by R. L. King
He had to, though. He’s just a man, Alastair thought as he taped up one of the boxes and began carefully filling it with books from his shelves, starting with the Barrow texts. He wondered if Desmond had ever been in love, ever been married—if he had children of his own. They’d probably be grown by now, if he did. What had his own apprenticeship been like? Had he been as willful and headstrong as Alastair?
All of that was intriguing to think about, but ultimately pointless. He might see Desmond again—someday, when he was older and fully trained. Magical society in Britain was fairly small and insular, so it was almost inevitable they’d encounter each other again at some point. But would he choose to study with the man again if he could? Would he go back when he was eighteen and try to get another shot? It appeared to him that Desmond had left the door open to the possibility—but would he take it?
He didn’t know. He couldn’t honestly say.
He finished packing the Barrow books and reached to the top of the shelf where he kept his magic books. He set aside three that belonged in the downstairs library, lingering his hand on the stack for a moment. He’d never have the chance to finish reading them, unless perhaps his father had copies.
Finally, his gaze fell on the books his father had given him, and a twinge of regret so strong it was almost physically painful ripped through him. He pictured his father’s face when they saw each other—stern, cold, disappointed at his only son for failing to meet his expectations. Orion Stone had been so proud of him for securing this chance at such a young age, and now that pride would be no more. Alastair had no idea what he would say to his father when he arrived back in Surrey. That, without doubt, would be the hardest part of this whole thing.
He packed the books lovingly, one at a time, in another box. Would his father make him give them back? Would he forbid him from practicing any more magic until he was old enough to be a proper apprentice? He paused, gripping the edge of the desk, his hands shaking, before returning to his task.
As he finished packing the set, he paused.
One of them was missing.
For a moment he couldn’t remember what he’d done with it—he scanned the rest of the shelf in case he’d misfiled it, but there weren’t many unpacked books left and it clearly wasn’t among them. And then it came to him—he’d taken it down to Desmond’s workroom last week, to show his master a bit of research related to what they’d been working on at the time. Now that he remembered, he could picture it clearly, sitting on the end of one of the stuffed shelves of his library.
His former library, now.
He sighed. He didn’t want to leave the room and risk encountering anyone he’d be forced to talk to, but he had to get it back. The only thing worse than facing his father tomorrow in Surrey would be facing his father and admitting he’d lost one of the priceless reference books he’d been entrusted with.
Sure, he could probably retrieve it in the morning before he left, or ask Desmond to send it to him, but why? He had no reason to be reluctant to go down there and get it himself. It wouldn’t take long—he could just run down, grab it, and get back up here to finish packing before anybody realized he’d left. This late, the staff would probably all be in their rooms in the other wing of the house anyway.
That decided, he opened the door a crack and peeked out. The hall was empty, lit only by dimmed sconces at wide intervals. He paused a moment to listen, but heard nothing—no footsteps, no voices, no sound of human habitation. His mind flitted back to the “ghosts” he’d teasingly discussed with Madeleine, and wondered again if the place really did have any. It was certainly old enough.
And even if it did, they probably wouldn’t want to talk to him.
He hurried down the hall and stopped at the top of the stairs, pausing to switch on magical sight. He still saw no sign of life. Just in case, though, he cast the disregarding spell he’d been working on. Invisibility would have been better, but this one was still a lot easier. And since he was no longer Desmond’s apprentice, he no longer had to obey the “no sneaking around the house” restriction. He still didn’t intend to spy on the staff—that would be rude—but this way he’d be even less likely to be noticed.
He descended to the first floor, keeping the spell going. All he’d have to do now was head to the hall where the lift was, get to the workroom, get the book, and get back to his room. Five minutes tops, if he hurried.
A chill passed over him, and something flitted by in the periphery of his vision, off to his left.
He stopped, stiffening, and glanced quickly in that direction.
Nothing was there—only the dimly-lit great room, just as it had always been.
He shifted back to magical sight, glancing around almost idly, not expecting to see anything.
A faintly glowing trail, indistinct as smoke, snaked across the floor and disappeared down another hallway near the back side of the great room.
Alastair frowned. That was odd indeed. Desmond had taught him that magic left traces, but that they didn’t last long unless the magic was extremely powerful. That had to mean this trail either represented something potent, or something that had occurred very recently. Desmond was away, and he himself had been in his room up until five minutes ago.
If Desmond had told him the truth, that left only Selby as a possibility…unless someone else had gotten into the house.
Alastair’s sense of cold dread deepened. If it was Selby, why would he be doing magic inside the house? If he was practicing his circle, shouldn’t he be out in the shed where he’d been working before? The trail didn’t lead toward the front door, or any of the other exits Alastair was aware of. It led back toward a part of the house he’d seen only on the initial tour Kerrick had given him. He struggled to remember what that area contained—some large rooms, if he recalled correctly. A music room, perhaps, and another big, mostly empty hall that was kept closed except during events.
