by E. G. Foley
Even Shemrazul wondered what Nightstalkers looked like under those masks.
On second thought, perhaps he didn’t want to know.
“I have a job for you,” he said.
They stood stoic, awaiting their instructions.
“Find me the boy, Jacob Everton, the Griffon heir. You are not to harm him, but bring him to the Black Fortress unscathed. I want to hear from you the moment you pinpoint his location. I have no idea where he has gone. A Lightrider took him through a portal, so he could be anywhere on the cursed globe.
“But search quickly,” he commanded them. “You must find him before the Order can send Guardians to secure him. And, just to reiterate, you are not to harm this young man. He is…important. Have I made that extraordinarily clear?”
The Nightstalkers seemed disappointed. But, levitating in their ragged black robes, they bobbed their hooded heads slowly in unison.
“Ah, don’t worry, assassins,” Shem said, “I won’t spoil all your fun. As long as you bring me this boy, you can do as you like with all his friends. Kill the little vermin, for all I care. And the Gryphon, too, if you can manage it. That creature has caused me enough aggravation.” He waved a hand. “Dismissed.”
A ripple of excitement blew through the Nightstalkers’ gauzy black robes at their mission and the promise of an evening’s hunt. The leader garbled out a few indecipherable orders to his crew.
Then the group of Nightstalkers gave Shemrazul a bow in perfect unison.
Shem waved a claw to dismiss them, and the phantoms shot straight up out of the canyon to zoom off in all directions, exiting Hades.
As they scattered to the four winds to scour the Earth for his grandson, the Horned One sank back sullenly in his chair to wait.
“What should we do, oh, Your Dreadfulness?” Jolly asked with trepidation.
But before Shem could answer, Blobby suddenly appeared, all a-tizzy. The cheerful monstrous blob was one of the half-dozen underlings Shem had sent out in the first round.
All of his gelatinous slime quivered with excitement. “We spotted him, sire—Jake!”
Shemrazul sat up straight. “Where?”
Blobby writhed eagerly. “In London, oh Terrible One!”
“London?” A puzzled smile broke slowly across Shemrazul’s face.
What foolish children! They had the whole Earth to choose from, and they only went there? That wasn’t far at all.
Then he remembered his annoyance with his subpar helpers and exploded Blobby just for spite. “You couldn’t tell me this two seconds ago—before I sent the Nightstalkers out to the ends of the earth?” he boomed at the mess scattered on the nearby rocks. “I told you to report.”
“But I just did, sir,” said the unhappy pool of slime. Blobby’s gooey bits began sliding back toward each other.
“Well, you’re late,” Shemrazul growled.
Blobby lumped back together, popped up again, and dusted himself off with amorphous arms. “Honestly, we…hoped you’d be pleased at the news, sire.”
“I am never pleased. That is my policy. Don’t you know that by now?”
It was a lie, though.
Admittedly, Shem was a little pleased at the news that his incompetent minions had finally pinned down his grandson’s location. Why, he’d have the boy here in his new home with his new family in no time.
“Where exactly in London did you see him? It’s a big city.”
Blobby still looked upset. “On the south bank of the Thames, sire, approaching Vauxhall Bridge. They mean to cross the river.”
“Hmm,” Shem murmured, tapping his claws on his throne. Then he relented. “Excellent work, Blob. Tell the others I said so.”
He liked to keep them guessing. Occasional praise was as important as fear, if you really wanted to control someone.
Worked like a charm.
“Oh, thank you, Your Darkness!” His goopy minion bounced in place. “It’s an honor to serve—”
“Get back to London now, all three of you. It’s a big city; don’t let the boy out of your sight. Stall him until the Nightstalkers get there if you have to. But be careful. I know he can be…difficult. It’s part of his charm.” Shemrazul sat back in his throne and smirked with pride at the thought of the lad’s talent for causing mayhem. Jake would fit right in with the rest of the family.
