by E. G. Foley
“Where are we going, my lady?”
“After all you’ve endured, I daresay you could do with the chance to make a few friends who aren’t mages and thus won’t be jealous of your abilities.”
Lady Bradford strode ahead, her spine erect, her chin high, the crowd parting for her, everyone greeting her with respect that bordered on awe. She lifted a willowy arm and beckoned to get the attention of someone in the hall.
“Isabelle, darling! Over here! Bring Daniela, too. Miss O’Dell! Come along, gels. There’s someone I wish you to meet.”
When the two girls came over, Nixie recognized the ginger-haired Irish lass, Dani, who had been palling around with the Griffon heir and the amusing Archie Bradford last night during their uncomfortable meeting. The older girl she did not know, however, until the old woman introduced them.
Miss Isabelle Bradford was golden-haired and ridiculously pretty, and Nixie was intrigued to discover, upon hearing her last name, that she was Archie’s older sister. She seemed absurdly nice, but Nixie eyed her warily. She had her reasons to avoid making friends.
Isabelle was smiling at Nixie as though she were a lovely, colored egg she had found in the midst of an Easter egg hunt. The redhead, however, looked a bit more skeptical.
Nixie frowned at both of them and backed away with an uneasy stare. Jenny Greenteeth had meant it when she said she wasn’t allowed to have any friends. The horrible, fanged hag had even killed poor Midnight, Nixie’s black cat. Every witch was supposed to have a cat, but the Bugganes had murdered hers. When they said “no friends,” she knew they meant it.
But if Isabelle’s beaming smile wasn’t bad enough, Nixie nearly choked when Lady Bradford mentioned that her niece was an empath.
Holy Hecate! The last thing Nixie needed was some angel-faced do-gooder trying to read her emotions and wanting to help—or worse, using empath powers to pry into her thoughts and find out what she was hiding.
I’ve got to get out of here. Get away from these two!
“Now then,” Her Ladyship concluded, “I’ll leave you girls to enjoy the day’s festivities. I’m off to make a few inquiries on Miss Valentine’s behalf. Nixella, I will be in contact with you as soon as I have news.”
“Thank you so much, my lady,” she mumbled.
“You are very welcome, child,” the Elder witch replied, then left them.
The empath turned to her. “Miss Valentine, do you wish to take a walk with us? We’re off to go and watch the Morris dancers. We’d be very pleased if you’d care to join us.”
Her gentle tone made Nixie’s suspicious scowl deepen. Was this girl for real? Nobody was that sweet. The redhead looked askance at Isabelle, but Nixie was already backing away.
“No, thank you, Miss Bradford,” she said in a prickly tone. “I have some studying I have to do before supper.”
“Oh, you sound like my brother,” she said with a chuckle. “Always buried in his books! Well, as you wish. But if you see us in the dining hall later, do come and join us at our table. You have to meet my brother, Archie, and my cousin, Jake. The boys are always entertaining.”
“Thanks.” But no thanks, she did not add aloud.
With naught but a vague nod, Nixie hurried away.
# # #
Dani nudged Isabelle. “What’d you go inviting her to dine with us for? Crikey, you’re as bad as your brother.” She pulled Isabelle’s arm down to stop her from waving goodbye to the gloomy grump of a witch.
Isabelle turned to her in surprise. “Why ever not?”
“One, because she’s mean,” Dani said, ticking the reasons off on her fingers. “Two, because she’s shifty. She met the boys last night and didn’t even mention it just now. And three, most of all, because Jake thinks she might be the Dark Druids’ spy.”
“What?” Isabelle started laughing. “Oh, Dani, don’t be absurd. She’s not a spy. She’s just a little thing.”
“How do you know? Did you read her? Are you sure?”
“Well, no…”
“Did you sense anything from her?” Dani persisted.
“She sped off so fast I didn’t think to try. Now, what’s this about the boys meeting her?”
“I was there, too. We found her creeping around the hallways last night while you were at the ball, and we saw this grayish blob thing. It attacked Archie, and then it disappeared—”
“What? Something attacked my brother—?”
