by Linsey Hall
“Where’s Eloise?” I asked.
Romeo pointed to the right. In the chair over there. Too much trash for her lately.
I turned to see Eloise, who looked impatient as she sat on a dusty chair.
“She’s not quite as into trash as you are, is she?”
Romeo shook his head. She appreciates it well enough, but says we need to eat fresh bugs sometimes. Doesn’t appreciate the joy in finding the gold in the muck.
I smiled. Eloise was the responsible party, it seemed. “Well, stay out of trouble.”
Romeo gave me a shocked look, and Poppy tittered disapprovingly.
We would never get in trouble.
“Sure, sure, Romeo.” He was a smooth talker, that one, but I wasn’t falling for it.
I left him to continue scouting out the boxes and continued on. Tension thrummed across my skin as I searched, and at one point, I ended up in a small nook with Maximus. He was the only thing that smelled fresh and clean in here, and I liked it. A lot.
We were standing only a couple feet apart when he spoke in a low voice. “There’s no ghost up here.”
Maybe it was the quiet of the attic, or the calm after the storm of running from the Headless Horseman and the Hound of the Baskervilles, but his voice sent warmth rushing through me. Probably it was the fact that we were so close. My nerve endings perked up, and I shivered, leaning a bit closer to him.
A white light flitted in front of my face.
One of the wisps.
I scowled and batted it away, but was glad it had made an appearance. I didn’t need to be distracted by Maximus right now.
A pale light from the right caught my eye, and I turned.
A ghostly white figure was drifting out of the wall. It floated just above the ground in the corner, the figure of a man. He was in better shape than most of the other ghosts, with a distinct human form and very little fraying at the edges.
I turned toward him, my spine tingling. “Are you the ghost in the attic?”
He said nothing, but his mouth seemed to be moving.
I glanced at Maximus, confused. He shrugged.
Together, we approached on silent feet. As we neared, I realized that his mouth was moving. He was talking, just too quietly to really hear. There was a constant whisper, but not something I could decipher.
I got up as close as I could, standing only a couple feet from him. This near, I could see that he was a man in his later years, with a bushy mustache and clothes that looked to be from the late nineteenth or early twentieth century.
“Can you read lips?” I asked Maximus.
“No.”
The ghost looked annoyed that we couldn’t understand, his brow furrowed and lips moving faster. What the hell was he saying?
Crap, we’d made it all this way and were missing the important stuff. Could a ghost write? Maybe that way, he could pass his message on to us.
I turned around to look for a pen, even though I knew he probably couldn’t hold the thing. My eye caught on an old gramophone in the corner, the big brass cone extending far into the air.
Hmmmm.
I hurried over and grabbed it, detaching the cone from the old wooden player, then returned to Maximus and the ghost.
“I’m just going to hold this up in front of your face to amplify your voice,” I warned him, not wanting him to think I was attacking and strike back. Or worse, stop talking.
The ghost looked skeptical, but he nodded.
I raised the gramophone, and he leaned toward it. “Can you hear me?”
The whisper was deathly quiet, but I could just barely make out the words. My heart leapt. Maybe we’d get out of here soon. “Yes. Are you the ghost in the attic?”
“I suppose I am.”
“Who are you?” Maximus asked.
“The ghost of Christmas past.”
“Wait, what?” I frowned. “Really?”
“No.” He looked at me like I was an idiot, and maybe I was. “I’m Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”
“Oh.” I blinked. “The writer of Sherlock and The Hound of the Baskervilles.”
“The very same.” He beamed proudly.
“Your dog is causing some chaos down below,” Maximus said.
It didn’t seem possible, but his proud smile grew even larger. “He’s something, isn’t he?”
“That’s one word for it,” I said. “Why are you here?”
“It quite suits me. This is my moor, as I like to think of it. And this is the hotel where I stayed while I wrote The Hound of the Baskervilles, though magic and time have taken their toll. Not to mention that witch. When she moved in, everything really went downhill.”
“Yeah, she’s a piece of work,” I said.
“Avoid Bertha. She’ll put you in a soup.”
“Good advice,” Maximus said, and I almost laughed at his wry tone.
“We’re here for a clue,” I said. “The Intermagic Games have chosen your house as a location for one of their challenges.”
“Yes, you are not the first to come.”
I frowned. Oh shit. I swore I’d seen the fae, the wolves, and the illusionists downstairs. We’d beaten them here. Which meant only one thing.
“Who arrived before us?” Maximus asked.
“Two women,” Sir Arthur whispered. “Dark hair and purple eyes.”
Damn it. “Purple eyes?”
“Strangest ones I’ve ever seen.”
I looked at Maximus. “The witches.”
He nodded, then looked at Sir Arthur. “How long ago were they here? Can you tell us anything about them?”
He shrugged. “Nothing to tell. They came and collected a map from that far wall.”
He pointed, and I turned to see that there were three maps against the far wall, with a space for a fourth that was now missing.
“When?” I demanded.
“Twenty minutes ago, or so.”
Damn it. They were long gone.
Footsteps thundered up the stairs, followed by an angry screech. I turned back to Sir Arthur and Maximus, eyes wide.
