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

by Lorelei Bell

  “Ah, I see,” he said.

  “With the help of my aunt, we were able to bring back his soul, and turn him back into a wizard again,” she continued. “We had a fight, just a few days before I arrived here. He revealed what little he remembered—that he'd allowed Xilomorah to seduce him, and I became mad. We couldn't finish the fight; I wanted to tell him what happened to me, but every time I tried to, something would happen, or someone would interrupt us—”

  “That you'd had brush with a vampire? He must have found out about it eventually?”

  “It wasn't a vampire,” she admitted sheepishly. What the hell. Vampire. Demon. What was the difference? “It was a demon.”

  His eyes narrowed at this. “How is this so?”

  With a huge sigh she went into the story of how Erebus had tricked her into having sex with him, and when she had backed out, he'd raped her.

  “I never had the chance to tell Dorian, and he found out after I had already told everyone else. Then, it was too late. Stephen told me Dorian had left the next morning, after I had been made Knight, and hadn't even come to see me beforehand. The only thing Stephen could tell me was that Dorian had returned here, and that he remembered more about what had happened back then. I think he wants retribution. But Phineas is dangerous, and I'm worried, since Dorian had gone down to where I was told the entrance to their layer is.”

  “But the fact remains you are no longer together. And you must remember, Dorian has been a successful Knight for a while. Correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then he knows what the dangers are, since he knows Phineas and the others very well, and knows what to expect.” He paused to look deeply into her eyes. “I can hardly believe that a demon is what smote his love for you.”

  “It's a Taboo to have relations with a demon. But I was absolved because the demon raped me.”

  “Of course you were absolved. Dorian must forgive you, then, once he knows—”

  “No. He acted terribly jealous the moment he'd heard this and found out that Stephen was planning to make me Knight.”

  “Who is this Stephen?”

  “Stephen Restormell, Head of the Witenagemont.” She let out a breathy sigh. She had to explain this as well. “He's Dorian's boss—and mine—but he's also part god and lord of his own realm. Once Dorian learned that he'd placed me on the list to become Knight, he absolved our marriage,publicly. So, he gave Stephen permission to take me as his own, right in front of everyone at the luncheon.”

  “I still do not understand. What would bring him to this?”

  “Well—” She realized he wouldn't know her background. “Stephen and I were thrown together as children, when my parents were killed by Vesselvod Blood. He had a thing for me then. Still does. Should I become his wife, I would be well off. I wouldn't have to worry about money, or even be a Knight any more.” She shrugged. A life of luxury. It sounded so like a soap opera it was pathetic.

  “I see,” Saint Germain said as he pondered things while squeezing his lower lip between finger and thumb. “So, your husband has come here, on his own to seek out a man he deems very dangerous. Before he leaves he makes sure that you are well taken care of, giving his permission to Stephen to make you his wife, if he wishes.”

  She nodded. “Yes, that's about right.”

  “My dear, don't you see what he's done?”

  “No. What?” she said, confused. What could he possibly see in this that she didn't?

  “Possibly because I am a man, I understand it. You will be taken care of, in case he does not return. Don't you see?”

  Eyes widening, she said, “You mean he thought he might not—”

  “—Survive. Yes.”

  She drew in a sudden breath. A chill slid down her back as she turned away, hands pressed together, tips of her fingers to her lips in thought. “It never occurred to me that Dorian had done this for another reason all together.” She made a cry of frustration.

  Saint Germain caught her as she swung around. “You mean so much to him, my dear. You see, he does love you. He merely had something else to tend to. Something that was more important, and very dangerous. Something that might end his life.”

  “More important than me? Than his children?” She was shouting into his face. Unfazed by her outburst, he held her by the wrists at arms length and stared back at her.

  “Sometimes a man's job is more important than all else he holds most dear. He knows the real risk of what Phineas is planning. It might jeopardize the world as you know it. He wants to resolve the thing that happened between them, before it is too late. He wants to right what has been wronged. He may realize that he'd made a fatal mistake in underestimating what Phineas was capable of—back then, that is—and is more angry at himself for having failed in his job. Don't you see?” He had Zofia thinking hard now. “He didn't trust his own instincts about this very dangerous wizard, and that lead to his biggest mistake that took his soul. Does this sound about right to you?”

