The Black Fortress

by E. G. Foley

  After all his grueling discipline of late, Jake relished the precious hours of freedom as he and his cousins moseyed into the village at about eleven o’clock that morning.

  The tiny town had cobbled lanes lined with wrought-iron street lamps and picturesque shops. A few half-timbered buildings from medieval days still stood in good order, like the ancient pub and the coaching inn. Others, like the apothecary shop, were housed in simple cottages under cozy thatched roofs.

  But most of the shops along the high street were tucked into tidy Georgian terraces with bow windows where their goods were on display. Jake and his cousins wandered in and out of them, searching for a gift for Aunt Ramona.

  Better late than never, after all.

  Of course, for themselves, their own personal reward would be a visit to the glorious Confectioner’s Emporium. But they were saving that for last.

  The famous candy shop was down at the end of the high street, in a whimsical building that took up nearly the whole corner.

  Biding their time, they ambled down the street, drifting in and out of different shops, but Jake couldn’t help but notice that, everywhere, older folk among the villagers stopped and stared at him.

  “Well, bless my eyes! For a moment there, I thought you was your father, young master,” one humble peasant with an oxcart said.

  Jake took this as the greatest of compliments, and introduced himself to the townsfolk with as much aplomb as his entire team of trainers could have hoped for.

  Indeed, after all his recent education, he was beginning to understand what it meant to be a lord as he moved among the people—his people.

  For generations, the folk of Gryphondale had looked to the earls of Griffon Castle as their local landlords and protectors. It was a cordial interdependence that had grown up from medieval days.

  True, some aristocrats chose to treat their people shabbily, acting greedy and aloof, subjecting them to crushing rents just to line their own pockets.

  Probably unpleasant fellows like that dreadful Lord Badgerton.

  But when an earl or duke or baron obeyed the rules of chivalry, he was kind to the common folk who lived on his lands and looked out for them. In this manner, the local people and the earls of Griffon (with a few obvious exceptions, like Uncle Waldrick) had got along peaceably in the same traditional ways that England and most of Europe had known for at least a thousand years.

  Of course, the entire village already knew Archie, the future Viscount Bradford, their other local lord. Indeed, they had known him since he was a baby.

  Isabelle jokingly liked to call her brother the Mayor of Gryphondale, for Archie greeted all the villagers by name, asked after their children, and chatted with the shop owners how business was going.

  Izzy, for her part, didn’t say much. She didn’t have to. The soft and civilizing presence of a true lady seemed enough to inspire the common folk everywhere she went. She could bring out the best in the roughest, rudest, lowliest of peasants with a kind smile.

  After all, as Jake now understood, if a gentleman was raised to become a benevolent protector of the lower orders, a lady’s role was to be a good influence on others, warding off the harshness and barbarity in human nature by example.

  Jake admired his cousins all the more for their success in these arenas as they all strolled on down the cobbled street, enjoying the bright autumn day.

  “You’re awfully quiet, coz,” the boy genius remarked while a scattering of fallen leaves eddied across their path in a little red-and-gold whirlwind.

  “Oh, I’m just thinking,” Jake replied, hands in pockets.

  “About what?” Isabelle asked.

  Jake shrugged. “How different our lives are now from the last time we came here.”

  “Ah,” said Archie. “That is true.”

  “We’d only just met you,” Isabelle reminded Jake.

  He nodded. “Aye, Derek had just tracked me down. Uncle Waldrick was still trying to kill me. And then I came here and met you lot… Why, I felt like I was in a dream. I’d never had any relatives before that.”

  They smiled at him.

  “As for my powers, I barely knew how to use them.”

  “And look at you now. The golden boy of the Order,” Archie teased.

  “I don’t think so,” Jake said with a grim look. “Not after that horrible prophecy.”

  Isabelle gave Jake a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Jake. We won’t let you turn evil.”

  “Weeeell,” Archie drawled with a mischievous glint in his dark eyes as they approached the end of the street. “Our cousin should be safe so long as the Dark Druids don’t try to tempt him with candy.”

