He stopped at a pair of double doors. There were three-dimensional decorations on them, but they were obscured by the darkness. The doors swung open. They groaned on their hinges, the sound lingering in the high-ceilinged room.
“Stand here at the door. I have to turn on the lights over by the couch.”
He disappeared behind the right door. The room was still lit from the high windows on the second level, but much of the floor remained in darkness. Riley explored the door. Her fingers shied away from the cold metal of the designs, but her mind forced them to play again, to dip into recesses and brazen themselves across bulbous swellings. She was trying to picture it when the lights flooded the room with an almost blue light.
She had been off on what shape the metal had taken. Her hands covered the snarling mouth of a metal dog. Her grandpa noticed her sudden start.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve seen this before. When Tsura did my reading. She helped me see into my future. This was what I saw. This door.”
“That has to be a good sign. You’re in the right place, yes?”
Riley wasn’t so sure. “Maybe …”
“Brown put those on the doors. Said they were the new blood of the castle. The old world pewter that Donahue Castle was famous for were tossed out with the leavings.” He pointed to the scars in the wood. “Sean’s mother didn’t bat an eye. Her people used the symbol of the hound, too. It near broke Sean’s heart to see his heritage tossed. And broke mine too. And half the county who stole them out the waste and used them on their own doors.”
Riley pulled back her hands and rubbed them on her jeans.
“Come in and watch your step. There are a few places that’ll bite you if you’re not careful.”
Riley followed his voice, taking in the enormous shelves from floor to ceiling and the dust and cobweb-covered books that were still on them. The chandelier hanging lopsided in the middle of the room was missing several pieces of its crystal. It looked like the jagged, daggerish roof of the cave she had visited with her geology school class. She avoided walking under it, just in case, and brushed against a large globe. It spun on its pewter axis, and Riley tried to stop its erratic course.
“I did that the other day just as you did. Funny how it slips around like that.” He centered the globe to show Ireland at its apex. He put his finger on it. “Might as well be on top of the world as not.”
He led Riley to the stairs under the giant windows. “Sean and I played up here all the time. There’s a balcony out there with a solitary gargoyle on it. Sean said it flew here of its own accord and decided to nix at Donahue Castle.”
“Nix?”
“Watch over, that is.”
“Is it the talking gargoyle?” Riley held onto the dusty railing as she climbed, her hand accumulating a film of gray as she went.
“It was his story of how Finan the Brave was rewarded for his courage by Selwyn the Songweaver. She sent her son, Smaed the Dreamcaster, to be his familiar, to guard him until the day he no longer needed him.”
“Finan had learned, from being a bird, how to cast his magic into song, and now he was learning from Smaed how to walk through the Dreamscape. With Smaed to fly him there, Finan took more and more to living in the Dreamscape and less to living in the waking world he had almost forgotten. And then a song of mourning reached Finan and Smaed, sent by Selwyn. The land and the people that Finan had left behind were in peril. The song sought the brave warrior who could free mortal and magic-kind alike.”
“So, Finan rode Smaed out of the dream world and into a great battle against the evil sorcerer, Kahn. Together, they fought him until finally Smaed’s great claws plucked out the eyes of the sorcerer. Forever unable to see, Kahn fled the land, and peace was restored. When Finan returned to his keep, Smaed took a pledge to sit unmoved and guard Finan and his land until the day came when he no longer needed him. Finan went to Smaed every day, begging him to take him into the Dreamscape, but Smaed refused. Finally, tired of Finan’s pleading, Smaed went silent, changing to stone until Finan had real need.”
Her grandpa worked the latch on the window, and the evening sun shone into the room. Riley’s skin pimpled at the brash touch of the air.
“As Sean always said, ‘There he sits to this day, Smaed the Dreamcaster, watching, guarding, waiting.’” He motioned for her to follow as he stepped over the sill and onto the balcony. “Come and see Smaed, but don’t touch. It’s old, and though I’m not sure, Sean said it was magic.”
Riley clutched his outstretched hand and teetered slightly as she found footing on the balcony. The stone figure to their left had the unmistakable lion’s body with the face and wings of a bird. Its perch was crumbling slightly, with gaping openings where stones once lay, but the immense body looked almost newly carved. The front talons were as large as the back paws, and the giant, closed beak that curved slightly downward looked big enough to swallow a man’s head. Riley had the sudden urge to touch it. She reached out.
“Don’t!”
10
Her grandpa caught her hand and pushed her back from the figure.
“Your magic is unpredictable. Never risk your power activating something magical. Gargoyles in general are protectors. But their loyalty could fall to any owner and see you and me as interlopers. Just in case, no touching.”
“Okay, got it.” Now, if she could calm her heartbeat, she’d be okay.
“I think that’s enough touring. We could both use a good night’s sleep.” He led her out of the library. “It’s a little past eleven. I think I’m calling it a night.”
He eyed the stairs.
“How about a little hot chocolate first, Grandpa?”
“I guess that would be good.”
Riley held his arm as they walked down the stairs to the kitchen. She led him to the table. “You sit here.”
Riley pulled out the foot stool by the hearth and dragged it over to him.