“Don’t worry, it didn’t hurt him. It just slimed him. We warned him not to touch it, but you know he had to try. Then it ran away—well, floated, I should say—so we chased it. But instead of finding it, we found her instead. Don’t you think that’s an awfully strange coincidence?”
“Hmm,” Isabelle said. She thought it over, then shrugged. “Aunt Ramona is nobody’s fool. Whose word are you going to take, that of an Elder witch or a boy who’s suspicious of everybody?” She shook her head as they ambled down the hallway. “I can’t believe he took you spy-hunting. He’s quite mad.”
Dani frowned. “Then why is she so grumpy?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she’s got cares of her own. I’ll try to read her next time we meet. What did Archie think of her? He’s usually a good judge of character.”
“Oh, Isabelle, you know your brother. Archie gets along with everybody. Just because he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, he thinks everyone else must be the same. Actually, though, he especially liked Miss Valentine.”
“Oh, really?” Isabelle turned to her in surprise.
Dani nodded with a grin. “Mm-hmm. I think he fancies her. He even got offended when me and Jake said she might be the spy. He got all chivalrous and came to her defense.”
“Oh, that is so cute!” Isabelle laughed merrily. “Archie’s sweet on Nixie?”
“Seemed like it,” Dani said.
“Oh, I can’t wait to torment him. It’s my duty as his sister to tease him, especially after he made fun of me yesterday about Maddox! Where did he say he was going? To the library?”
Dani nodded.
Izzy grabbed her hand. “Let’s go get him! Jake’s session should be letting out soon, then we can all go watch the Morris dancers together. Come on!”
Hand in hand, the girls ran off, giggling, to find the boy genius.
# # #
Archie peered over the edge of a thick tome of writings by Ptolemy, irked by the noise some inconsiderate soul was making.
Until a few minutes ago, he had had the whole place to himself, save for the ancient librarian who was snoozing at his desk. Then the front door had squeaked, and great, shuffling footfalls had thumped into the studious silence of the magnificent, medieval library, echoing every which way under the vaulted ceiling.
“Shh!” the old librarian had scolded, jolted from his nap.
“Urgh,” came the reply.
How very glib, thought Archie, annoyed. But when he looked up with a frown to see who was making all the noise, his eyebrow quirked. It was quite the last person he ever would have expected to see here: Troll Boy.
Ogden Trumbull, Dr. Plantagenet’s seven-foot-tall, artificially made helper from the zoo.
Hmm! Never would’ve even guessed he could read.
But on second thought, maybe he couldn’t, Archie mused, watching the hybrid discreetly. Og just sort of wandered around, blankly staring at the books along the top shelves. Archie, who had yet to hit his growth spurt, had often wondered what was on those shelves.
He ducked behind his physics tome when Og looked his way, a pugnacious pucker on his snout.
Crikey, the beast boy really looked a fright, ugly enough to crack a mirror. Of course, that wasn’t Og’s fault, Archie quickly amended.
The half-troll glared at him for a second as he passed the table where Archie sat studying. As Og moved on, Archie sat up in his chair and followed the brute’s progress with intense curiosity.
Og did not seem too clear on what the whole idea of a library actually was. He ripped some of the bo
oks off the shelves, held them up to his nose, and sniffed them, licking a few as he wandered among the aisles, so massively muscled that he barely fit.
It suddenly dawned on Archie why Og was here. Like himself, the troll boy did not fit into any of the groups.
Then Archie felt rather sorry for him. It was hard to remember, looking at the formidable, monster-sized brute, that he was really just a kid. He watched the big, lonely oaf shuffle into the aisle of children’s books. Og had some difficulty pulling the book he wanted off the shelf with his big, clumsy ham-hands.
Fine motor skills: poor.
Observing him as a scientist, Archie wondered what sort of tests had been run on the creature. Had they measured his intelligence? His ability to communicate?
Somehow he doubted it. Indeed, he suspected that the wizard-scientist who had brewed up Og in the lab had only cared about testing his strength, considering he had created him to be nothing but a slave.
