JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES jp-1

by G. Norman Lippert

  “Why are you so interested in Erebus Castle all of a sudden?” Lucy asked, her eyes still narrowed in the darkness, watching James critically.

  “It’s nothing, really. I mean…” He stopped, gulped again, and then decided, on the spur of the moment, to change his tactic. “I thought you’d like to go to the Valentine’s dance with me?”

  Lucy’s face looked pained for a very brief moment, but she quickly hid it. “This has something to do with Petra Morganstern, doesn’t it?”

  James blinked, stunned. “What…?” he stammered. “I mean, how…? No, of course not, don’t be silly.”

  “I saw you two talking over Christmas, James,” Lucy said, looking away. “I don’t know what it is you’re planning or what it has to do with the castle, but you could at least have paid me the compliment of being honest.” She shook her head slightly, and when she looked up at him again, there were tears standing in her eyes. “Really, James? The Valentine’s dance? Like I’d want to go with you to that anyway.”

  She glanced away again, swiping a hand angrily across her face.

  “Look, Lu,” James said, taking a step closer. “Sorry. It was Zane’s idea. I’ll tell you the truth if you really want to know. It isn’t what you think it is. Really.”

  “I don’t think anything at all, you big git,” Lucy said, her voice thick. “And I don’t want to know, either way. Whatever it is you’re looking for in Erebus Castle, you can find someone else to be your ticket in.”

  She turned and stalked away before James could respond. After a dozen steps, she turned back again, barely a shadowy shape in the darkness.

  “And just so you know,” she called, “there are loads of people who want to take me to the Valentine’s dance. What, do you think I’ve just been waiting for you to come along and ask? You’re my cousin, James. Don’t be such a creep.”

  Having delivered her final salvo, she spun on her heel again and nearly ran into the trees, making black scrapes on the snow-crusted footpath.

  James watched her go, feeling utterly foolish and miserably angry at himself. He considered chasing after her, but some deep wise inner voice told him that that would only make matters worse.

  With a disconsolate sigh, James turned around himself. Much more slowly, he trudged into the darkness, heading for the distant, blocky shape of Apollo Mansion.

  Over the course of the following week, a sudden warm snap descended over the campus, melting the ice and snow from the footpaths and reducing the campus’ freight of icicles to steadily dripping crystal nubs. James, Ralph, and Zane spent most of their free time trying to think of another way into Erebus Castle, but encountered no success whatsoever. Their final effort had been to sneak away after Thursday afternoon’s Cursology class, which was held in the castle’s smoked-glass moonroom. This had failed almost immediately, however, when a small portrait of a very stern wizard with a pointed goatee had cornered them on the landing of the main staircase.

  “Halt right there, gentlemen,” the portrait pronounced as they crept past. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Shh,” Zane hissed, turning back. “We’re just looking around a bit. Don’t get your widow’s peak out of joint.”

  The portrait smiled a little disconcertingly. “Only residents of Erebus Castle are allowed upstairs, my friends,” it said in a suddenly silky voice. “But what can I do about it? Me, a mere painting. Do as you wish, but consider yourselves warned.”

  “That’s more like it,” Zane muttered, turning back toward the stairs. The boys made it halfway up to the second landing when the risers suddenly shuddered beneath their feet. With a loud thunk, the step immediately above James’ feet retracted sideways into the wall, leaving a gaping black hole in its place. The next step down followed, nearly pitching James forward into the darkness beneath the steps. He scrambled backwards, bumping into Zane and Ralph, and the stairs began to retract more quickly, chasing them back the way they had come. The three boys clambered wildly back down the stairs, falling over each other, until they reached the main landing once again and crashed, panting, to the wooden floor.

  “What was that all about?” Zane exclaimed angrily, struggling to his feet.

  “You were warned,” the portrait sniffed mildly.

  “Warned nothing!” James said. “You might’ve told us that we were about to get tossed to our dooms!”

  The portrait clucked its tongue indignantly. “The fall wouldn’t have killed you,” it said. “The rats might’ve though. They’ve become rather an advanced vicious little tribe down there, after living for so many years in a magical castle.”

