Saved by the Spell. House of Magic 2.

by Susanna Shore

  I didn’t dare to complain or fidget though. The wall had to come down.

  The voices grew louder and the power intensified. Just as I thought I wouldn’t be able to handle it any longer, Kane bellowed, “Now!” and I hit my palm on the pink ward.

  A jolt of energy shot through me. My muscles contracted and I bit my tongue when my jaw suddenly locked, drawing blood. If I could’ve moved, I would’ve yanked my hands off the wards.

  The wards came down so fast we all fell forward, dropping on our hands and knees. I leaned my palms on the cool grass, panting heavily. Everyone was doing the same.

  I would have been content to stay there till morning, but Kane pushed onto his feet, brushing off his jeans. “Shall we continue?”

  He helped Giselle and Luca up, and Amber and I rose by leaning on each other. My legs were tottery, but I could walk. My scalp was buzzing, and I was sure my hair had shot up like I’d been hit by lightning.

  Kane looked mostly put-together, but his hair was billowing more than usual. Gingerly, he reached for the door handle. We held our breaths, but it didn’t repel him, and he pulled.

  Despite the obvious age of the iron plate door, it opened easily and silently, as if it had been greased. Kane didn’t step in though, having learned his lesson, but checked the doorway for wards and traps. When he deemed the doorway safe, he conjured a ball of light and sent it into the crypt, revealing a small space of maybe four metres by four.

  An empty small space.

  Chapter Eighteen

  We filed in, filling the place, and looked around in dismay. It smelled of earth and damp stone, and nothing else. I was glad there were no remains of whomever the crypt belonged to, but it should have had something. It didn’t even have a sarcophagus, let alone those pigeonholes for coffins like inside the gallery.

  “I can’t believe Blackhart would’ve erected such vicious wards if Rupert wasn’t here,” Amber huffed, disappointed.

  “He must be here,” Kane stated, fists pressed on his hips, as if he were stubbornly refusing to believe his eyes. But we didn’t have to rely on them alone.

  “Do you still have Rupert’s pen you spelled to track him?”

  Perking, he fished it out from his pocket. He held it on his palm, and turned a circle. “According to this, Rupert is here. The wards blocked the signal completely before.”

  “It must give you a wrong signal now, because clearly he’s not here,” Giselle said. “How about Jack?”

  Kane shook his head. “My spell doesn’t sense him.”

  “Maybe he left while we were away,” she suggested.

  “I couldn’t sense him even when we presumed he was still at the cemetery.”

  “The wards blocked him too,” Amber noted.

  “And we did come here assuming that there are tunnels from here deep enough to block your spell,” I pointed out, and Luca perked.

  “There has to be a hidden door in the walls or the floor. Let’s look for a trigger.”

  We each took one wall and Kane the floor, stomping on the large sandstones. My wall—or indeed any of them—didn’t have any discerning features, reliefs, or handy wall scones to push or pull. Just plane stones.

  Considering there was another crypt on the other side of my wall, I wasn’t expecting miracles, but I pressed every stone I could reach. They didn’t budge. The others weren’t successful either. But no one was willing to give up. We’d worked too hard to get through the wards. And we had to find Rupert.

  “Sherlock Holmes would spot handy scrapes on the floor where the secret door opened,” I muttered, frustrated. “But there are none here.”

  Kane cocked his head sideways, his eyes sharpening as he considered my words. Then he straightened as if he’d figured out something important. He stood in front of the back wall and began to make gestures with his arms, hands, and fingers, bending them, locking them together and opening again, in complicated sequences. Then he slapped his palms together.

  The back wall of the crypt disappeared as if it had never been there.

  Behind the false wall, two more metres of room was revealed. We stared at it with our mouths open.

  Kane looked satisfied, Amber dismayed. “It felt like a perfectly real wall to me,” she said, “and I went over every inch. Blackhart must be more powerful than we thought to be able to create such a convincing illusion.”