Ghastly. Archie felt the chivalry in him stirring up for the sake of the poor, sad monster boy.
Og chose a book and shuffled out to the center rotunda of the library, where he plopped down on the floor like a giant toddler.
A moment later, Archie could hear him reading the simple words aloud to himself, lifting the book all the way up to his face to stare at the pictures and occasionally sniffing it.
Look at him, Archie thought with compassion. Poor thing. Human enough to want to read a story to comfort him when he felt the sting of being an outcast, and yet still so much of a brute that his clumsy, three-fingered hands could barely separate the delicate pages to turn them. The dexterity needed for this simple maneuver soon had frustration building on Og’s misshapen boulder of a face.
Archie felt a tug of sympathy on his kindly heart. His parents were diplomats, the peacemakers of the Order, while his empath sister had certainly influenced him to have a great deal more compassion for others than many scientists possessed.
As for himself, other people might be afraid of Ogden Trumbull, but the Honorable Archimedes James Bradford was a young man of Reason. He was also dashed curious to get a closer look.
Setting his physics book aside, he rose from his chair and approached Og without fear, hands in pockets.
“I say!” he greeted him in a friendly tone.
Dr. Plantagenet’s tactful warning about keeping a distance flitted through his mind, but Archie shrugged it off in self-assurance. Yes, yes, rock trolls were nasty, violent, and brutish, but Og was half-human, as well. Besides, Archie trusted he could outsmart the big oaf if there was any trouble.
“What’s that you’re reading? Ah, A Little Pretty Pocket-Book by Mr. John Newbery. Jolly good! You know,” he said with the utmost tact, “I do find the pages sometimes stick together, such a bother. Perhaps I could lend a hand?” Cautiously, he bent down, reached out, and turned the page for the troll boy. “There you are. I’m Archie, by the way,” he said with a wide, reassuring smile, “how d’ye do?”
For a second, Og stared at the newly revealed picture of a bunny rabbit on the next page. Then the troll boy turned to him—not with gratitude, to Archie’s surprise, but with a glare.
Offended pride shone in Og’s deep-set, piggy eyes, followed by a low, belligerent “Uuurgh.”
“Oh, dear,” Archie uttered mildly, drawing back.
Realizing his mistake, he shot to his feet and tried to back away. But alas, Archie’s reflexes were not as quick as his mind. And certainly not fast enough to escape a troll.
Or even a half-troll, as it turned out.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lightriding 101
Meanwhile, Jake and the five other kids who had been invited to attend the exclusive Lightriders session hung on their expert’s every word.
His name was Finnderool, and though the tall, princely wood elf didn’t smile much, as an experienced Lightrider, Jake found him terribly impressive.
“Now, then. The mysteries of the Worldwide Ley Line Grid are some of the most closely guarded secrets of the Order.”
Dressed in a gray velvet coat with intricate embroidery around the edges, Finnderool paced back and forth across the front of the room at a graceful glide, his long-fingered hands folded behind his back.
He had already warned them in stern tones that their presence here did not mean they were anywhere close to being officially chosen for the long and rigorous Lightrider training. They were all too young. But he admitted that the Elders had taken notice of them and each of them was under consideration.
Jake could hardly stand the excitement. Determined to make the cut someday, he absorbed Finnderool’s words like a sponge.
“Indeed,” the wood elf continued, “if you ever hear the ley lines discussed out there in the profane world, you are to scoff, as with most magical matters, and call it all bunk. Later in your lives, of course, if you are selected, you will have many advanced classes in esoteric subjects to build the foundation for your daily work as an agent in the field. Courses such as: Sacred Geometry, including both the Platonic and the Archimedean Solids, the Golden Mean and the Fibonacci sequence, with a whole term dedicated to the study of Mandalas.”
Staring, Jake wished he had some faint idea of what the chap was talking about. Sacred geometry? He’d never heard of it.
