by E. G. Foley
Then he went into his room and banged the door shut in his only friend’s face.
When he walked into his chamber, the head of the sorcerer-king appeared atop the flame of the thick black candle on his desk: a moving, three-dimensional portrait sculpted by smoke.
At once, the ominous look on Grandfather’s stern, craggy face told Victor that the old man hadn’t called to ask about his birthday.
“Ah, good,” the Dark Master said, terse as ever. “You’re awake.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Victor didn’t dare sit down on his nearby bed, but gave the smoky image of the sorcerer-king a formal bow. “I was training with Master Nagai.”
“Hm. I am most pleased to hear it. Unfortunately, lad, there is no time for pleasantries this evening—er, eager as I am to hear of your progress,” he added, as an afterthought. “I’m afraid I have received a most disturbing bit of news tonight that may well affect your security.
“No need for worry, of course,” he continued. “I shall soon have it sorted. Still, it is prudent that you be advised of the situation. And Master Nagai. At ease, Victor,” Zolond added, nodding his permission to be seated.
“Thank you, sir.” Still sweaty from his ordeal outside, Victor merely leaned against the nearest twisty, Gothic spire of his four-poster bed.
“Difficult training?” Zolond asked.
Victor smiled and thrust his hands into his pockets. “Your samurai keeps life interesting, sir.” But he sensed Zolond’s churning displeasure with whatever had occurred, and Victor grew concerned. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”
Zolond pursed his smoky gray lips. “Yes. Erm, you’ll have heard of Lord Wyvern.”
“Yes. Mortal son of the most unholy Lord of the Ninth Pit.” Victor bowed his head at the mention of the great demon, Shemrazul, as he had been taught.
The Horned One was the guiding spirit of the Dark Druid brotherhood, and the Dark Master was his representative on earth.
“Correct,” Grandfather said. “Well, it seems the dear fellow has taken it into his head to try to seize my throne.”
“What?” Victor’s stomach dropped.
He pushed away from the bedpost, every muscle tensing.
“Don’t be concerned, boy.” Grandfather’s attitude became businesslike. “This happens every so often. Some young upstart full of his own stink takes it into his head to challenge my power. It’ll happen to you, as well, when you’re the Dark Master. But it’s of no consequence. Many have tried before Wyvern, and they all have failed. I shall be rid of him soon.”
“O-of course, sir,” Victor agreed.
But the thought of his grandfather raising a hand against the son of Shemrazul made him queasy. Wouldn’t the demon be…a bit peeved if Zolond killed his son?
Zolond glanced downward, as though checking his fob watch. “I haven’t much time, I’m afraid. I just…wanted to tell you myself that they may come after you tonight, since you are my heir. But never fear. You’ll be quite safe. Just do as Nagai says. Oh, and don’t be alarmed when you see a couple of dragons land on the lawn.”
Victor’s eyebrows rose. “Dragons, sir?”
“I’ll be sending a pair of my reptilians to guard the house—in a somewhat altered form.”
Victor grinned. “I can’t wait to see them.”
Zolond smiled back and shook his head. “Boys and their dragons. Run along, now. Fetch your samurai for me. I wish to advise him on your security. And do give Magpen my regards.” Grandfather glanced toward the door, and Victor suddenly heard little bare feet running away from the spot where the imp attached to them had been eavesdropping.
“At least he is loyal,” Zolond said with an indulgent smirk.
Victor smiled warmly. “It is good to see you, sir.”
“Likewise, m’boy.” Zolond nearly faltered for a moment, as though there was something more he wished to say. Then his craggy face hardened again. “Oh, and Victor?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I have not forgotten your birthday.”
Emboldened by his grandfather’s kinder tone, Victor took a step forward. “If possible, sire, I should so like—”
“Victor! War is upon us. We’ll discuss it later.”
Stung, he lowered his head. “Forgive me, sire. I understand.”