“The phantoms will capture him and bring him to me,” Shemrazul said. “There is no need for you lot to try to tangle with him directly.”
“Oh, that is good news, sire,” the blue imp said. “We were a bit nervous about that.”
Eyeball gave a worried nod. “We saw what he did to that dirigible!”
Blobby’s only response was a wriggly shudder. No doubt he was frightened that Jake would splat him with his telekinesis if he made him angry. There were only so many insults any poor blob could take in one night.
“Well, there are Nightstalkers on the way, so quit whining. Now, stop wasting time and get out of here! Don’t lose him—or I will make you sorry!”
The three little monsters shrieked and disappeared, scrambling back to their spying mission.
Then Shemrazul shut his eyes and focused on the Nightstalkers, searching the ethers for his usually more competent henchmen.
Once he’d made telepathic contact, he informed them to get to London, posthaste, and narrow their search around Vauxhall Bridge.
Yet worry gnawed him as he waited for the next report from the field. Why could he not sense the boy for himself?
It was disconcerting.
He knew that Jake would have been shielded inside the portal for those few brief seconds during the jump. But Grid travel was blink-of-an-eye fast.
The moment Jake and the other children had emerged on the other side of the tunnel to wherever they had gone, Shem should’ve been able to detect their whereabouts rather quickly.
Thanks to lingering aspects of his original angelic nature, he possessed mighty telepathic powers that allowed him to see into the hearts and minds of men, just like any garden-variety guardian angel.
He could search any mortal’s worst fears and deepest desires, discovering how best to manipulate him or her.
Unfortunately, these idle musings on his own angelic origins suddenly gave Shem a startling idea of why he had not been able to sense Jake himself.
He sat up straight, alarmed at the possibility.
Oh dear. That had to be it. Something was definitely blocking his telepathic search for the kids…
Or rather someone.
Shem’s stomach clenched with deep, instant knowing. He swallowed hard as his suspicion deepened.
Yes. An old enemy was near.
He might not be able to sense Jake at the moment, but when he closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, oooh, he could feel someone else out there.
A vision suddenly swept through his mind. A figure standing on the roof of some Gothic-style building.
A man in a neat black suit. A formidable silhouette.
No…not a man. The glint of moonlight on the Brightwield blade in his hand gave him away.
Shem drew in his breath, aghast, as the figure suddenly unfurled white wings. “You!”
“Hello, Worm. Thought you got rid of me, didn’t you?”
Shem jolted on his throne as the quiet taunt from his former colleague penetrated his mind. Rage flooded him instantly. “So…it’s true. You’re alive.”
“Always,” his enemy whispered through the spirit realm.
“You stay away from my grandson! You hear me?”
“You’ll never take him,” came the soft-toned reply.
Unnerved, Shem rose from his throne. “I’m warning you, Celestus! I cut your wings off once; I’ll do it again!”
“Hmm, yes. I still owe you for that,” his age-old counterpart said serenely. “Lucky for me, I know an excellent healer.”
Shemrazul recoiled with a snarl at the mere mention of the terrifying one who had put him here.
; Then he cast about desperately for some way to scare his foe. “Enjoy my Nightstalkers!” he taunted.
The Light Being snickered. “Child’s play.”
“Come down here and fight me on my own turf, you sniveling coward! You think we hurt you before?” Shem shook his fist at the sky. “You haven’t seen anything yet!”
“Ah. Well, there’s just one problem with your threat—Worm. How do you propose to do anything to me when you are locked up down there,” he said slowly, relishing every word, “and I am up here, free?”
Shemrazul threw his head back and roared so loudly at his insolence that all of Hades went quiet for a moment.
“Celestusssss!” he thundered at the bloodred sky.
But this time, there was no answer.
PART II
CHAPTER 13
Something’s Out There
As Jake led his weary band of followers out onto Vauxhall Bridge, his heart sank at the thick fog gathering on the river.
Oh, perfect. Just what this night needed.