“In year two, you will learn the Seven Great Hermetic Principles in almost as much depth as the Magic-workers’ group must. Of course, you will also study all the usual subjects: mathematics, chemistry, including all the various types of aethers, and the principles of electromagnetism. A very important subject.
“How, now, why all these young faces full of dismay?” Finnderool remarked with a wry glance around at his captive audience. “You thought it was all swashbuckling adventures out there, didn’t you? Hardly. A Lightrider must have the mind of a scientist, the silver tongue of a diplomat, and the instincts of a warrior. But for now, my young, would-be heroes and heroines, today’s lesson is but a brief introduction to what the Grid is, as best we understand it so far, and a Lightrider’s role in interacting with it.
“After I’ve laid the groundwork, one of my colleagues will join us to discuss the everyday life of an agent in the field. If he ever gets here,” Finnderool added under his breath, glancing at the clock in disapproval. “So, let us begin.”
Jake leaned forward in his seat.
“As I trust you are well aware, boys and girls, the earth has two magnetic poles, the North Pole and the South. Electromagnetic energy continuously circulates between them, but it does not simply churn round and round from the top to the bottom of the planet and back again. No. Our dear Mother Earth is more complex than that.
“For reasons we still don’t understand, the circulating energy of our planet branches out into intricate geometric patterns and travels in straight lines over vast distances. As it spreads, it forms a grand, magnificent spiderweb of electromagnetic energy that covers the whole of the earth.
“Some view these lines as a kind of river system running through the planet, carrying subtle earth energies rather than water. Others say the ley lines are like the planet’s veins, flowing not with blood, but with Mother Earth’s own invisible life force. Our Chinese brethren refer to it as chi energy, the Indians as prana.
“Now, the ancient philosopher, Plato, was the first to theorize that as these energy lines spread out, they naturally form themselves into a gigantic geometric shape—a polygon, called an icosahedron.” He picked up a piece of chalk and started drawing one on the blackboard at the front of the lecture hall. “An icosahedron is made up of twenty identical triangles, with thirty edges and twelve vertices where the angles intersect.”
He completed his drawing, then pointed with the chalk. “And like the confluence of two mighty rivers, the energy flows that crash together in those spots can cause all sorts of wild cross-currents, like a whirlpool or a vortex. Which is why one of the first sayings we teach our Lightrider students is, ‘Vortex at the vertex.’ That way, they’ll alwa
ys remember the dangers in such spots.
“You see, the concentration of energies at the vertices of the largest ley lines create mysterious places of intense power, complete with electromagnetic anomalies, such as ball lightning or compasses not working properly.
“Another example of this energy overflow would be manifestations of what looks like poltergeist activity, when no ghost is actually present. It’s all caused by energy. The electromagnetic fields in these areas are unstable, chaotic, even dangerous.
“One of the trickiest vertices we know of, for example, lies in the ocean off the island of Bermuda. History has lost count of all the ships that have sunk there since the days of Christopher Columbus. Storms pop up out of nowhere. Compasses start spinning. We’ve even lost a couple of Lightriders there over the years. Heaven only knows where they might have ended up…but I digress.”
Blimey, thought Jake.
“I mentioned that the lines can span great distances.” He nodded, setting down his chalk to resume pacing. “This is true. And the longer they run, the more powerful they usually are. For example, the great Saint Michael Ley Line, which many of your parents stayed up all night at the Floralia to honor, runs across the width of southern England.
“The longest ley line ever recorded is called the Apollo line, stretching some 2,500 miles and ending at the ancient site of the Delphic oracle in Greece.
“That should not surprise you,” he added. “Even the least sensitive of human beings over the centuries have noticed the powerful effects around the vertices. Many cultures have built great structures on those spots to try to channel the energy there for their own uses, from prehistoric earthen mounds and megaliths to ancient pyramids and temples, Druidic henges, cathedrals, even capital cities.
“Suffice to say that if you find yourself in a place where you can feel a particular, indescribable energy in the air, you’re probably standing on a ley line. And if it’s really powerful, it could be an intersection of two of them.