  She let go another exhaustive sigh. “That sounds exactly like Dorian. Uh! I should have seen this.”

  They stood staring at one another. The thing she thought he would say, he didn't. He went in another direction, and pulled her emotionally one hundred and eighty degrees.

  “So, we now have Stephen in this heady mix of vampires, demons, lovers and angry husbands?”

  She felt her facial muscles wrangle themselves from a deep frown to confusion to a sudden burst of laughter. “I'm not in love with Stephen,” she said in a defiant tone, once she'd mastered her emotions. Not so much for his sake as for her own, she realized after.

  One brow jumped in surprise at either her emotions, or her words, or both. “I see,” he said, quietly pondering her for a few heartbeats, as though he didn't quite believe her. “Are you sure there is nothing between you?”

  Zofia rolled her eyes. Why were people questioning her about her relationship with Stephen, like they had something going on? Well, not for the lack of trying on Stephan's part. “There is nothing going on. Not on my end, anyway. He's part god, by the way.”

  “I believe you covered this.”

  “Have you ever met anyone who was part god—and I'm talking fertility god, here. Not just your run of the mill type god.”

  He was biting down on his lower lip, just then. She figured it was an attempt to keep from laughing because his facial muscles tightened along the cheeks.

  “No, I must say, in my very long existence, I have never come across any god of any sort. Part god not withstanding.”

  She smiled, unable to help herself.

  The knock at the door made them both pause and turn. Zofia's heart had jumped in response, and she let go a gasp.

  “Who is it?” Saint Germain asked.

  “Jacques! Me laisser dedans!” came a high-pitched voice through the door.

  Saint Germain gave Zofia a quick glance before he turned away and strode the floor to unlock the door. “Jacques what—”

  Jacques charged in, courting candle in his hand as he spoke Arpiesian so quickly Zofia could hardly believe Saint Germain would be able to understand it. Saint Germain responded in a few quick words. It was almost like a verbal sparring match. Jacques nodded and excitedly threw his hands out to his sides, and made a sound like someone trying to mimic an explosion, nearly putting out his candle. “KABOOM!” he yelled.

  “What is it?” Zofia asked, her curiosity more than roused.

  Saint Germain quickly shut the door, relocked it and returned to the middle of the room with Jacques on his heals clutching his hands. His eyes went from Saint Germain, to her and back again as he spoke.

  “It looks as though you will be unable to leave, at least by coach,” he announced.

  Zofia frowned. “No? Why?”

  “Jacques has just told me that the bridge out of Ravenwood has been utterly destroyed.”

  Excitedly Jacques repeated his words in Arpiesian, and made that sound again, throwing his hands out, as if to pantomime
an exploding bridge.

  Zofia returned a shocked gaze. “What do you mean destroyed? How?”

  “Kaboom!” Jacques said to her, nodding in his excitement.

  Saint Germain turned to Jacques. “How? Comment?”

  “Je ne sais pas,” Jacques said, and shrugged, his lower lip protruding with emphasis.

  “I do not know how,” Saint Germain said to her. “The bridge is destroyed. Suffice it to say that your exit from here will not be by way of the carriage I had promised you.” He sighed deeply. “I am very sorry, but it would seem that Phineas has thought of everything.”

  “I could Transvect my way out of here. That would be no problem.” She moved away from him to gaze into the warm glow of the fireplace.

  “No,” he said gently.

  “No?”

  “I cannot allow you to leave on your own like that, unprotected. Besides, the storm has turned for the worst.”

  “I haven't heard any thunder,” she said. Not since that one booming sound—which now she realized had to have been the explosion of the bridge.

  “Not a rain storm. A snow storm,” he corrected. “It is coming down very heavy. A blizzard, in fact. I dare say, you would become lost. No, I cannot allow it. You must stay.”