“The witch!” Sir Arthur said. “Hurry!”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I spun and sprinted to the wall, then yanked down one of the maps. Maximus positioned himself between me and the entrance where the witch would appear.
Man, the map was big. I started rolling it, but it was slow progress.
“Just fold it and go!” Sir Arthur shouted. “I’ll hold her off!”
The witch burst through at that moment, her hair and eyes wild. She shrieked her rage when she saw us. “Trespassers!”
“You old biddy!” Sir Arthur shouted. He raised his arms, and objects began to fly into the air. Furniture and boxes, old lamps and picture frames. The box containing Romeo and Poppy floated up, and their little heads peeked out.
Time for action! Romeo jumped out of his box and leapt onto a chair that floated halfway to the ceiling. He grabbed a small figurine of a dancing shepherdess and hurled it at the witch. Poppy joined in, as did Eloise, who finally looked happy. Any opportunity to rampage pleased Eloise.
They drove the witch away from the exit, allowing us a path to safety.
The witch shot a blast of dark gray magic from her hands. It looked like tar as it hurtled through the air and smashed apart a lamp that was flying toward her head.
Yep, better avoid the witch’s tar blasts. Whatever was in that stuff looked deadly.
“Come on.” Maximus spun and sprinted for the door, clearing a path for us by shoving aside heavy furniture that floated in the air.
I followed, keeping my eye on the witch as she tried to plow through the floating furniture to get to us. Her black tar magic blasted apart a chair, and I dived low, avoiding the large flying splinters.
We reached the stairs and raced down. As I ran, I folded the map and shoved it into my inner pocket, hoping it wouldn’t get too wet from my clothes.
“Go right at the bottom!” Sir Arthur’s voice sounded from behind us.
I tucked the info away, hoping it was a shortcut.
From behind, the witch shrieked her rage. The sound of a happy hiss followed, and it had to be Poppy or Eloise. I landed on the next level with a thud and sprinted along the bridge, following Maximus.
We weren’t the only ones on the bridge this time. The Hound of the Baskervilles was chasing the fae across a bridge at the other side, while the two wolves were sprinting toward us.
Ah, crap.
Maximus veered left, taking another bridge to avoid them.
The hound must have figured out that we had a map, because he left the fae and thundered toward us. Or maybe he was still pissed about the trick we pulled on him.
“Faster!” I shouted at Maximus, though I probably couldn’t have gone any quicker myself.
But the hound was gaining.
My lungs burned as we raced across the bridges, going left and right in our search for the exit stairs. I glanced behind to see the hound closing in, his black fur gleaming and his fangs dripping.
I shoved a hand into my potion bag and pulled out a bomb. I didn’t even look to see what it was, just lobbed it over my shoulder at the hound. The glass popped as it broke against the hound, and I glanced back to see the beast slow, just temporarily.
“Stairs ahead!” Maximus said.
Thank fates. My lungs and legs were about to give out.
As I stepped onto the first stair, I looked behind. The hound still followed us, and it seemed the wolves had joined in.
Oh, those bastards. They probably thought it would be easier to take the map from us than to continue on through the challenges. How the heck they knew we had a map, I had no idea.
I turned back and clattered down the stairs, going so fast I nearly fell. At the bottom, Maximus and I turned right, avoiding the mummy in the kitchen and hopefully the graveyard as well.
We sprinted through a cluttered little hall, dodging tables full of knickknacks and far too many umbrella stands. This was the weirdest freaking place.
The floor beneath our feet began to rumble, as if an earthquake were tearing apart the moor. My legs wobbled, and I almost lost my footing. Desperate, I grabbed onto the wall, pushing myself off and sprinting forward. The hound’s footsteps thundered on the floor behind us, and crashes sounded as he knocked over curio cabinets and umbrella stands.
I peeked back to see the hound only twenty feet away. The two wolves were right behind him, their lips peeled back from their teeth in a snarl.
Yep, this sucked.
“There’s a door ahead,” Maximus shouted.
It loomed in the distance, welcoming despite the peeling black paint. Was this the front door?
Shit, if it was, there were massive chains strapped over the front. Perfect for keeping people in rather than keeping them out.
We’d be trapped there, trying to get out, while the hound and wolves slammed into us.
Desperate, I dug into my potion bag and rooted around. There weren’t many left, but when my fingertips brushed over a triangular shaped one, hope exploded within me.
I yanked it out and shouted, “Maximus, duck!”
He bent at the waist as he ran, giving me just enough time to hurl my potion bomb. The triangular glass bomb flipped through the air as it hurtled toward the door. It smashed against it, and the whole thing disintegrated, chains and all.
We sprinted out onto the front steps, the night air fresh and cold compared to the stuffy house. I ran down the stairs after Maximus, looking behind. The hound plowed out after us, the wolves following.
Crap.
I pushed myself harder, no longer feeling the pain in my legs and lungs but knowing it was there. It wouldn’t have surprised me if I had just suddenly run out of energy and fell over with no warning.
“Almost there!” Maximus shouted.
We just had to get past the pumpkin patch in order to use the transport charm.
I sprinted into the pumpkin patch, avoiding the bigger squash and glancing behind to see that the hound had stopped right at the edge of the pumpkins.