  James peered into the darkness beneath the stairs. He fancied he could hear faint scratchings and even the clicking of little teeth.

  “Wow,” Ralph shuddered. “That is so not right.”

  With a loud kachunk, the stairsteps suddenly socked back into place, covering the hole.

  “Perhaps next time you three will consider abiding by the rules,” the portrait commented sternly. “And respecting your elders, painted or otherwise. Now be gone with you before I alert the House President.”

  That got the boys moving since the last thing they wanted was any entanglements with Professor Remora.

  “I can’t believe we don’t know anyone else in Vampire House,” Zane groaned as they made their way toward the cafeteria for lunch. “I mean, let’s face it: I’m a loveable guy. Everybody gets along with me.”

  “Maybe we should just try to follow Magnussen into the past without knowing what the dimensional key is,” James offered consideringly. “Perhaps if we just hang back and watch him, we’ll be able to figure it out, right?”

  “Maybe,” Ralph said, shrugging. “But I’d sure hate to get that bit wrong. We only get one chance. Rose says that time travel is really tetchy that way.”

  “What do you mean,” Zane asked as they pulled open the doors to Administration Hall, following a gaggle of older students toward the cafeteria. “I don’t think I was there for that conversation. Not that I don’t love Rose’s hectoring predictions about all the ways we might destroy the fabric of the universe and all.”

  James sighed. “She says it’s the reason why Time-Turners have been outlawed. Technomancy guys like Jackson have discovered that it’s super dangerous for one person to occupy the same timeframe more than once. Something about identical matter accidentally coming together and causing ‘catastrophic pluralities’ or something quantum like that. Bottom line is that if we don’t capture Magnussen’s dimensional key the first time out, we won’t have another chance without potentially causing way more trouble than we hope to prevent.”

  “So how sure are you that we really have to do this anyway?” Ralph asked, getting in line and grabbing a tray. “You still think the real bad guys are hiding out in the World Between the Worlds?”

  “No doubt in my mind,” James replied, with a little more conviction than he actually felt. “That missing crimson thread is far too powerful to just disappear without a trace. If it was in our world, somebody somewhere would have sensed its trail. The only place it could possibly be hidden is outside of our dimension. It just makes sense.”

  “Well then, I guess we’re back to square one,” Zane said, grabbing two bowls of green pudding and cramming them onto his already filled tray. “To get into the World Between the Worlds, we need to get Magnussen’s dimensional key, which means we need to somehow get into Erebus Castle so we can figure out the riddle of what the key actually is.” He sighed briskly. “Maybe we should just hex Ralph’s teeth into points and try to pass him off as Count Ralphula the Impaler. What do you say, Ralphinator? Worth a shot?”

  “Don’t even start,” Ralph said, shaking his head.

  The boys found a place at one of the long tables, cramming in across from Wentworth, who was distracted by a series of fussy sneezes.

  “What’s with you, Went?” James asked, poking at his stew with a fork.

  “Garlic,” Wentworth replied, wiping his
nose. “It’s my special diet. I’m not even eating the stuff, but I can still smell it in everyone else’s lunch. Breaks me all out.”

  Zane stirred his own bowl. “Yeah, this stuff’s pretty heavy with it. Too bad for you, Went. It’s yum in the tum.”

  Wentworth sniffled. “Yeah, well, you all could show a little more sensitivity. I can’t help being this way, you know. It’s in my genes, all the way back to what my parents call ‘the old country’.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. James watched as the smaller boy reached for a large stoneware mug. Wentworth pinched his nose and drank from it carefully.

  “Just out of curiosity,” Zane suddenly said, frowning at Wentworth, “where, exactly, is ‘the old country’?”

  Wentworth peered over his mug at Zane a little warily. “Somewhere in Europe,” he answered. “A little region in Romania, if you must know.”

  “Really,” Zane said, still frowning. “Does it start with a ‘T’, maybe?”

  “I’m not supposed to talk about it,” Wentworth announced, lowering his mug but holding it near his chest. “My mother says we’re not like that anymore. She says the less we talk about it, the better.”