  “There must be another way,” she gasped. If only she could Evanish. Or had a Sorcerer's Tree—the Sorcerer's Tree being her best bet. But, she didn't have one. Even if she did Transvect and used her Umbrella spell while Transvecting, she could eventuality get lost in the storm. And a good wizard would be able to find her easily.

  Jacques spoke, seeming to make a suggestion. For some reason, he'd forgotten how to speak English.

  “Huh?” Zofia said.

  “The only other possibility would be the Teleport Machine,” Saint Germain translated. “But it is down below, and it would be too dangerous since the cult currently makes it their headquarters.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “That's okay. It pulls on me.” She pressed her hand to her belly. “Here.”

  “I see. I had no idea,” Saint Germain said, pulling at his lower lip. “And we must be careful of your unborn.”

  She pulled in a breath, almost going into a full eye-roll, but didn't bother. Her unborn what? Whatever it was, she wasn't exactly jumping for joy over this pregnancy. Demon seed. She'd be raising a half demon. That was why Dorian dumped her and would not return. It had nothing to do with chivalry, she was certain of it.

  “What is it?” Saint Germain asked, seeming to either read her thoughts, or her expression. “I have said something wrong. Tell me.”

  “No. You've said nothing wrong,” she said almost wearily.

  “What then? I need to know.” He was in front of her, grasping her upper arms, not brutishly, but firmly.

  “I'm pregnant from the demon.” She looked away as she said this, and despite her feelings over the whole thing, a tear escaped her. She knew better. It was a tear of shame, but she couldn't help it.

  “Nevertheless, it is a life, and a life is precious, no matter,” he said quickly.

  She looked up into his face. “Yes. You're right, of course. But I must deal with the humiliation should the child look more like a demon, or have demonic traits. Whether or not I was absolved, it won't matter. There will be a stigma upon it and me, because of what I have done.” She drew in a sniffle, and wiped her nose with the black handkerchief. This was about as pathetic as she'd allow herself to get. Damn it, she couldn't think about this now.

  “Let us deal with one crises at a time,” he said softly, his hands sliding up and then down her arms.

  “So, what do you suggest? Phineas wants me for his spell to bring forth Apep. He'll come for me. Him, or all three of them, either way, the two of us are no match for their magic.”

  Then, Zofia sensed it—a heavy sensation of Power—before she saw the two men appear in the room with them, Evanishing just on the landing in front of the door. Both men had clean shaven heads. The two rogue wizards, Keeler and Garrison, stood in black robes holding their wands out. Everything happened at once: Jacques screamed and flung himself into the intimate seating section of the room, taking cover; Zofia threw up an Umbrella spell, but couldn't include Saint Germain because he was on the move; two red jets of Power emitted from the wizard's wands arrowed straight at them. Then, Saint Germain was suddenly in front of her, almost as if he too could be in two places at the same time. He had raced around behind her, and with inhuman quickness he suddenly was in front of her holding something large up in front of them both. It looked like an oval picture, but she couldn't tell, since she could only see the back side of it, plus, the room was dark. Sparks exploded, there was a sudden rush of sound. Jacques was still screaming, even when all went still and the two wizards were no longer standing before them.

  “Jacques! Shut up!” Saint Germain shouted, lowering the thing he'd held up, now rest on the floor nearby. She now saw it was the oval mirror from the dressing table. It had deflected Keeler and Garrison's spells, and they had left before they were hit by their own power bursts. She could see, and smell, the scorched wood of the door where the power bursts hit. That was very quick thinking—and action—by Saint Germain, indeed. Zofia exhaled with relief.

  Jacques had stopped screaming. His head popped up over the half-wall. “Ze are gone?” he asked, eyes huge. Blinking, and darting around the room in fear. Finally seeing that they were now safe, he stood.