“Prop up. I’ll stir it up in no time.”
“Sounds good, lass.” He closed his eyes and propped his feet on the stool. “There’s chocolate in that yellow and brown tin beside the flour. And some toffees in the one beside it if you want.”
“I’d love some. Always were my favorites.”
“I remember.” He smiled without opening his eyes. “Just gonna rest a bit.”
Riley was glad the electricity was on and she could use the stove instead of trying to figure out how to use a hearth. She hoped she had used enough chocolate. She had not bothered to look for measuring spoons. She wasn’t sure she had ever used one anyway. At home, she and her mom simply winged their way through cooking. Rarely had her mother used a recipe. Even when she bought cookbooks, they were just suggestions. But it always turned out delicious.
Blowing on the hot liquid, Riley crossed her fingers that it had turned out this time. She handed her grandpa some in the fragile tea cup and sipped at hers from the spoon she had used to stir.
They drank, toasting the fine imported cocoa that Aileen had given him. The heat had lessened, and the air grew chillier as the clock neared midnight.
He swirled the remaining dregs of chocolate and set the cup on the table. “Let’s to bed, my dear.”
The climb up the stairs seemed twice as long with her grandpa taking a long time climbing. For the first time in her life, Riley thought of her grandpa as old. She vowed to help him find out what happened to Sean. He deserved the closure.
Alone again in the drafty bedroom, Riley tried to push away all her thoughts, but no matter how many techniques she used, sleep would not come. Her mind could not rest being so full of high magic and deep, undiscovered secrets. Around and around she chased after the phantom of a lost Sean and imagined the stone eyes of the griffin watching her.
Sean’s journal lay beside her on the bed. She felt for it, sure that her hand would find its hardness in the soft folds of the duvet. The brass buttons of her sleeve pinged against the headboard and caught on the ironwork. She cur
sed the old-fashioned gown her mother had given her as an early Christmas present. It made her feel feminine, sure, but conspicuous, nonetheless. She preferred her ragged pajamas, but her mom had unpacked them before Riley could zip up her suitcase, arguing that the thick gown was warmer than her thin pajamas. Her mother had been right about the warmth, but the awkward frills annoyed her more than being cold.
Riley sat up, stuffing pillows behind her back, and yanked on the chain that turned on the wall lamp. A brief glance at the window satisfied her fear that she had forgotten to pull the curtains together. They hung heavily over the window. She didn’t want to see what might lurk out there or, more importantly, be seen by it. The thought occurred to her that she should face her fears, but she did not get up to open the curtains.
She needed to think about something else. The bed creaked with her as she adjusted into a comfortable reading position. She flipped through the smudged pages until she found her plane ticket stub marking her place in the journal and let herself slip back into Sean's world.
We were hunting out and about in the wood, today with some of the boys and found ourselves separated from them by a growth of saplings. Carter, who usually whims his way to play truant on fine days, wanted we should just fill up on sweat breads and ginger beer. He paled at Tom’s having one on for stealing the flowers from J. Morgan’s grave. It was no gas he said to disturb the peace of the departed. He stormed off and I should have followed him, but Mother had given me the hard word this morning as I plowed my spoon through my stirabout. The thought of her marrying that waste of a man in my father’s stead shoots hot blood through my veins and straight to my head.
I wanted to do something bad, to destroy something. The rest of the boys had gone ahead, changed their minds to something more along Carter’s liking. I began small at first, breaking a twig, snapping a small growth above the terminal bud. Then, imagining the saplings as his skinny neck, I hacked roughly against the young bark with my little knife. The sap bled onto my fingers, and I swear it was red drops of blood. I thought I had cut myself, but when I dropped my knife to examine my hands, there was nothing but clear sap seeping into my skin. I was ashamed of myself and pledged to the dead yews that I would restore unto them what I had taken. If simony could save me, I would gladly have paid all the coin in my possession. Instead, I dug the tip of my knife into my right palm and fed the saplings with my blood. The old way of blood for blood has paid my debt.
Riley turned to the next page and studied the diagram. Under it, Sean had written, As it gave, so I will take, and string my harp with its heart strings.
Closing the journal, Riley placed it on the bed farther away than before and pulled the lamp’s chain with shaking hands. If Sean had been obsessed with old rituals and rites, what would have kept him from doing something to right balances with Brown? The thought harrowed into her consciousness that maybe he had.
11
In the light of day, the view from her bedroom window showed her the expanse of land adjacent to the castle. The fields, quilted to the patches of town and wood, beckoned to her to come and frolic in their midst. She noticed a long purple car parked beside the fountain and wondered who would drive such an ostentatious vehicle.
Down in the foyer, Aileen’s voice carried through from the kitchen, followed by her grandpa’s. That answered that.
“Don’t worry, Aileen. Wielding power runs in her veins. It takes a lot more than that to shake the likes of her.” He put his arm around Aileen’s dejected shoulders.
“I know, but I feel near awful for not considering she might be as gifted as her father. And that it wasn’t safe for her to project. If she actually saw someone there … Maybe we should stop this. Send her home. Maybe it isn’t safe for her, for any of us.”