  Not a happy thought.

  The false wall had hidden a large limestone sarcophagus placed sideways against the real back wall like an altar. Kane rushed to it, as if pulled by the pen.

  “Quick. Rupert is in here.” He checked it for wards and then tried to lift the lid, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “There could be a lever for moving it,” I suggested, but nothing immediately looked like one.

  “I’ll open it,” Luca declared, and Kane stepped aside.

  Luca took a position at the head of the sarcophagus, placed the heels of his palms under the lid like a weightlifter, and pushed up, his muscles bulging with supernatural strength. The lid rose with deceptive ease, and he glided it to the side, the stone grinding against stone with a horrible sound that made my teeth ache.

  When it had opened enough, we leaned gingerly over to peek in. Rupert was lying on his back at the bottom, arms crossed over his chest. He glowered at us.

  “What kept you?”

  Rupert’s legs were tottery when we finally managed to fish him out—after resorting to magical assistance. But considering he was close to a hundred and had been held in a cold limestone sarcophagus for twenty-four hours in his smoking jacket, flannel trousers, and slippers, he was doing amazingly well. Soon he could stand without support.

  Perhaps the same magic that kept him spritely despite his age had helped him through his ordeal too.

  “Let’s get you to a doctor for a check-up,” Giselle said worriedly, about to lead him out of the crypt. But he pulled away, refusing to be moved.

  “I’m not going anywhere until that dastardly fiend has been found!”

  He was full of fire for someone who should be dead or at least feebly heading to a hospital, preferably in an ambulance. His amber hair was billowing with anger like Kane’s.

  “You are more important than Blackhart,” Kane said, but Rupert shot him an imperious look.

  “If we don’t stop him, my importance doesn’t matter.”

  If it had been up to me, I’d have considered taking him away against his will. He was ancient and we outnumbered him. How difficult could it be? But the others were more law abiding, or knew him better, and they gave in.

  “Exactly where do you think we’ll start looking for him?” Amber asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Rupert patted the sarcophagus. “Here.”

  Kane leaned closer. “They go through the sarcophagus?”

  “No, they go under it. The whole thing moves. I felt it when I was inside.”

  “Fascinating…” Kane rounded to the other side of the sturdy structure and began pushing the reliefs on it.

  I really hoped there was a mechanical trigger. It had taken Luca’s vampire strength to move just the lid. It would be impossible to move the whole thing.

  “There are grooves here where it’s moved towards the back wall.” Luca pointed at the curving scrapes on the floor. “I’d say it’s this end that moves.”

  He moved to the opposite side from the grooves, leaned his shoulder against the stone like in a rugby scrum, and began to push.

  At first, nothing happened. Then he must have triggered the opening mechanism because the sarcophagus suddenly disappeared from under him. The heavy edifice glided aside so easily and fast it pushed him off balance, almost plunging him headfirst down the stairs that were revealed under it.

  He grinned, steadying himself on the sarcophagus. “Easy.”

  We stared at the stairs. They were shallow redbrick steps that went down so far that the light of Kane’s magical ball didn’t reach the bottom.

  “These are ol
d steps,” Kane noted. Each step was worn in the middle, indicating that they had been used a lot at some point in their past.

  I couldn’t understand why they were there. “Do you think the Sanfords built them?”

  He scratched his neck, intrigued. “I’d say they’re older than the cemetery. Let’s see where they lead.”

  He went down first, dipping his head as he dove under the sarcophagus, but the ceiling rose soon after and he could walk straight, although the vaulting brick ceiling almost brushed the top of his head.

  The rest of us followed. Some of us—me—more reluctantly than the others.

  I was the last to enter, and I leaned my side heavily against the wall, more out of fear than for support. I needed the solid feel of the bricks to ground me. It would turn my clothes red with brick dust, but I didn’t care.