Had some other mage broken into the house? It seemed unlikely—Alastair knew Caventhorne had significant warding to prevent anyone unauthorized from getting in—but not impossible. If something had managed to get in, it would have to be something of an impressive power level. Had the shadow he thought he’d seen had anything to do with it, or had it been a product of his own imagination?
He barely realized it, but as he’d been thinking, he’d been slowly crossing the great room, still following the faint and dissipating trail. It led where he’d expected to, down the hallway that ran along the back part of the house, and disappeared under the door to the rarely-used hall.
Heart pounding, Alastair paused only a moment to consider what he should do. His first thought was to contact Desmond. He had no way to do that, though, since he didn’t know where he’d gone. Perhaps Kerrick would know, but Kerrick’s rooms were clear over on the other side of the house. By the time he got there and back, the rapidly fading trail would be gone.
He crept up to the door and put his ear to it, but if anything was going on in there, the door was too heavy to hear it through.
He had to know. He’d just use his brief invisibility spell, take a quick look, and if it was anything bad, he’d close the door and track down Kerrick so they could contact Desmond for further direction.
Alastair took a deep breath, gathered his focus, and settled the spell over himself. Almost immediately he could feel it draining his energy. He’d have to act fast. With a trembling hand he gripped the knob, hoping the door wasn’t locked. Desmond hadn’t taught him how to unlock doors with magic yet.
The knob turned easily in his hand. The door swung open on silent hinges. He pushed it open just enough to get a look inside, then peered through the narrow crack.
When he saw it, he froze. An electric sense of panic gripped him, and for a moment he could do nothing but gape. His invisibility spell dropped away.
A la
rge and elaborate ritual circle lay spread out in the middle of the cleared floor. All around it, broken crystals, burned-out candles, and smudged areas bore witness to the fact that, whatever it had been intended for, it was dead and inert now. But none of that was what had captured Alastair’s horrified attention.
Next to the circle lay the sprawled, broken form of Selby, the spreading pool of blood beneath him gleaming black in the room’s faint light.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Alastair couldn’t move. He stood gripping the doorknob, stunned. He wanted to run forward, but his feet were rooted to the floor like in those dreams where the massive monster was bearing down on you and all you could do was look on in horror.
A moment later, a soft moan broke Alastair’s immobility. His breath caught. Selby was alive!
He flung the door open and hurried inside, skidding to a stop next to the assistant steward, his feet slipping in the pooled blood. “Selby!”
The battered man’s eyes cracked open. His mouth worked as he tried to speak, but nothing came out.
Alastair dropped down alongside him. “Selby! What’s happened?” He darted a quick glance around the room, but saw nothing else moving. If anything else had been in here, it was gone now.
“Mr…Stone…” Selby whispered. “I’m…sorry…so sorry…”
“What did you do?” Alastair demanded. Terror gripped him as he shook Selby.
“Gareth…” he whispered, gesturing feebly toward the blasted circle. “He…appeared…I…thought he was…still alive…”
“Gareth? You saw your brother?”
Selby nodded weakly, apparently too distracted by his injuries to wonder how Alastair knew about his brother. “He appeared… in my circle…last night. Told me he was… stranded…all these years… That he hadn’t been killed…”
“So you tried to bring him back?” Every nerve in Alastair’s body was on edge; any second, he was sure something would jump him from behind.
“He… showed me how…”
“And you didn’t tell Mr. Desmond about this? You waited until he was gone to try it?” Alastair let out a loud, frustrated breath. The apple certainly didn’t fall far from the tree in the Selby family, apparently. “Why in here? Why not out in the shed where you had the other circle?”
“Too small…” Selby whispered. He gripped Alastair’s arm. “It wasn’t Gareth…”
You think? Alastair thought, but didn’t say it aloud.
“It’s in here now…Mr. Stone… It’s loose… I was a fool. Such a fool…”
That shadow thing I saw… Alastair remembered what he’d spotted from the corner of his eye earlier. “What does it want? Will it try to get out?” When Selby didn’t answer, he shook him again. “Tell me, Selby! What does it want?”
“To kill.” Selby’s voice was barely audible. “To feed…I barely…drove it off…”
A chill lanced through Alastair as he thought about the rest of the staff, oblivious to the danger, and defenseless against it. “Oh, gods… the others… And if it gets out…”
“Won’t…” Selby said. “Can’t…the wards…”
“The wards will keep it in?” Alastair’s brain felt static-charged as he tried to come up with a plan. Desmond’s powerful wards on the house were designed to keep things like whatever Selby had summoned out—but apparently summoning it inside the house meant it was now stuck inside.
With all of them.
He had to get them out, and he had to find a way to contact Desmond. He gripped Selby’s arm again. “Can you walk? How badly are you hurt?”