  “What’re you drinking there, Went?” James asked, peering over the table.

  “It’s nothing,” Went said. “It’s for my special diet. It’s not like I want to drink it, you know. Ten ounces a day is all.”

  “Is that tomato juice?” Ralph said, using his height to peek into Wentworth’s mug. “Looks… too dark, somehow.”

  “It’s juice!” Wentworth proclaimed, covering the cup with his hand. “Er, kind of. That’s all you need to know! What?”

  Zane glanced from Ralph to James. “Wentworth, do me a little favor,” he said smoothly, realization dawning on his suddenly crafty face. “Give ‘ums one of those big ‘old world’ smiles, eh?”

  “Yeah, Went,” James added curiously. “Let’s see those teeth.”

  “Coming through!” Zane called out, pushing Wentworth through the front door of Erebus Mansion like a boy-sized battering ram. “Vampire here! You have to let us in!”

  “Stop,” Wentworth insisted, blushing furiously. “Nobody is supposed to know!”

  “It’s all right,” James soothed, following close behind. “You’re among your fellow ‘creatures of the night’ here.”

  “What’s going on?” a tall boy demanded in an imperious voice, moving to block the four intruders in the foyer. “You can’t just barge in here. This is for Vampire House members and their guests only.”

  “And real-life vampires,” Zane added, patting Wentworth on the top of his head. “Says so in your house charter. ‘Any roaming vampires seeking asylum or succor are welcome within these halls.’ I looked it up to be sure. I thought the word ‘succor’ was a nice play on words. That’s got Remora written all over it, doesn’t it?”

  “This kid’s no vampire,” the boy sneered, looking down his nose at Wentworth. “Get out of here before I call the professor.”

  “Go ahead and call her,” James nodded. “Went here has the teeth and the pedigree. He’s the real deal, right down to his ten ounce blood ration a day and an unnatural allergy to garlic and garlic-related root veg. Tell him, Went.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Wentworth said, his cheeks burning. “I had nothing to do with this. No one’s supposed to know, really. My parents made special arrangements with the school…”

  “Oh, let them in, Harding,” a girl said from a nearby sofa. “Who cares? Remora isn’t even here.”

  “This kid’s no vampire, no matter what these cretins say,” the boy, Harding, declared, narrowing his eyes, his nostrils flaring. “No vampire, no entry.”

  “But look at his teeth,” Ralph insisted, guiding Went under the nearest chandelier. “They may not be the sorts of fangs you read about in Professor Remora’s books, but they’re plenty pointy if you look at them in the right light. Show them, Went. See?”

  “Anyone can hex a pair of fangs,” Harding replied, rolling his eyes.

  “Let me take a look at the boy,” another voice said, its tone polite but commanding. James glanced around. The portrait of the stern-faced man with the pointed beard was staring down at them from the lower landing. Harding looked from the portrait to Wentworth, considering. Finally, reluctantly, the taller boy nodded toward the landing.

  “Make it quick and then vanish, why don’t you?” he growled.

  James, Zane, and Ralph followed Wentworth closely, crowding up onto the landing. The portrait narrowed its eyes at the small boy. James glanced at the little brass plaque affixed to the bottom of the portrait’s round frame. It read, ‘Niles Covington Erebus III’.

  “Only moderately developed in the canines,” the portrait said thoughtfully. “But real enough, I suspect. Hmm. There’s only one way to know for certain. Mr. Harding, if you would turn me around, please.”

  Obediently, the sneering boy climbed onto the landing and sidled toward the painting. Eyes still narrowed at Wentworth, he lifted the painting of Niles Erebus from the wall. When he turned it around, James was surprised to see that the rear of the painting was a mirror.

  “Look at yourself, young man,” Erebus said, apparently speaking to Wentworth.

  Comically, everyone on the landing leaned toward the mirror.

  “HO-leee HINKYpunks!” Zane breathed in amazement. “Went! Where are you?”

  Still peering into the mirror, James reached aside with his right hand. His fingers patted Wentworth on the face, knocking the boy’s glasses askew. In the mirror, however, James’ fingers moved over empty space.