  Jake scoffed, but Izzy nodded, playing along. “You’re right, Arch. That would probably work.”

  Maybe she was right, Jake thought wryly. For they could now smell the delicious odors wafting out of the Confectioner’s Emporium. He gave his cousins a grin. “C’mon, you lot. I hear chocolate truffles calling my name.”

  “Allow me.” Archie marched ahead of them and hauled open the frosted glass doors of the magnificent candy shop.

  Calliope music tumbled out, and Jake’s excitement climbed.

  Archie held the door for them, waggling his eyebrows as he swept a courtly gesture, inviting them to enter first. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived!”

  * * *

  “Is this the place?” Wyvern asked in a deadened tone, scanning out the carriage window.

  Waldrick managed a nod, feeling slightly queasy to be back once more at the outer boundary of his childhood home.

  Griffon Castle lay just beyond those trees. They could see its picturesque towers in the hazy pastel distance, for the private parklands surrounding the Evertons’ ancestral pile consisted of several thousand acres, mostly pastures and woods.

  As for the Black Fortress, Wyvern had landed it in a remote cornfield a quarter mile away. This done, he then conjured a smart black coach-and-four with a servitor for a driver to take them the rest of the way.

  Fionnula had been so impressed. Presently, Wyvern eyed the woods on the other side of the babbling stream.

  The country road where they had come to a halt followed the brook’s winding course as it wrapped around a portion of the castle grounds, on its way to join the Thames.

  He and Jacob used to fish in that stream…

  Waldrick thrust the memory of his brother out of his mind as Fionnula let out a throaty chuckle, gazing toward the castle. “Ah, this brings back some memories, doesn’t it, Waldrick?”

  When he glanced across the carriage at her, he found the opera diva dimpling at him with a shadow of their old flirtation.

  He nodded, encouraged. “It does. We had a lot of fun here, didn’t we, my dear?”

  She winked at him. “We certainly did.”

  Wyvern frowned at their exchange. But better a frown than a smile from that one, Waldrick thought dryly.

  On those rare occasions when the Nephilim smiled, it was possible to glimpse his double rows of teeth, and that made Waldrick’s skin crawl—never mind that he had scarcely just recovered from his shocking encounter with the Bug Man.

  “Well, boys?” Fionnula asked brightly. “Who wants to lead the first dance? Oh, right,” she said before either could answer. “Waldrick’s cursed. He can’t set foot on the grounds. Looks like it’s your waltz, Nathan.”

  The Nephilim gave Fionnula a look that made her blush.

  Waldrick scowled at that. She had never blushed at any look from him. Indeed, he could barely believe the sea-witch he knew was even capable of blushing.

  Then the huge man jumped out of the carriage and got the door for her, handing the dark-haired beauty down from the coach.

  She took his arm as soon as she had alighted, and Waldrick could do nothing but sit there and stew.

  Well, she’d always been a social climber, he admitted. There was no getting around the fact that her precious Nathan was an earl, but Waldrick no longer was.

&n
bsp; That was the only reason she seemed to have transferred her affections to the Nephilim. For now, Waldrick supposed that both he and Fionnula owed the brute for their freedom, so he kept his mouth shut.

  But he fully intended to gloat when Wyvern failed to open the magical vault hidden somewhere in the castle, as he surely must.

  It would be fun seeing him fail. Maybe then Fionnula would stop hanging on the warlock.

  True, failure here meant that Waldrick would never get his power back. But he wasn’t so sure he really wanted it back, anyway…

  Brushing off his doubts, along with the recurring sensation that there were dark plans afoot that he was not privy to, he followed the pair out of the coach.

  “I’ll go with you as far as I’m able,” he said as he joined them on the road.

  “Never fear, Everton,” Wyvern said with an arrogant glance. “Between Fionnula and myself, I trust we can protect you from the Elder witch’s curse. We may not be able to wipe it out entirely, but we should be able to roll it back considerably. Darling, care to give it a go?”

  “I’d be delighted,” Fionnula said pertly. “But first, we’ve got to get across this brook. Allow me!”

