. It was a challenge to return his stare as he simply looked too much like Blood.

  “Even if I wear this necklace?” she asked, taking the necklace in two fingers and dropping it back into place. It thumped heavily against her collar bones.

  “Unfortunately, that necklace will do little good against a summon, if the vampire has bitten you.” She realized he was talking about the vampire who had bitten her. She had nothing to worry about, then. Dorian had bitten her, and he was no longer among the undead. “He will try every way to manipulate you into his seductive web, if you are not careful.” Baruche's voice had gone low, grinding in its baritone. Somehow she felt that he got a little charge out of telling her all this. She decided to play along, if only to see where it led.

  “What do I do, then?”

  “I suggest you keep the scars hidden. If you don't, you'll have every vampire within a kilometer sniffing you out.” Oddly, that's exactly what Stephen had said. Baruche turned back with his satchel in hand. “And, very important you do not meet his eyes.”

  “Right,” she said. She thought he was about to leave, but when he stopped to face her, he was holding something out to her. She realized it was another piece of folded parchment. Another note from Stephen perhaps?

  “This is the ingredients for the formula that I have just mad
e for you tonight,” he explained. “Any alchemist or apothecary can make it up for you. You will have to drink it every night before bedtime.”

  “Thank you,” she said, taking the alchemist's note from him. Baruche brisked past her, sending a wave of that obnoxious aura of his over her. He opened the door, sending yet another breeze of his singular scent back to her.

  A rich meow slurried in from the hallway.

  Stopping in his tracks, Baruche looked down. A large, golden-hair cat padded quickly into Zofia's bedroom. The same one which had greeted her just before the meeting with Stephen and The Four.

  Was that only the day before?

  Baruche's smile seemed sinister. “Ahh. I see the cat has found his refuge in the storm,” he said with the same wicked depth in his voice as when he'd been reciting the ways of nasty vampires. Then, he plunged into the dark hallway and was gone.

  The cat angled quickly toward her bed, leapt and landed gracefully at the foot of it, and turned its large head her way. It gazed at her with those strange golden eyes, looking like a regal lion.

  “What's the matter, Kitty? Scared of the storm?” she said around a chuckle as she strode across the floor toward him. How many nights had she welcomed the cat to share her bed when she was young and afraid in this big, strange castle?

  She could hear him purring loudly as she gentled her hand over the Tabby's back. She felt sad, but at the same time comforted by this little friend she had made when she was young. She had allowed it to sleep beside her back then—and oddly, he would show up during the storms, like tonight. The cat padded across the bed, tail swishing nervously sending the long hairs into motion, meowing while watching her as she unfastened her dress in the back.

  “Oh! I almost forgot.” She aimed a finger toward the door. “Twizzle!” and the door's lock engaged. She wanted to make sure no one would be walking in on her while she slept. Satisfied, she let her dress pool at her feet and stepped out of it. In her chemise, she swished to the dressing table, and ran her brush through her hair. Then she washed her face and patted it dry. While she preened, and applied moisturizer, she spied the cat seated on the edge of the bed, still watching her with those unblinking eyes.