“Yes, yes. Go now. I must speak to Nagai.” Zolond’s gray, wispy image gestured impatiently at him.
Victor swallowed his embarrassment with a nod and hurried out of his chamber to go and get his sensei.
This sounds bad. If Grandfather had to kill the Nephilim son of their demon-god, Shemrazul was sure to punish him somehow.
Then Victor remembered he was only thirteen. Who was he to question the Dark Master?
Best not to meddle in things he did not understand. It was enough to know there was yet another enemy out there who wanted him dead. Just one more to add to the list, along with every blasted member of the Order.
Victor leaned over the banister and yelled down the steps for his sensei, but Nagai was already on his way, thanks to Magpen.
Victor let his fierce Japanese trainer into his room to speak to the sorcerer-king.
He left them in privacy, pulling his chamber door shut after Nagai had stalked in. Then Victor remained in the hallway, unsure what to do.
Uneasiness filled him. Visiting London seemed so unimportant now. Even his birthday. Baal’s beard, the more Victor learned about life as the Dark Master, the less he liked it.
Unfortunately, for the Black Prince, fate was fate.
CHAPTER 5
Jake’s Hideaway
Jake laughed, pedaling the swan boat for all he was worth, for the voyage to reach his island in the middle of the lake had inevitably turned into a race.
“Land-ho!” Brian yelled, pulling ahead. Everyone else’s legs were tired from the difficulty of churning the rusty pedals, but the Guardian had been powering his and Isabelle’s swan boat relentlessly.
“Supernatural strength—no fair!” Dani hooted.
Jake knew they were making too much noise, but he let it go for now. Everyone desperately needed a respite from all of the danger and gloom.
Let them have their fun, he thought. They could use it.
Him included.
There was a brittle air to their merriment—great tension just beneath the surface.
“My legs have turned to pudding! Er, not literally,” Archie said. It was an important distinction when one had a witch for a sweetheart.
Isabelle chuckled and gave them all a cheeky wave as she and Brian passed. “Toodle-oo!”
“Oh, I’d splash you if it weren’t so cold!” Dani retorted, and Teddy yipped playfully.
Only the dog’s cheer was genuine, however, Jake suspected.
The rest of them were simply trying to put the disaster at Merlin Hall out of their minds for a little while. Jake hoped his friends were having more success at it than he was. For his part, he kept having flashes of the moment when the sky pirate had fallen to his death.
Having visited Hades himself once, Jake had a fairly clear notion of where the criminal had ended up. He just hoped the poor blighter he’d accidentally killed never decided to pay him a ghostly visit. To be sure, the memory itself was enough to haunt him.
“Boo, hiss!” Dani yelled as Brian and Isabelle pulled up to the island first.
The Yank laughed and sprang out of his swan boat. Isabelle tossed him the rope, and he secured it between two boulders. Then he handed Izzy out of the boat. The soon-to-be debutante lifted the hem of her gown daintily over the water as she stepped out onto dry land. She thanked him, dusted herself off, and looked around at the island.
In the next moment, Jake’s boat bumped against the shore, rocking and creaking. Archie and Nix arrived third.
“You lost!” Dani teased.
“At least we didn’t sink along the way,” Archie replied. “I count that as a victory; these boats are ancient.”
“They’re fun, though,
you’ve got to admit,” Nixie said.
Brian assisted them, taking hold of their swans’ ropes and securing them on the rocks so they didn’t float away.
The rest of them clambered out, and nobody mentioned Merlin Hall, as if by tacit agreement.
After all, it was important in life to understand there were things you could control and things you couldn’t. Things that happened happened, and the best you could do was deal with the situation as it stood.
At the moment, there was nothing they could do but wait.
They should hear something soon, Jake was sure.
Until then, whatever twists and turns unfolded on this deep, dark, seemingly endless night, he was determined to take them in stride as best he could.
In the meantime, he had decided to focus on his friends. It seemed like the easiest way to keep from obsessing over myriad distressing questions that still had no answers.