Hell yeah!
Something tightened around my ankle.
Oh crap.
I had one brief, flaring thought before the vines yanked me toward the ground.
“Maximus!” I lunged for him as I went down, arm outstretched. Somehow, I knew we shouldn’t be separated. Not with the vines dragging us down.
He was trapped, too, up to his knees. He reached for me, and our hands clasped. I gripped him like the lifeline he was, but when the vines pulled us harder, wrapping around our legs like snakes, I realized that maybe even he couldn’t get us out of here.
The vines worked quickly, twining around our bodies and squeezing tight. Panic flared in my chest. A vine closed over my eyes.
Blackness.
I screamed, thrashing as hard as I could.
But the vines were too tight. They gripped so hard I couldn’t breathe. I tightened my hold on Maximus, unable to help myself.
The weight on top of me grew heavier. More vines were burying us. We would be trapped, dying beneath a pile of vegetation.
I could feel every inch of them, twisting and crushing and squeezing. They glowed with life, so strongly that I could almost feel it. I wanted to suck it into me, to use their strength as my own and break free.
Use it. The voice echoed in my head, strong and fierce. Use it.
Use it? But how?
Magic swelled in my chest, bright and dark at the same time. It was so weird that it almost made me queasy. I could feel the vines even more strongly now, though. Not just the strength of their grip, but them. Their essence, or something.
Take their power. Use it. Send them to the underworld.
What the heck?
But I listened to the voice, going on instinct. This had to be another Dragon God power, and damned if I was going to let it go. Not if it could save our lives.
The magic had swelled so much inside of me that I felt like my skin would burst. I pushed it out toward the vines, uncertain of what would happen.
When their grip on me weakened, elation surged through me. I gasped, sucking in air, as the vines began to wither. I fed more of the magic to them, pushing it into the vines.
Only once I could see the moon again—once I could breathe again—did I realize that this magic was killing the vines.
Oh crap, I didn’t need any part of that.
At least, I didn’t need anyone to know that I could do that. It was a kind of death magic, and the Order of the Magica obviously didn’t like people possessing that kind of magic.
I struggled to pull the magic back into myself, trying to hide it from the wisps. Hide it from the world.
I’d killed enough of the vines that we could escape. Maximus was already breaking free next to me.
It took everything I had to suck the magic back into me. I imagined it as a net that I was pulling back from the sea, dragging it toward me so it wouldn’t touch any more vines.
It worked, and eventually I felt all of it recede back inside of me. As I stood, stronger and more refreshed than I had been, I realized that I’d also pulled in energy.
I sucked in a breath, feeling strong. Powerful.
Oh fates.
Had I taken some of the plant’s energy for my own? Had I taken what belonged to another living thing?
Somehow, I knew that this wasn’t plant magic. It wasn’t the vegetation itself that I was connected to—not in the way that my sister Ana was connected to plants. Or the way my friend Nix was.
It was the life in the plant. I’d killed the plant and taken the energy.
I shuddered, horrified.
“Rowan! We need to go.” Maximus’s voice broke through my haze, and I realized he might have been calling for a while. He was tugging on my hand, too.
We’d never let go of each other, but I’d been so panicked I hadn’t even noticed.
I shoved away the thoughts of my scary new magic and ran for it, following Maximus out of th
e pumpkin patch and toward the moor.
The wisps flittered around my head, trying to get a good view of me as I ran. Fear iced my skin.
Everyone had seen me. They’d all seen the death magic. Had they connected it with me? Did the Order of the Magica now have plans to toss me in the Prison for Magical Miscreants?
The sound of low growls sounded from behind.
I glanced back, catching sight of the wolves who had leapt over the dead vines and were still chasing us. Oh, shit.
I turned back and ran faster.
7
“We’re almost to the border!” Maximus dug into his pocket as he ran and withdrew a transport charm.
I glanced behind. The wolves were closer. Only ten feet behind us. So close I could see the whites of their eyes and count their fangs. Fates, I could almost smell their breath.
I turned back and sprinted faster. Maximus hurled the transport charm to the ground, and a burst of glittery gray magic exploded upward.
We lunged into it, side by side, as the wolves snapped at us from behind.
Oh please don’t let them be able to follow.
I stumbled out onto a quiet city street as dawn broke over the horizon, Maximus at my side. I spun, ready to fight. My heart thundered in my ears as I searched for the wolves.
They didn’t appear.
I sagged, panting. “Oh, thank fates.”
“Opportunistic bastards,” Maximus muttered. “Trying to steal our map instead of going for their own.”
“The other contestants are as big of a threat as the challenges.” Slowly catching my breath, I stood and inspected the city street. It looked like an older part of London where modern buildings sat next to older ones. “Where are we?”
“Supernatural district of London. I live here. It was the first place I thought of, and I didn’t know if the Protectorate wanted those wolves on their doorstep.”
A smile tugged at my mouth. “I think they’d enjoy the challenge.”
“You’re probably right. Come on.” He gestured for me to follow, and I did, crossing the street behind him as the white wisps flitted behind. I batted them away, annoyed at their constant presence.