  She went mincing daintily ahead of the men, her ocean-blue skirts billowing in the light breeze. Prancing down to the grassy bank of the little river, she began singing a footbridge into being.

  Even here on land, the presence of water helped the sea-witch draw power. The wind began to blow, as always, when it came to her magic. It ruffled the surface of the water and rattled the colorful leaves that still clung to the branches overhead.

  Waldrick looked up nervously, but Nathan lifted his eyebrows, looking pleased as a little wooden footbridge started materializing over the stream. Fionnula beckoned to them.

  Amazed at her display, Waldrick hurried after her. Fionnula crossed the bridge first, still singing, but he was right behind her, clambering over the wooden planks she had conjured from thin air.

  At top speed, Waldrick scrambled onto the opposite riverbank. The cursed side of the stream, for him.

  The minute he stepped onto the Griffon side of the water, he could feel a slight tingle in his feet. He wasn’t exactly sure how close he could go to the castle without his entire body bursting into flames, per Aunt Ramona’s curse.

  That sounded awfully unpleasant, so these two mad companions of his had better be able to do what they claimed.

  Meanwhile, Wyvern’s mode of getting from one side of the brook to the other was faster and considerably more athletic. Eschewing Fionnula’s little bridge—no doubt because he wanted to show off—the dragon lord backed up, took a few running steps, then leaped all the way over the stream—almost like he was flying!

  Waldrick’s jaw dropped as Wyvern, in a running stance, floated horizontally for some twenty feet.

  Fionnula let out an eager “Oooh!” and clapped her hands.

  In the blink of an eye, the dragon lord landed beside her with a nimble motion, then straightened up to his full, unnatural height again and tugged on his waistcoat.

  “Now, then. Shall we?”

  All aflutter, Fionnula took his arm. “That was most impressive, Nathan.”

  “Thank you, my lady. But before we go any farther, let’s find out exactly what sort of spells we’re dealing with here. I don’t trust that Elder witch any farther than I could throw her.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Fionnula declared.

  Meanwhile, the tingle in Waldrick’s feet was growing sharper, but those two seemed to have forgotten he was there.

  “You’ve got a good Reveal spell, I trust?” Wyvern asked her.

  “Of course,” Fionnula said. “Good enough to unmask Ramona’s handiwork, I warrant.”

  “Clever girl.” Wyvern lifted her hand and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles, right in front of Waldrick.

  Who scowled.

  “Then let’s go,” Wyvern said. And with that, the powerful pair walked off ahead of him, Fionnula singing her sinister heart out, Wyvern lifting his wand and waving it about as he chanted something at the air.

  Waldrick stared after them, irked as a soggy cat.

  But he could not deny that their combined power was impressive. Whatever sort of Reveal spell they were working, he did not know. He’d never really taken much interest in spell-craft.

  But he looked up in wonder as a bright, transparent, almost crystalline dome began to appear, arcing over the woods and the castle turrets in the distance.

  It glistened, bright and beautiful, shot through with a myriad of delicate colors like a soap bubble. Musical notes like a gentle stroke of harp strings wafted out of the dome in time with the shifting hues.

  Waldrick bunched up his shoulders and ducked his head, instinctively afraid. He knew white magic when he saw it, and Aunt Ramona was not a witch to be trifled with. She had terrified him and even Jacob on occasion when they were boys.

  Waldrick knew it was dangerous for him to be here, no matter what those two said. Having just escaped prison, he had no desire to burst into flames, so he hung back, cowering in spite of himself.

  Wyvern must’ve noticed his absence, glancing over his shoulder while Fionnula kept singing.

  Her voice grew louder and fiercer, infusing the woods. Her magic intensified, the wind blowing darker and faster—until the center of Ramona’s protective dome overhead began turning gray.

  “Keep up, Everton! What’s the matter?” Wyvern called back to him over the harsh notes that their mutual ladylove was belting out.

  “I’m cursed!” Waldrick shouted. “Remember?”

  The Nephilim smirked. “Don’t be a baby.”