“Yay, Teddy, we’re here!” Dani put the little brown terrier down on the pebbled ground.
At once, Teddy darted about, sniffing everything.
“You know exactly where you are, don’t you, boy?” she said, then raced after her dog toward the ramshackle gazebo several yards away.
The wooden structure was octagonal, its roof mossy, its foundations choked with overgrown, dried-out weeds.
“This is where I used to sleep a lot of nights after I ran away from the orphanage,” Jake told the others. Isabelle gave him a sad look, but he wasn’t looking for sympathy.
He’d survived.
Red landed on a large, flat boulder by the water’s edge, then prowled over to join them.
“I’m freezing,” Nixie said. “I think I’ll start a fire.”
“No!” Jake stopped her as she reached for her wand. “It could draw too much attention. We can’t risk being seen. We’ve been too noisy as it is.”
Brian nodded. “He’s right. We should probably keep it down.”
“Do you know how to conjure blankets?” Dani asked.
“Hmm, I should be able to do that…”
While she stepped away to concentrate on a mental review of any relevant spells she’d memorized, Jake led the others up the creaky wooden steps into the faded garden folly.
“Welcome to my former home,” he said with a gesture at the place. “It’s not much, but we should be comfortable here for a while.”
* * *
Um, comfortable? Izzy thought. No doubt the ancient gazebo had been charming in its heyday. But now? With some trepidation, she scanned its moldering rafters, full of cobwebs and old swallows’ nests.
At least the solid lower half of the walls offered shelter from the wind, which had been bone-chilling out on the lake. And so—after checking for spiders—she sat down on the dusty wooden floor, leaning back against one of the posts.
Jake began regaling everyone with madcap stories of his pickpocket life; they were supposed to be funny. And they were. But Izzy sensed the pain behind his picaresque tales and knew that her cousin was merely trying to entertain everyone, distract them from their fears.
It was good of him, but it wasn’t really working.
Anxiety hung like a cloud over the whole group. Their emotions were plain to her, as an empath.
Oh, Brian was fairly serene, as was the Gryphon, of course. But Jake seethed with uncertainty, guilt-ridden over the fact that he had just accidentally killed one of the sky pirates back there. Archie was putting on a brave face, bless him, but he was terrified for their parents.
Isabelle wasn’t, much. Mother was too sensible to do anything overly foolish, and Papa recognized his own limitations. The elegant Viscount Bradford was a diplomat, not a fighter. Izzy had a feeling they’d both be all right.
Then she moved on, assessing the others.
Nixie remained strangely unflappable, off by herself, preparing to conjure blankets. Though she was only twelve, she somehow maintained the most magnificent air of sangfroid. As the cynic—often, the pessimist—of their group, her usual mode of always waiting for the other shoe to drop must have prepared her well for a crisis.
Dear little Dani was another story, though. The redhead’s trusting nature rose and fell in waves between hope and dread—and her dog’s mood followed right along. Poor Teddy wagged his tail or whined nervously, depending on how his owner seemed at any given moment.
As for Izzy herself, she scarcely knew what to feel. This had been, without question, the most confusing night of her life.
Much, much earlier this evening, she had spent a short but poignant hour with Janos on the moonlit deck of the ship the diplomatic party had taken out onto the Mediterranean to visit the merfolk.
It seemed like a lifetime ago instead of a mere few hours.
While the others dove into the sea to go and warn King Nereus about the latest threat from the Dark Druids, Isabelle had remained behind. It was not just that she needed a break from all the formality and diplomatic protocols that were a part of traveling with her parents.
She’d wanted a chance to speak privately to Janos about the tragic death of his hatchlings, and to present him with the Floating Flowers—an old childhood toy that Aunt Ramona had once given her.
Izzy had brought them along specially in her mountain of luggage to share with her dear vampire friend.
She hoped it had helped him as the brokenhearted vampire grieved his poor, murdered children.
“I know they were nightmares,” he had said wistfully, “but they were my nightmares.”
