Being paralyzed would be even worse than being mute.
She stayed where she was.
Rachel glanced over at the battle. Everything was happening at once, but she could slow down the scene in her memory, recalling one skirmish and then another. The fight had become a raucous conglomeration of music, multi-colored sparkles, and magical scents. The smell of Fresh-baked bread mingled with brimstone, evergreens, and coconut. The Agents were defeating Egg’s followers handily. Many of the Veltdammerung were young, barely out of college.
Siggy and Lucky blasted and burned everything that came near them. Fortunately, the chamber was made of stone and not flammable. However, the fuel from the broken lantern had seeped across the floor. Lucky’s breath ignited it, producing a swath of multi-colored flames. Rachel’s old friend, Agent Dorian Standish, pointed all the fingers of his right hand at the fire.
“Tur pyr.”
The flames sputtered and died.
Near him, the lithe Agent Armel blew black dust into the face of the enemies. Those she struck continued to cast, but their spells had no effect. She tried this on a tall woman who pointed a purple ring in her direction. A blast of silvery sparks from the ring blew the dust back at the Agent, causing her to cough and sputter.
Agent Armel backed up until she was behind her partner, Agent Garbarino—an Italian selkie who worked for Rachel’s father in what she now knew was the Shadow Agency. The young man with penetrating eyes pointed his staff at Armel’s assailant, causing blue sparks to swirl around the tall, robed woman. She began to move slowly. Garbarino stepped forward and relieved her of her wand, which he added to a growing collection in his pocket.
Across the wide chamber, Rachel’s father’s friend, Agent Bridges, parried incoming spells with a taflu cantrip while casting with his staff. He turned a man into a toad, a woman into rabbit, and a third figure into a wombat. He did this all with a cool, impassive demeanor. He kept his deep brown, oval head close-shaved. So intense was his gaze that one smaller robed figure ran screaming, merely from the force of his glare.
Behind him, Agent Briars shook her charm bracelet. She began to move twice as fast as those around her. She twisted a second charm, and a blue glow enveloped her hand. Everyone she touched clutched his head and screamed.
At the far corner, Agent Darling’s staff hovered beside him, firing on its own while he himself cast cantrips. Rachel recalled that he had been the Canticler of the Six Musketeers. Watching him was awe-inspiring. He commanded a much larger effect from his cantrips than Rachel had previously seen. His Glepnir bonds encircled a dozen people at a time.
“Tur magos!” he shouted, moving his hand across his mouth and gesturing outwards. A fifth of the robed followers lost their ability to speak. He cast this cantrip again. This time, however, a hooded figure caught the spell and slung it back at him so quickly that Agent Darling was nearly muted by his own cantrip. At the last minute, he managed to parry.
The hooded figure stepped back into the pack. At that moment, however, Sigfried blew his horn in his direction. Silver sparkles knocked over three of the enemy and swept Darling’s opponent’s hood from his face. Underneath was an older man with salt and pepper hair and angular Eastern European features that, oddly, reminded Rachel of the princess and her brother Ivan.
“Dietrich Faust!” shouted Darling.
Rachel’s eyes went wide. Dietrich Faust was one of the last remaining leaders of the Morthbrood known to be at-large. He was also the younger son of Johann Faust the Fifth, the man who had sent Azrael against Blaise Griffin.
All the Agents turned and fired at the man. He deflected the first seven attacks. Then Rachel’s father caught him from behind with a spray of blue sparks. Faust froze, arms raised in a deadly attack.
A moment later, Faust was held fast by six Glepnir bonds.
Rachel opened her mouth to cheer their success, but no noise came out. Her enthusiasm was cut short by the cold shiver that ran down her spine. Rumor had it Dietrich Faust had been hiding in Bavaria. Could he have learned about Egg’s weakness from Vladimir Von Dread’s father and passed the information to Serena O’Malley, leading to Mrs. Egg’s death?
Was all this havoc her fault?
The thought was daunting.