“I’ll try… I don’t know…”
Alastair leaped to his feet and grabbed Selby’s arms, trying to haul the larger, heavier man up. Selby did his best to help, but he was clearly weakened from loss of blood. As he rose and stood swaying, Alastair could see three deep slash marks on his back and along his side.
That wasn’t good. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t just a shadow. It could affect the physical world.
He slung Selby’s arm over his shoulder. “Where’s the nearest exit?” he demanded, dragging him toward the door. He wasn’t familiar with this part of the house, and he didn’t want to have to lug Selby any farther than he had to. If he could get the injured man outside and away from the threat, he could go back in, locate the others, and lead them to safety. He hoped. “Do you know where Mr. Desmond’s gone?”
Selby’s hand fluttered. “Exit… that way… and no. I don’t know.”
Alastair continued dragging Selby in the direction he’d pointed. He remembered now—there was an exit door at the end of the hall. His gaze was never still, trying to spot any sign of a moving shadow as he went, but he saw nothing with normal or magical sight. Damn, but Selby was heavy! His heart thudded hard and his shoulder ached under the weight, but he couldn’t stop now.
He reached the door after what felt like forever, shifted Selby, and tried to fling it open.
It didn’t budge.
Of course—the lock! He flipped it and tried again.
Nothing.
What was going on? Why wouldn’t it open? Was he turning the knob the wrong way? He rattled it and shoved hard, growing increasingly panicked when it still failed to open.
Then he shifted to magical sight again, and gasped.
Some kind of energy hovered around it—a dark, roiling energy he’d never seen before. Certainly not the crisp, ordered lines of Desmond’s powerful wards. “I can’t get it open! It’s—blocked somehow.”
“No…” Selby moaned, slumping. “It’s trapped us… This is all my fault…”
Think, Stone! Alastair lowered Selby into a nearby chair and clenched his fists, trying to come up with a solution. If they couldn’t get out of the house, that meant two things—whatever Selby had brought over was powerful enough to block their exit, and whatever plan he came up with, it had to happen in here.
But if the creature—or whatever it was—was stuck in here with them and they couldn’t get out, where could they hide? He was sure there must be parts of the house with better protections—Desmond’s private chambers, most certainly. But Alastair didn’t even know where those were, let alone if he could get inside them. He didn’t have time to go running around the house looking for them. And there was no way he could construct a ward of his own, even if he had hours to do it—and any delusion that a student like him could build one strong enough to keep out something this tough.
There had to be a solution. Think!
And then he had it.
He grabbed Selby’s arm again and flung it around his shoulder. “The workroom!” he said. “It’s warded. If there’s any place we’ll be safe, it’s there.” He hoped he was right—he knew the staff weren’t allowed in the workroom, but he didn’t know if the prohibition was merely verbal or if Desmond had actually warded it so they physically couldn’t enter.
For that matter, he might have tweaked the wards so Alastair himself couldn’t get in anymore, before he left. It made sense— an angry, passionate, barely-trained mage left alone in the house after having his apprenticeship terminated could cause a lot of damage. Never mind that it wouldn’t even occur to Alastair to do such a thing—Desmond didn’t know that.
Still, it was the only solution he could think of, the only safe place inside the house he and the others might have access to. He had to try. He had get Selby there, and then find the rest of the staff before the creature killed them all.
If it hadn’t already.
He had to hurry. So far, adrenaline was still carrying him on, but he knew that wouldn’t last forever. “Come on,” he urged Selby. “Try to help me. I’ve got to get you there and find the others.”
Selby, pale and sweating, did the best he could, but it wasn’t much. Most of his weight still settled on Alastai
r’s shoulders as together they dragged themselves back through the great room and toward the hall leading to the workroom lift. Alastair continued his hyper-vigilance, switching to magical sight every few seconds and scanning the area for any sign of the creature. Was it hiding? Was it off in the other part of the house, feasting on Kerrick and Gretchen and the others? Not knowing made the whole situation even worse.
Part of him—a small, perverse part—was tempted to leave Selby where he was and concentrate on the other staff members. Let him drag himself to the workroom on his own—this whole thing was his fault anyway. If he hadn’t tried such a monumentally idiotic stunt, none of this would have happened. He didn’t deserve to live if it meant his foolishness got the others killed. The rest of them had done nothing wrong.
But he didn’t listen to that part. Everybody did stupid things sometimes, and if whatever Selby had summoned had managed to convince him his brother was still alive and trapped in another dimension for all these years, he could hardly blame him for taking a chance. Even if he hadn’t told Desmond—regardless of anything else, that part had been stupid.
He trudged on, dragging a barely-mobile Selby with him, hoping the man wouldn’t pass out from blood loss—or even die—before he got them to the workroom.
There it was: the lift doors were just ahead! Now was the moment of truth, when he’d find out if Selby could get past the wards. Or if he could. Puffing with exertion, he stabbed the button and waited.
The door slid open, revealing the familiar tiny cubicle.
Alastair dragged Selby in, sat him down against the wall, and pushed the Down button.