  I’d taken only a couple of steps down when I felt a brick give in under my shoulder, and there was an audible click. I pulled hastily back, but it was too late.

  Above my head, as fast as it had opened, the sarcophagus glided back to its former position, closing us in. The last click echoed in the stairway. The silence after it was deafening, pressing my bones.

  “I’m sorry,” I said miserably. I wasn’t claustrophobic, but this seemed like the perfect place and time to develop it. I had to steel my knees not to slump on the stairs.

  “We’ll be able to open it again,” Kane consoled me.

  “And likely there is a way out at the other end,” Rupert said. “I never detected them coming back once they’d gone in.”

  It didn’t stop me from feeling wretched.

  “Do you want to hold my hand?” Lucas asked.

  I ignored his teasing smile and nodded. “I’ll let you know.”

  It might yet come to that.

  I gestured for them to proceed, taking the rear. The stairwell was only wide enough for one person at a time, and it would be a tight fit if we wanted to switch places.

  The steps went down for a good while, before levelling up into a tunnel. The walls and floor were brick, there were no cave-ins, and everything was dry, indicating that whoever had built it knew what they were doing.

  I asked aloud what all of us had to be wondering: “Where do you think this leads to?”

  “If I were to hazard a guess, to the erstwhile cellar of the manor that once stood here,” Rupert said with an authoritative tone that stated he was certain of it. “I think the tunnel was made by the family who owned it, maybe centuries ago.”

  “Why would they need such a tunnel?”

  He shrugged. He wasn’t at all winded by our walk, and his back was almost as straight as Kane’s, the slight stoop of his shoulders caused by a century of bending over books rather than age.

  “Maybe they were Catholic. Catholicism was only made legal around the time the manor was taken down. Many Catholic houses had old escape tunnels and priest’s holes.”

  I nodded, as I knew it. But abstract knowledge was different than witnessing the reality of it.

  “Or maybe they were a mage family,” he then added.

  Everyone looked grim. Apparently, mages had been living in fear for their lives too, even though most people didn’t even know they existed.

  Rupert was right. Not long after, we emerged from the tunnel into a vaulted cellar. Like the tunnel, it was in general good repair despite its obvious age, the ceiling holding and the support columns still sturdy. Brick steps led up at the other end.

  Only, there was no door at the top.

  Bricks blocked the space where it had been, old but different from the walls, indicating that the doorway or hatch out had been sealed when the manor was taken down. There was probably a ton of earth above it.

  A sheen of sweat broke out on my skin at the thought. I looked frantically around, trying to locate a way out, but there were no doors, nothing to indicate that people were able to leave the space.

  “What the hell?” I exclaimed.

  “There could be another hidden door,” Luca suggested, but unlike in the crypt, no grooves marred the uneven redbrick floor to handily reveal where it might be.

  There had been plenty of traffic in the room too, but though the floor was dusty there were no clear traces revealing the direction they had gone.

  “If this is Blackhart’s lair, it leaves a lot to wish for,” I huffed.

  Amber tilted her head, studying the place with an intense look. “But he must have a reason for coming here.”

  “Maybe he comes here to cast illegal spells undetected,” Kane suggested. “Some of them could leave a trace that other mages can spot.”

  I imagined Blackhart performing a sacrifice here, to become a warlock. The cemetery was a handy place to hide a body too. I glanced around, but there were no chalk lines on the floor—or blood for that matter.

  I shuddered.

  “Are all these walls real?” Giselle asked, patting the one closest to her.

  “Let’s see,” Kane said. With Rupert observing him like the old, strict, teacher he undoubtedly was, Kane cast the same spell as in the crypt. Nothing happened. Each wall remained where they were.

  I was starting to seriously dislike this place.

  Rupert was the only one not ruffled by the situation. At his age, he’d probably seen everything many times and didn’t have a ruffle to give anymore.

  He walked slowly around the small space, feeling the air with his hand, occasionally wiggling his finger so minutely I couldn’t be sure if it was magic-related.