It frustrated her not to be able to help in the battle. The wheels of her mind turned rapidly, seeking some action she could perform, some way she could aid the Agents. But she came away with nothing. Turning to Nastasia, she gestured wildly, repeating the hand motion for the Word of Ending over and over, in her effort to communicate her desire for the princess to free her from the cantrip.
The princess, who was busy playing her violin, merely frowned at Rachel’s antics.
It was worse than all those times, as a child, when she had been stuck waiting for someone to say her name, after having been jinxed for accidentally pronouncing the same word as Laurel. That had been frustrating, but the fate of the world had not been at stake. Unlike the mundane version, when Children of the Wise played such games, people were actually jinxed.
Mortimer Egg had been standing with his arms crossed, watching the mayhem. Gazing down at the immobilized Faust, he scowled and gestured. Around the chamber, the medallions around the necks of the Agents started to emit blue-white sparks. They glowed, growing red-hot. Rachel watched as her father and his companions were forced to tear the protective talismans from their necks and toss them aside. Agent Briars screamed in pain as she fought to yank off her charm bracelet and other alchemical talismans she wore.
They all glowed red-hot.
Rachel had never heard of a spell that could do such a thing. She wondered if this were demon magic. As she watched the man with reddish eyes and smoky wings, a shiver ran up her spine. The human man Mortimer Egg was no longer in charge of the body.
This was Azrael.
The battle turned against the Agents.
Without their defensive talismans, they had to pause in their spell casting to parry incoming attacks. They moved closer together, fighting back to back. But there was little they could do against Egg’s overwhelming, superhuman power. His eyes were tinted reddish now. He laughed as he fought Agent Standish and Agent Griffin, repelling their attacks with contempt.
Just in front of Rachel, Sandra stopped moving, paralyzed. Rachel struggled to speak, hoping to put up a bey-athe shield to protect her sister, but no words came. She wished fervently yet again that she had a wand. She started to make plans as to how to get one; however, the realization that there might not be a tomorrow in which to carry out such plans sapped her enthusiasm.
Darling’s voice cut across the general noise, shouting something about calling for backup. Standish shouted back, asking who was left at the office.
To which Darling’s reply came, “No, I mean real backup!”
Moments later, a flash at a broken window illuminated the chamber. Music and crimson sparks swept through the opening. Outside, a tall man dressed in a blue and red silk jumpsuit played the violin. He had spiky red hair and gold safety pins for earrings.
Below, everyone began to dance, even Azrael.
The music was spectacular, with a driving, rowdy Irish beat. Ruby sparks swirled about Rachel, tickling her and making her laugh—though her laughter made no sound. She swayed in time to the music. It did not seem to her as if she were compelled to dance, but rather, as if she could not bear not to join in while listening to such an exuberant reel.
“Hey…that guy looks like Red Ryder, the lead singer from the band Bogus!” cried Sigfried, from where he danced not far from the dais, his foot stomping rhythmically on the face of one of the robed followers.
“That is him,” Agent Armel called as she danced beside him. “That’s Finn MacDannan.”
“You mean my roommate Ian’s father is a rock star?” Siggy gaped.
Agent Armel grinned, her feet dancing a complicated jig. “He’s said to be the best Enchanter alive today.”
Beside him, a short figure with bushy red
hair played a bag-pipe. Former Agent Scarlett MacDannan—Finn’s wife and now their math tutor—joined in the fray.
Sigfried cheered.
“I think we’ve won,” laughed Agent Armel.
A bellow of anger drowned the music. With a wave, Azrael lifted Rachel’s father and smashed him against a wall. Agent Griffin’s eyes rolled back.
Blood ran down the wall.
Rachel’s scream made no sound.
Chapter Thirty-Four:
Tearing Down the Walls of the World
“There is still time to perform the sacrifice, Serena,” Azrael called as he danced, surrounded by red sparks. “Kill the children.”
Oblivious of all else, Rachel ran toward her father, pelting across the stone of the dais. Fear clawed at her ribs. Was he going to be okay? Was he breathing? Was he…
Before she could reach him, something grabbed her upper arm. Serena O’Malley lifted Rachel from her feet, even though the red-haired woman was waltzing. Rachel writhed and screamed in silent frustration, but she could not escape the vise-like grip.