She’d glimpsed the brief tears in his eyes when she’d offered her gift, but he’d accepted. One by one, they had sent the Floating Flowers aloft into the starry sky over the ocean to honor the memory of each innocent vampire child that Lord Wyvern had killed when he burned down Janos’s castle.
It was hard to imagine such cruelty, but the Nephilim warlock had done it from sheer spite.
Janos could barely forgive himself for not being there to protect them, but he’d been out on a mission with the Order.
The strange part was that Izzy knew better than anyone how conflicted Janos felt about the fact that his hatchlings were dead.
She did not sense him mourning his vampire brides in the least, but the children were another story. As their father, he had loved the misbegotten creatures as best he could, yet the Guardian side of him knew full well that his wicked little hatchlings would be pure evil by the time they grew up.
He had been determined to teach them only to drink the blood of animals, but his wives had disagreed with that.
Thus, a part of Janos felt relieved that his dangerous brood was no more on this earth—and, for that, he could not forgive himself.
And yet commemorating them with the little magic sky lanterns seemed to ease at least some of his grief.
Just when Izzy and he had finished sending up the last of the Floating Flowers from the deck of the yacht, suddenly, they both had received a wave of sharp inner warning—she as an empath, he through his Guardian instincts.
In an instant, they both knew something was terribly wrong back at Merlin Hall.
At once, they had called the diplomatic party back to the ship, and were soon underway. Ranjit and Tex, their official Lightriders, had conducted them there with all haste.
But Isabelle could never have imagined the hellish scene that awaited them when they stepped out through the portal onto the palace lawn.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to route the bloody images and awful sounds from her mind. So much anger and ugliness. Such evil and hate.
And Janos was still back there.
As was Aunt Ramona.
Unfortunately, Izzy was afraid to do more than steal the briefest peeks around the edges of her inner awareness to try and determine whether the people she loved were even alive.
She believed that they were, but she was afraid to probe for greater clarity for fear of distracting them.
Janos could be in the midst of a death match with ten enemy fighters, for all she
knew. Those were the sorts of odds he seemed to like, and he would feel her scanning him.
She did not dare break his concentration.
Same with Aunt Ramona. The Elder witch might be uttering the incantation for one of her devastating spells against the warlocks at this very moment.
Izzy took a deep breath. She could be patient. She could wait. What choice did she have?
Because, in her gut, she knew that the fight for Merlin Hall wasn’t over yet.
She could feel the spiritual warfare taking place in those invisible realms barely known to the sorcerers. With a shudder against the deepening chill, she forced her attention back to the here and now.
Opening her eyes again, she gazed at her friends as they all chattered on. Cousin Jake was explaining how the bearded lady of the carnival had described that they used to have fireworks over this lake, long ago.
“Bearded lady?” Archie echoed, scrunching up his nose.
Jake shrugged. “She made the best elderberry muffins. She used to give me one when I was hungry.”
Izzy got up, dusted herself off, and joined the group, only half listening to her cousin’s tales.
Looking around at the lake and the run-down pleasure grounds, she knew one thing: this was a good place.
It might look sad now, but there were decades’ worth of good feelings imprinted on the atmosphere here, countless happy memories.
Despite the present gloom of this coal-black night, she sensed the lingering radiance of much joy in this location. Dani had chosen well.
There had been laughter and dancing, a world of whimsical entertainment, romance and wonder. Friends by the thousands having fun. Generations of performers eager to dazzle their audiences…
As Izzy watched her rascally cousin telling some cock-and-bull tale about his past exploits, playfully bragging about outwitting the constables, Izzy smiled to herself.
No wonder Jakey-boy had made this place his haven. Somehow, it fit. She smiled and folded her arms across her chest as she listened.
Maybe someday some enterprising soul would bring the pleasure gardens back to their former glory.
I hope so. If the park was ever resurrected, she’d be first in line to buy a ticket. And she would come at night.