  Eventually, he settled in the middle of the floor and spread his arms wide to his sides. He held them easily up, and they weren’t shaking at all. “Please, step behind me.”

  We hurried to comply, not wanting to be caught up in whatever spell he was about to perform.

  He concentrated, and before our eyes transformed from an old man to an archmage to be reckoned with. His stooping shoulders straightened, and his pose became powerful. Magical energy filled him, making his hair billow. I could have sworn he was glowing lightly.

  He squeezed his hands into fists, and I felt the power build. Again, it was different from Kane’s, but unlike Dufort’s it didn’t irritate my skin. It felt like plunging into a slightly too hot bath; shocking initially, but ultimately good for you.

  When the power had risen enough, Rupert banged his fists together in front of his chest. A sudden vacuum made my ears pop as the magic drained from the room.

  A portal opened. It was dark on the other side, but there was definitely a room there.

  “How did you do that?” Kane demanded, angry and a little suspicious.

  Rupert shot him an annoyed glance. “Relax, boy. I didn’t create the portal. I simply triggered the permanent spell that opens it for those who don’t know how to create them.”

  “Jack,” I said.

  “And whoever else is in league with Blackhart. There were several people going in through the crypt, but always one at the time, so I didn’t have a chance to detect their voices.”

  “Why didn’t you ask one of them to help you out?” Giselle demanded. “They can’t all be so far lost that they wouldn’t have helped you.”

  Rupert glared at her from under his bushy brows. “Do you take me for an old fool? Of course I tried, but the inside of the sarcophagus was spelled, and I couldn’t spare energy for breaking it, as I had no idea how long it would take for you to find me. I yelled at you too, but you didn’t hear me, did you?”

  Giselle shook her head, a little sheepishly.

  “Now, let’s step through before it collapses,” Rupert ordered, going in first, before Kane could stop him.

  He and Luca hurried to follow, with Giselle and Amber right at their heels. I was at the back of the group, so I was last to approach the portal.

  The moment the mages were through, the light balls they’d conjured abruptly died, plunging the cellar into darkness. Only the light glow of the portal itself offered some illumination.

  I hurried to catch them, b
ut in the darkness I couldn’t see where I was stepping. One of the uneven bricks tripped me, and I almost fell.

  Stumbling forward, I made to plunge through the portal headfirst, when it suddenly died. Unable to stop my motion, I fell on the floor. The pain of the bricks grounding to my hands and knees barely registered from my shock.

  I was left in the pitch-black cellar. Alone.

  Trapped.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Desperation washed over me, turning my bones into liquid. I leaned heavily against my hands, fighting to keep the contents of my stomach in.

  I was trapped. I would die in an underground cellar no one even knew existed. The air felt heavy, as if the ceiling were lowering, pressing me, robbing me of air. I imagined the ton of earth above collapsing, all the scarier because I couldn’t see it happening—or not happening.

  Panic swallowed me. I’d never been so frightened in my life. My breathing came in shallow gasps that only managed to make me dizzy.

  I don’t know how long I just sat there leaning on my hands, panting. Little by little, my heart slowed down, and my breathing turned easier, mostly because I’d run out of reasons to panic. The ceiling obligingly stayed where it should.

  I made sure of it by reaching up as high as I could with my hand.

  With oxygen reintroduced to my brain, reason returned. My friends knew where I was. They would come for me.

  That they weren’t here yet had to mean that they couldn’t open the portal on the other side. They’d have to return to the cemetery with more mundane transportation. It might take an hour or two. I could handle it.

  Maybe.

  Then a more worrisome thought hit. The portal might have opened on the other side of the world—or Outer Hebrides, which amounted for the same as far as my chances for a speedy rescue went. It might take them days to return to the crypt.

  And what if they couldn’t come for me at all? What if the portal led to Blackhart’s lair and he’d been waiting for them? They could have been captured.