Serena displayed Rachel to Azrael. “Will this one do, Master?”
Azrael glanced directly at Rachel. The dead look in his reddish eyes made her skin crawl. She shouted but made no sound. Tears of fury stung her eyes.
He was right here!
“That one will do nicely.” His smile was like a snake’s. Putting his hand around her throat, he began to squeeze.
“Unhand my companion, fiend!” cried the princess.
Despite her fancily-dancing feet, Nastasia drew her bow along her violin.
A swath of silver sparkles lifted Azrael and carried him twenty feet.
Freed from the demon’s choking hold, Rachel gasped gratefully for breath. She rubbed her neck. Across the room, where he rose from the floor, Azrael looked shocked.
“She must be the one of the two from that prophecy!” Serena shrieked, still gripping Rachel’s arm painfully. “The one who can hurt you!”
Rachel recalled the prophecy about Joy and the princess. She started to cheer, but again, no noise came. Terror gripped her, clenching her chest like a constricting Glepnir bond. Her father was hurt—possibly worse, and her sister was paralyzed.
How was she going to get free of Sandra’s cantrip in order to stop Azrael?
Finn’s music changed from a jig to a lullaby. Blue sparkles danced from his bow. Two-thirds of the Veltdammerung followers fell asleep. Finn MacDannan was so skilled and precise an enchanter that only the enemy were affected. Rachel suspected that he had spent the time while they all were dancing studying the battlefield and preparing for this enchantment.
Freed from dancing, Siggy ran at Azrael, shouting, “Lucky, get him! Save Rachel!”
Siggy blew his trumpet. A strong wind whirled from his instrument in a swirl of silver sparkles.
His attack did nothing. Azrael brushed it aside.
Lucky the Dragon swooped forward and breathed his brilliant red-orange fire on Azrael’s face. Azrael’s flesh melted and burned. He issued a high-pitched scream.
Nastasia cheered and played her violin again. Again, Azrael was thrown backwards. The silvery sparkles of her wind blast picked him up and slammed him into the stone wall. He slumped to the floor, his arm sticking out at a strange angle.
“Fry that Egg!” shouted Sigfried, jumping up and down.
Azrael jerked suddenly and rose to his feet. His arm straightened with a loud pop. His melted flesh flowed back into his proper face. His eyes were now blood red.
“Pathetic little fools,” he laughed. “All you have done is to burn away the last remnants of the weakling Mortimer Egg. At last, I am free!”
Rachel’s heart lurched.
Was she too late?
“Serena, we must complete our ritual,” he continued. “Let us take the children somewhere we will not be disturbed. They are friends, are they not? We shall have one kill the other two.”
“You do not wish your enemies to witness our victory?” asked Serena.
Azrael snarled. “Darling and his friends have caused trouble for me too many times. Let us bring down the Wall first. Then we can wipe out Darling and his Mouseketeers.”
“Very well, Master.”
“Besides, the lantern has been shattered,” Azrael added. “We must repair to the backup location.”
“I will gather the children,” Serena promised.
“Let us bring Devon’s progeny, too. I will enjoy sacrificing them.” Azrael extended his hand, and Rachel’s father’s body flew through the air to hover beside him. Ambrose Griffin’s chest rose and fell in ragged gasps.
Rachel’s shoulders sagged, her knees buckling, as relief coursed through her body. Her father was alive! She did not fall, however, because Serena held her. With a wave of Azrael’s other hand, the paralyzed Sandra rose and floated toward him.
By Devon, Azrael meant Rachel’s grandfather, The Late Duke of Devon.
He wanted to kill Father and Sandra!
“Get him!” Siggy cried in alarm. “Stop him!”
Nastasia, Sigfried, Lucky, and Rachel converged upon Azrael. Rachel was not sure what she would do when she got there, maybe kick him in the shin long enough to distract him.
“Ve Vargo Derenti,” Serena announced triumphantly.
Sigfried, Nastasia, and Lucky’s eyes all went blank. Rachel felt the geas inside her head gently suggesting that she await orders. She also remembered that phrase.