It was not that Jake was afraid of the fog. Obviously. Who could be afraid of a little mist? Certainly not a lad who had just crippled an airship with his bare hands, he told himself.
And yet…
From the time he had been but a wee pip surviving on the streets, he had always found something so sinister about the dense fogs that occasionally rolled over the city. Cold and soupy, they were known as London peculiars, part fog, part pollution. Utterly eerie, like a live thing, some huge, formless creature.
It used to unnerve him when he was little, how stealthily the London fogs arrived, gray, ghostly tendrils stretching down the streets, blotting out the rooftops, wrapping around everything in sight, even the lampposts, like cold, clammy fingers trying to choke out the light to leave everyone in darkness.
With a scoff, Jake turned up his collar against the chill and marched out onto the bridge, determined to ignore his outgrown childhood fears.
The fog had no intention of letting him do so.
Its phantom swirls glided menacingly around him and his friends as they walked across the empty bridge. It coated their faces with a fine layer of slimy damp and sent the night’s chill straight into their bones when they were already exhausted.
Some eight hundred feet ahead of them, the far end of the elegant city bridge floated in and out of reality, as though it might be a bridge to nowhere.
On the other side of the river, they caught glimpses of distant buildings shrouded in the fog’s woolly billows, like the clouds themselves had come down to swallow the city whole.
A spooky mood promptly settled over the whole group.
Knowing his friends would take their cue from him, Jake forced an outward air of nonchalance, refusing to ponder his growing sense of danger—or the more practical fear that the fog might cause him to get lost.
Don’t be barmy, he scoffed at himself. He had walked through London hundreds of times before, even in the dead of night. He knew this city like the back of his hand, and his goal was simple: to get his friends to Beacon House, where they could all take refuge until they heard from the adults.
Provided, of course, that the Order’s city headquarters had not also been raided by the Dark Druids tonight.
Jake shivered. Since that possibility was almost too terrifying even for him, he tried not to think at all, and just kept walking.
As they made their way across the empty bridge, he glanced down at the river flowing by beneath them. The water looked oily and black in the darkness.
A fleeting memory of his mudlarking days skimmed through his mind. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it had only been about a year and a half. He shook his head, marveling at the drastic change in his existence.
And yet not everything had changed. For what the sight of the swirling black water reminded him most of all was how badly he had wanted back then just to be a regular boy with an ordinary life, a normal family.
A real home. Parents.
Deep down, he ached for that still. But at least he wasn’t starving anymore, he told himself. He had his relatives, a brilliant best girl, a magnificent pet, plenty of gold, a roof over his head (owned a few different houses, actually).
But normal life? No.
It continued to elude him, and he’d probably never know what it was like. There was nothing normal about having telekinesis, the ghost-sight, and a terrible prophecy hanging over one’s head.
He let out a sigh and walked on until, at last, they reached the far side of the bridge.
Jake was glad to leave the river behind. The mist was always thickest over the water. Now all he had to do was navigate his way through London Towne.
He knew the way, of course. It was easy. Yet his sprawling hometown felt strange and unfamiliar in the fog.
The mist cloaked long-memorized routes in vaporous gloom, making him doubt his own two eyes; it played tricks on the hearing, as well. The dampness in the air distorted sounds, concealing their sources. Carriages could appear quite suddenly out of the mist and you’d never see them coming…
Determined to make no missteps, Jake shepherded his friends in a right-hand turn onto Millbank Street, which hugged the north shore of the Thames.
Before long, the ominous hulk of Millbank Penitentiary loomed, fortress-like, on their left. Red circled the jail, no doubt startling any prisoners who might’ve been looking out their cell windows just then, the rascal.
“Stop fooling around!” Jake chided his pet in a hushed tone. “Somebody’s gonna see you!”
Red tossed his head as if to say he was only having fun, then swooped off into the mist to land atop the next building.