Eric, the only one that took notice of her, waved his arms in the air in an attempt to halt the conversation.
Aileen frowned at him. “What’s gotten into you, son?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. Upon seeing Riley, her eyes widened and she shot to her feet.
“Riley!” everyone in the kitchen said at once.
She turned and trudged through the great room, through the massive double doors that protested the opening, and out into the courtyard. Somewhere in her brain she was thankful for her boots, but the rest of her mind was focused on the fact that her being there was not safe.
“Riley!”
She registered that someone was calling her, but her legs kept moving, leading her into the field. She could see the pond grow wide, stretching toward the forest as she neared.
“Miss! Stop!”
Someone grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. Eric’s face was close to hers. She could smell the berry syrup on his breath. She noticed that he had some on his collar and a tiny series of dots like pink Morse code written down his breast pocket.
Eric shook her gently. “Are you okay?”
“No. Now, let me go.”
“I can’t. I’m coming with you. Wait for me.”
“Why should I wait for you?”
“Because I can tell you some of what you want to know and show you half of what you need to learn.”
“Like what?”
“Well, take for instance, the fact that you must not have projected again though I told you your charms were objects of power. If you had, that letter would probably have answered several of your questions, and you wouldn’t be out here running because of what you overheard. Everyone is just being cautious. Your dad’s letter might tell us something useful. You should go see.” Eric put his hands on his knees and leaned over until his face was almost parallel with his thighs.
“I thought you didn’t read it.”
“I didn’t.” His voice sounded far away. “I haven’t learned how to interact much beyond moving around in the worlds, but it was from your dad. It said so on the envelope. So, don’t be attacking my honor.” Eric rose up again and added, “Miss.”
Riley sat on the rock and tried to gather her thoughts.
Eric came toward her, holding out his hand. “Let me show you how to project at will. Okay? Then you can go where you want. They don’t have to decide everything.”
Riley nodded and let him take her hand.
“First, remember that objects of power will be of the elements. Like your charms, precious metal works best, but a skilled caster can make even a rusted old horseshoe work smooth as butter.” As he spoke, Eric turned her hand over in his. He touched each of his fingertips to hers.
“The least sensitive adept can feel the slight tingle that objects of power emit. The task of the projector is to feel beyond that slight awareness to a deeper knowledge of the object itself, to feel the elements as they were intended from the beginning of time. Some say that there are those whose powers require no object to ground at all, nothing but their mind to project wherever they want to be in time and space. But most of us have to touch until further notice.”
Riley felt her fingertips warm against his. He flexed his fingers against hers, and she moved with them.
“You must clear your mind of extraneous thoughts, holding on to the raw form of the object, letting your mind enter its reality.” He let her hand drop. “You must give up your hold on what you can physically see and feel and embrace what your inner senses tell you to be true. It’s like putting yourself in a trance. Can you do that?”
She nodded again, her mouth dry, and found the key on her necklace. “Yes, my dad taught me how to go into one, like deep mediation. How do you leave?”
“Just will it to be so.”
“Is that it?”
“I know it sounds unhelpful, but that’s all there is to it.”
Riley nodded and rubbed the charm.
“It’s not Aladdin’s lamp. You only have to hold it.”
“Okay, okay.” Riley held the key between her thumb and palm, pulling away from the weight of the necklace.
“You know you have powers, Miss. It’s just a matter of a little faith.” Eric s
miled and curled her fingers over the key for her. “I’ve seen you do it, remember? You’ve no excuses, save not trying.”
Riley closed her eyes. The same stirrings she had experienced in the shop invaded her mind. She tried to harness them this time, instead of pushing them away. The almost-dizziness swept over her, and she felt Eric’s hand at her elbow. The dizzy feeling passed, replaced by a sensation of falling. She gasped, opening her eyes and steadying herself where she had landed.
She was in their old apartment in New York. She faltered slightly and reached out to touch the wall. It felt the same, the bumpy paint recalling to mind the many times she had swept a hand along its surface as she went to the kitchen. Even the light was the same, filtering in between the cheap blinds that were bent and uneven. Riley stepped to the sink and picked up an empty glass. There were beads of water slowly gathering and pooling at the bottom. Remembering what Aileen had said about water, she set it back into the sink and moved to the bar. She didn’t want to get sent out of the projection by water.
Her gaze sought the bar. The envelope Eric had promised looked old. Above her name it said, From Dad. Riley hesitated, hope and fear warring in her heart. Her hand hovered over it.
“I can tell you what it says.”
Riley spun around. “Dad? Oh my god, you’re here!”
She covered her mouth with a shaking hand. Her heart felt like it might eject itself it was racing so hard.
“Riley.” Her father held out his arms. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Riley started forward and stopped, shaking her head. “No. It can’t be you.”
Her father’s arms stayed open as he walked toward her. His eyes mirrored hers, his tears massing in his lashes. “It’s me.”
“Then why now? Why are you here now? I’ve needed you to come home.”
“Believe me, Riley, I didn’t leave you because I wanted to.”
“Then why?” She backed away.
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