Those were the words Dr. Mordeau had said to her geased students in Nastasia’s vision.
Serena called to the geased students. The others walked obediently to her side. Rachel let her face go blank and joined them. Serena O’Malley reached out and touched them.
The world went white and sped away from her in all directions.
• • •
Moonlight flooded formal gardens, creating stark shadows. The gurgle of a fountain broke the stillness of midnight. The night air smelled of late-blooming roses. Above, a full moon hung in a black sky dappled with silver clouds. As the clouds parted, silvery light illuminated the vast edifice rising at the edge of the gardens.
The castle keep was draped in shadows, its blind windows obscured by crooked ivy. Moonlight revealed that carvings had been gouged into the wall over the top of older, more innocuous bas-reliefs; carvings of vultures defiling corpses and serpents swallowing children.
Around the formal garden and the ominous keep loomed an encircling outer curtain wall with tall round towers. A gatehouse built around a large arched doorway stood in the distance, guarding the way against whatever lay beyond.
Rachel and the others stood in front of a stone altar that rose from the middle of a circle of rose bushes, where other gardens might have had sundials. Azrael laid Rachel’s father and sister across the altar, sideways, so that their heads and feet stretched beyond the stone surface. Her father’s head lolled against the stone, but Sandra’s paralyzed body remained rigid.
Beside the altar stood a bonfire piled as high as a second-story window. Azrael pointed his wand at the gathered wood, and it burst into flames. He pointed again. The flames changed, becoming the red, blue, green, and purples of an obscuration lantern.
A shiver ran down Rachel’s spine.
Something very bad was about to happen.
Serena pulled back her voluminous hood. She resembled her son Juma, except that her skin was pale rather than the color of caramel, and her shoulder-length hair was red-gold. She had dark brooding eyes and very red lips.
“I should have known she was a spy!” Serena spit on Sandra’s face.
“No time for that.” Azrael gestured at the two Griffins on the altar. “Quickly. Before we are interrupted. The tenebrous mundi require payment. Put two of the children on the altar. Have the third commit all four murders.”
“I have Griffin’s littlest daughter here,” purred Serena, pushing Rachel forward.
Azrael smiled down at her, his face bathed in purples, greens, and b
lues from the bonfire. His eyes were entirely scarlet, no white or pupil remained. Rachel gazed back at him blankly.
It took all her training to not betray her fear.
Or her frustration.
He was right there, looking into her eyes, and she could not speak the word.
“Good girl!” Azrael patted her on the head. Rachel’s skin threatened to crawl off her body. “This is a find.”
Serena instructed Sigfried and Nastasia to climb onto the stone altar and lie down, which they did. Rachel realized Lucky had been left behind at the first location.
“Shall we wake her father and sister?” Serena asked eagerly. “So their pain and horror add fuel to the spell?”
“No. They are Devon’s kin,” Azrael scowled. “They might know his secrets.”
Azrael knew.
That made her task harder.
If she did anything unexpected, he might guess she knew the secret, too.
Of course, if she could not speak, it hardly mattered.
“Very well. Griffin child…oh, what is her first name? You…there,” Serena commanded, “Walk forward.”
“Ruby, I think,” Azrael clasped his hands behind his back and stared down at her father. “No, Rachel. That is Rachel Griffin.”
Cold fingers walked down her spine.
The demon knew her name.
“Well, Rachel Griffin,” purred Serena, tweaking her cheek. Azrael handed her his wand. “Take this wand. Now, go forward and stand where you can point it at your father. Good girl.”
A wand!
Relief washed over her. If they wanted her to use a stranger’s wand, they would have to restore her voice.
The geas urged her body forward. Rachel did not resist. Like someone in a dream, she took the wand and walked to the altar. Her face was placid. Underneath, all her nerves blared. She waited, hoping the thunderous hoof beats of her heart would not give her away.
What if it was too late?
What if Azrael had burned away Egg’s humanity? What would happen if she said the masterword, and it did not work?
He would probably kill her.
Or worse.
The Raven, The Elf, and Rachel (A Book of Unexpected Enlightenment 2) Page 40