  “Oui, they are gone,” Saint Germain said, settling the mirror against the wall of the sitting room. “I need you to do something for me, Jacques. Here.” He tossed something at him. It was small—Zofia realized it was the vial of the valuable stuff Saint Germain needed to stay alive—and watched, heart nearly stopping fearing it would smash into the wall of the sitting room. But it didn't. Amazingly, Jacques had caught it. Saint Germain went into Arpiesian at length. Jacques nodded. “Oui, oui, oiu!” And on short legs the man ran to the door, unlocked it and pulled it open. Burnt pieces of door fell as he did, leaving a gaping hole in its center. He gaped at it, looked back at Saint Germain, the candle in his hand nearly going out as he moved so quickly.

  “Go!” he said.

  Jacques nodded and sped out of the room.

  “Franz, what—? How—?” she sputtered.

  Saint Germain was smiling. “I, who have had encounters with sorcerers and wizards from your world as well as mine, have an answer to thwarting them.”

  She frowned with disbelief. “Really? I could never have guessed that.”

  He turned, bent his elbow for her to take. “Come. Quickly.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked, hooking her hand onto his arm.

  “To the one place that no wizard, or sorcerer can enter with magic.”

  Chapter 37

  A sense of urgency compelled the both of them forward as Saint Germain ushered her out into the odd-shaped atrium, straight to the stairs which led up to his private quarters.

  “What you did back there to the rogue wizards was more brilliant than what you did to Myron and Ommetress!” Zofia said as they plunged into the darkened pentagon-shaped atrium.

  “I only dispatched Myron,” he said quickly. “Ommetress is still at large, I'm afraid.”

  Zofia balked at the bottom of the risers and gazed back at him. His face, and the rest of him was mostly in shadow, but she could see his outline, now backlit from the glow of her room. “Goddess, save us! The old saying 'woman scorned' applies to female vampires ten fold. I'm sure she's very pissed right now, and will come after me first chance she gets.”

  “She has never been invited inside the castle,” Saint Germain assured her.

  “Good. That means as long as I stay put I'm safe—only from her. Right now, it's the rogue wizards who are trying to hook me up for a date with Apep.”

  “They will not be able to touch you, if we go upstairs.”

  “To your room?” She balked again, holding back.

  “Come, my child. You cannot be sh
y with me now,” he said in a lascivious voice. One hand going to his upper lip, he pantomimed curling a long mustache, at the same time wiggled his brows at her, which she caught because of the way he'd turned toward her.

  She couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her. “Oh, if its a good time you want, then what are we waiting for?”

  Chuckling, they galloped up the stairs and didn't stop until they were inside the pitch black of his private rooms.

  “Luminos!” Zofia incanted as the door shut behind her and she heard Saint Germain drive the locks home—she didn't know there were two. Amber candlelight glistened off the gold-gilded hull of the cathedral-like ceiling. The crystal chandelier, which hung opulently from the very apex of it, glistened like raindrops in the sun.

  “We are safe,” he said, coming up from behind, easing his hands intimately around her middle, and landing a soft kiss on the side of her neck. That made little shivers go through her, and gave her insides a tumble as well.

  Ignoring what that had done to her—well, not completely—she had to ask, “How?”

  He pointed to the ceiling. “The shape. Plus it is gilded with pure gold. You see, a sorcerer's highest achievement is to transmute a lesser metal into gold. But the shape—the pyramid—represents the very principals of alchemy; salt, mercury, sulfur—or more to the point—body, soul, and spirit. No wizard, no warlock, no sorcerer could ever trespass through my winged dragon.” As he spoke, he smiled almost reverently up at the pyramid. She then could see that a winged dragon with a very loopy tail, was etched in the gold. She could just make out words—all in Latin. When she squinted, she could make out Sţ GERMAIN within the text, written out above the dragon's head. She'd seen this chiseled in the floor down below, and above his fireplace in his personal library. The winged dragon was Saint Germain's symbol. Somewhat like a shield, or perhaps a family crest, she wasn't sure. She understood that the dragon stood for many things, but now, she could never look at a dragon and not think of him.

  “But I don' t understand how it would stop them,” she admitted.