Jake could just make out the Gryphon’s noble silhouette standing proudly at the edge of the rooftop as he waited for them to catch up.
On foot, it took them considerably longer. Nixie nodded at the big, forbidding jail as they walked past it.
“Did they ever toss you into that one, Jake?” she teased, her hands tucked down in her coat pockets.
“Who, me?” He flashed a smile, determined to lighten the mood. “Nah, only Newgate and the Clink.”
Dani just shook her head, but Brian glanced at him in surprise.
Jake shrugged. “I was pretty bad.”
“You’re not that good now, really,” Archie drawled, and Jake guffawed. On second thought, he wasn’t sure if his straight-arrow cousin was serious or joking.
All he knew was that it was weird, indeed, seeing Millbank Street so deserted. It was usually clogged with carriages and all manner of traffic.
“Could we please walk faster?” Izzy grimaced as she nodded toward the prison. “This place feels horrid.”
Jake sobered instantly. He knew the empath disliked coming to London. There were six and a half million people jammed into this city, far too many minds for her to try to block out all at once. And to be sure, the men locked up in the Millbank Penitentiary had to be among the worst of the lot: nasty, angry, and violent.
With that, the kids picked up their pace to protect the empath’s delicate inner senses.
“I didn’t know you can still read people when they’re sleeping,” Nixie remarked.
“Sometimes they have dreams.” Izzy sent another fearful glance over her shoulder at the jail.
“I’m so sorry, Izzy. This is my fault.” Dani took the older girl’s arm with a fretful look while her dog clicked along at her heels. “I should’ve brought us somewhere easier for you. I didn’t think of it—and now you’re suffering.”
“You did brilliantly, Dani,” Isabelle assured her. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine once we get away from this spot. I’m much stronger than I used to be, just a bit weakened by the battle at the moment.”
She did start looking better once they got past the jail, Jake was glad to see. They kept going straight on Millbank, where the row of wrought-iron street lamps stretched out endlessly ahead.
The left side of the avenue was lined with fine shops and hotels, va
rious government buildings, and occasional side streets. But on the right, the river flowed by, so there was nothing to see but empty docks and dark wharves, abandoned at this hour.
Moored boats of all kinds swayed at anchor, creaking eerily in the fog.
They saw almost no one out and about, not even the bobbies on patrol. The murky streets were empty, the genteel shops shuttered; even the pubs had closed down for the night.
A total of one delivery wagon rolled by slowly: a milkman making his rounds. He eyed them with suspicion from under the brim of his cap as he drove by, but did not stop to ask why a bunch of kids were out walking down the road in the middle of the night. He didn’t even wave.
“Well, he was friendly,” Archie mumbled.
“Welcome to the city, coz.” Jake cast him a wry smile.
But he was glad that at least they all had each other. For, at the moment, in this dark and spooky night, it felt like he and his friends were the last people alive in all the world.
Pools of darkness collected under shop awnings, and painted wooden signs creaked now and then overhead, dripping dew. The kids’ reflections in shop windows appeared unexpectedly as they passed, reminding him of ghosts. But not even the spirits were out tonight, as far as Jake could tell.
The fog thickened and the eerie feeling intensified.
Jake peered anxiously down each side street that opened up on their left as they kept going straight. He glanced over his shoulder now and then as well, his old thief’s senses on constant high alert.
Maybe it was just the events of the past few hours catching up to him in the form of nervous exhaustion. It had been a rough night. But as the tingling sensation on his nape turned into a full-blown shiver down his spine, he finally admitted to himself that he felt like they were being followed.
Watched.
Stalked.
He could swear he heard little, pattering footfalls scampering after them, but every time he glanced furtively over his shoulder—trying not to be too obvious so as not to terrify his friends—no one was there.
Heart thumping, Jake glanced up at Red, who continued bounding along from rooftop to rooftop, keeping watch over them. He was glad the beast was up there. If anything hostile approached, the Gryphon would alert them and charge before the threat arrived.