  “Easy for you to say!”

  “Here.” Aiming his wand at the ground, Wyvern created a weirdly glowing path of misty blue light. “Just stay on the path, and you should be fine.”

  “Should be?” Waldrick muttered. Not exactly encouraging.

  “How do you even know where our secret family vault is within the castle, anyway?” he challenged him after he’d caught up.

  Wyvern sent him a bland smile. “That is for me to know and you to find out. Now, stop being a coward and come on!”

  With that, the warlock turned away and continued escorting Fionnula deeper into the windblown woods.

  It was odd, though, as Waldrick followed. Some instinctive part of him wished to protect his family home from these invaders. But what could he do?

  If these two had the power between them to dismantle even one of Aunt Ramona’s spells, then he certainly had no hope against them. He had no choice but to do as he was told. At least until he got his pyrokinesis back.

  With a grimace, he forced himself forward along the glowing blue path and hurried after them. After all, in the strange world of the Dark Druids, anything might happen. Staying close to the mad pair seemed his safest bet.

  Meanwhile, all around him, the woods where he and Jacob used to play had turned dark and chaotic. The wind slashed at the trees and the tight spiral of storm clouds Fionnula had summoned overhead ground away Aunt Ramona’s bright crystal dome.

  Waldrick cowered instinctively. Just moments ago, the sky had been a clear cobalt blue. Now he had to shield his eyes from blowing bits of debris—bark and mulch, twigs and leaves. The birds were in a clamor.

  Leaves blew around the three of them in wild swirls and eddies. Branches cracked and crashed. The thorny underbrush whipped and clawed at him as he ran past.

  Overhead, meanwhile, the white protective dome was sizzling, turning smoky gray in places, and starting to crack. Lightning bashed at it from the outside, courtesy of the sea-witch, but the bolts were not yet able to pound their way through.

  The evil couple were doing all they could to break down the Elder witch’s magic.

  Waldrick glanced up continually, taking care to stay right in the center of the misty blue path.

  In the next heartbeat, however, he froze as a terrifying sound filled the air, revealing the fact that the magic
al duo weren’t quite as clever as they thought.

  No, indeed. Aunt Ramona must have tricked them, that canny old fox.

  For, at that moment, a furious Gryphon roar filled the woods, warning them—too late—that Fionnula’s seeing bowl was wrong.

  Someone was very much at home.

  CHAPTER 38

  Bad Pennies

  Loud calliope music tooted through the Confectioner’s Emporium while the intoxicating odor of a thousand sugary treats filled the air, making Jake and his cousins very silly.

  They wandered through the aisles of the marvelous candy shop, giddy and rowdy, making each other laugh at trifles, pulling ridiculous faces and throwing things at one another, puppeteering the stuffed animal toys for sale—in all, enjoying acting immature, a welcome bit of nonsense after all the pressure they’d been under.

  Archie immediately acquired one of his favorite candy pipes and lipped it, looking very professorial. Isabelle took a sample of saltwater taffy and held it up over her lip like a mustache, then scarfed it down greedily, abandoning ladylike manners. Jake sampled jellybeans in a rainbow of flavors, tossing them up and catching them in his mouth, and piling up candy bars in one arm to purchase.

  They laughingly reminisced on the time Magnus, the town blacksmith, had tried to murder Jake at the candy shop, poor fellow. It seemed like such an easy attack to ward off now, but at the time, it had been terrifying.

  They had come a long way in their ability to deal with enemies. And, really, it hadn’t been Magnus’s fault, anyway. The big blacksmith had been helpless, under the control of some diabolical spell by Fionnula Coralbroom.

  “Oh, look, it’s soooo cuuuute. I need this!” Isabelle cried, hugging a stuffed lamb toy she found on the shelf like a child half her age.

  The boys scoffed, but the Confectioner’s Emporium did tend to turn one into a little kid again. Jake watched the miniature train go chugging by with great interest, for example. He stood happily munching on one of the candy bars he had bought up at the counter, while the store’s toy train circled by on its little track through a candy landscape.