  “Hey,” Wentworth said, annoyed, straightening his glasses. “Quit it, already.”

  “He’s not there!” Ralph exclaimed. “He’s invisible in the mirror!”

  “I don’t see what the big deal is,” Wentworth announced wearily. “It’s not like some kind of superpower or anything. You have any idea how hard it is to comb your hair if you can’t see yourself in a mirror?”

  “Well, Mr. Harding,” the portrait of Erebus said from the reverse side of the Mirror, “it would appear that this young man is, indeed, the real article. According to the house rules, he and his guests must be granted entrance.”

  “But,” Harding said, disgusted, “look at him! That’s not what a vampire is supposed to look like!”

  “And you are an expert on these things, of course,” Erebus sighed. “Fear not. I will accompany our guests during their visit and assure that they do not wander where they are unwelcome. After all, being granted entrance does not amount to carte blanche access to anywhere they wish, does it?”

  “It sure doesn’t,” Harding nodded dourly. He sneered at Zane again and then, rather stiffly, handed him the small portrait. “Enjoy your stay, gentlemen.”

  “Thanks, Harding,” Zane grinned, taking the portrait. “Your vigilance is inspiring. I’ll put in a good word for you with all the other vampires I know.” He winked at the older boy.

  “Well then, my friends,” Erebus said briskly as Harding skulked back down to the parlor, “now that you have attained something approaching a legitimate entrance, I believe you were on your way to the upper corridor. Shall we proceed together this time with better luck?”

  Over the course of the next hour, James, Ralph, Wentworth, and Zane wandered the myriad halls, landings, secret stairways, hidden chambers, dens, bathrooms, and various common spaces of the castle, all the while listening to an informative, if slightly pedantic monologue from Erebus’ portrait about the details of each space. Apart from being somewhat amazed at the sheer number of rooms crammed into the castle, the boys found nothing that illuminated the riddle of Ignatius Magnussen’s dimensional key.

  “I don’t get it,” Zane finally proclaimed, plopping onto a chair on the third-floor landing. “How’d the quote go? ‘The truth walked the halls of Erebus Castle,’ right? Well, we’ve walked more halls than I can count and I didn’t encounter any truth. Did you?”

  James shook his head.
“I didn’t realize it would be this hard. I thought once we got inside, it’d just make sense, somehow.”

  “Might I inquire,” the portrait of Niles Erebus said with a somewhat impatient sniff, “what you gentlemen are talking about?”

  “You got me,” Wentworth announced, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “I’m just the token vampire. I decided these three were totally nuts three floors ago.”

  “It’s this riddle we heard,” Ralph admitted, leaning the portrait on a windowsill so he could look at it. “Some old professor from a long time ago said it: the truth walked the halls of Erebus Castle. You seem to know an awful lot about this place. Any ideas what it might mean?”

  “I built this castle,” Erebus said, bristling. “I should think I would know everything that could possibly be known about it. Your riddle, however, is rather hopelessly obtuse. Without any sort of context, it could mean anything at all.”

  James sighed. “What a complete waste of time. It was probably just something Magnussen made up after all, just to throw everyone off his trail.”

  “Magnussen, you say?” the portrait asked, raising one eyebrow. “Ignatius Magnussen?”

  “Yeah,” Ralph replied, perking up a little. “You know anything about him?”

  “Virtually nothing,” Erebus answered dismissively. “He was rather after my time as you’ve apparently failed to notice. In my current state, however, I do recall seeing him visit the castle from time to time. The man had a bit of a fascination, it seemed.”

  “How’d he get in?” James asked. “He wasn’t a vampire too, was he?”

  Erebus rolled his eyes impatiently. “Obviously the rules of entrance do not apply to faculty and administration, young man. Every house is regularly frequented by professors from different societies, both for social and academic reasons.”

  “So where did Magnussen go when he was here?” Zane asked impatiently.

  “I did not have to chaperone him during his visits,” Erebus answered disdainfully. “But I do recall that he took copious notes about some of the tapestries.”