“You know what is happening, don’t you, little geased girl?” Serena continued. She sounded so pleased, as if the greatest pleasure came from destruction and moral degradation. “You’re going to kill your father! Then you are going to kill your sister. And then, your two little friends. Isn’t that fun? After that, maybe I’ll snap your neck.”
“Oh, we need to let her live, Serena.” Azrael’s gaze was fixed on her the way another man might eye a tasty hors d’oeuvre. “Otherwise, she would be denied the torment her guilt over today’s actions will stir in her tender soul. Think of the rest of her life. How she will suffer.”
Azrael raised his arms. “Come forth, O Vigilant Ones, Keepers of the Wall. Tenebrous mundi, I summon thee! I summon thee! I summon thee! It is my will you desert your post and tear down the Barrier that guards this world. Come accept your sacrifice and perform my bidding!”
Dark shapes rose slowly from the garden bed, living shadows of solidified darkness. Up they rose, higher and higher, until they towered over Azrael, over the bonfire, over the turrets atop the castle. Nor were they human in their shape, such as the tenebrous obscurii Sigfried had accidentally summoned in the belfry.
These were the shadows of dragons.
Serena watched them apprehensively. Red, blue, and purple light danced over her face. The redheaded woman leaned over until Rachel could smell her overly-sweet perfume. “Now, point the wand at your father and say the words: ‘Pyr Turia.’”
Rachel took the wand.
It was a length of oak and steel. The ruby at the tip glinted dark as old blood in the moonlight. She pointed it at the altar, where her family and friends lay, their prone forms almost festive in the dancing colored flames. It took great concentration to keep her arm from shaking. A sudden fear seized her that, even spoken silently, these words might set off the cantrip. She extended the wand and mouthed two random words.
“What?” Azrael bent over. “What’s wrong with her?”
Serena glanced nervously at the brooding presence of the tenebrous mundi and gave the instructions again. Rachel made the same response.
Serena frowned. “Child, tell me what is wrong with your voice?”
Rachel made the gesture for the Tur magos cantrip.
“Oh. Is that all?” Serena gestured, relieved. “Obé tur magos. Can you speak now?”
“Yes.” Rachel let the geas speak for her. Her voice sounded flat in her ear.
“Good girl,” Serena purred. “Point the wand. Say the words: ‘Pyr Turia!’”
Azrael watched in fascination as she prepared to kill her father. Rachel held her arm steady and took her cue from Sandra.
“Pyr Tur…” she looked up, gazing directly into his eager eyes. “Myrddin.”
“What did she say?” Serena leaned over, puzzled.
Slowly, Azrael’s expression transformed from smug fascination to horror. “No! It cannot be. I am free of that now. No…”
Black sparkles, barely visible in the moonlight, spun around his body, lifting him into the air. They formed bands that moved around his limbs, rushing like the pictures scientists drew of the orbits around an atom. Serena scowled and took a step back, clearly confused.
Rachel stared, her jaw open. She had no idea what kind of magic produced black sparks.
In a burst of fireworks, red, gold, and purple sparkles joined the black. The purple twinkles rushed into his eyes, ears, and mouth. The red and gold ones swirled together, like a will-o-the-wisp sculpture, forming an image. A huge gryphon of tiny glowing stars hovered in the darkness above Azrael’s head, its eagle wings arched, its claws extended.
The gryphon of red and gold dived, attacking Azrael, who screamed.
Rachel laughed and clapped. Her grandfather never failed to put his own stamp on things. She applauded his style. Between the gleaming sparks and the light of the multi-colored flames, it was as if the garden rejoiced, celebrating the demon’s defeat.
Farther away in the darkness, between the dark dragon-shapes of the Keepers of the Wall, Rachel spotted a motion inside the arched doorway of the towering gatehouse that led from the castle grounds to the countryside beyond. A young man stood among the fig trees, dressed in dark, old-fashioned clothing.
She recognized him immediately.
Thunderfrost’s boy. Her uncle Myrddin.
The ghost boy watched as the gryphon made of red and gold sparkles mauled the demon who had been responsible for his death, so many years ago. Through his body, she could see the moonlight shining on the outer curtain wall. The sparkling gryphon ripped away the demon’s smoky wings. It raked his face. The red ran from his eyes. Then the sparkling gryphon embraced Azrael in a bear-hug and sank into his body.
Azrael screamed a horrible, bone-piercing scream.
“What have you done?” Serena O’Malley cried. “I will kill you for this, you little…”
The earth shook. Hoof beats rumbled. Serena shrieked. Something massive galloped across the gardens, as if moonlight and shadows had coalesced into the form of a great stallion. It had a shaggy mane of mingled snow and black hoarfrost and silky white feathering hiding its hooves. Like a divine wind, the enormous steed bore down on the red-haired woman.
Serena O’Malley screamed and fled, vanishing in a blinding flash.
Thunderfrost!
Rachel had the briefest glimpse of the horse rearing, and the ghost boy tipping his hat from where he rode upon its back.
Then the ghostly duo was gone.
Rachel turned back to where Azrael writhed and yowled. He looked in fear at the towering solid-shadows of the tenebrous mundi.
“Child!” He clawed frantically at the last of the sparkles encircling him. “Give me the wand!”
Rachel looked down at the slender length of oak and steel tipped with an a hundred and thirty-carat ruby. She thought of the hours and hours of time she had lost with Gaius, due to his efforts to refill his tiny sapphire. Imitating Vladimir Von Dread, she dropped the wand and stomped on the gem, grinding it with the heel of the boots that had been a gift from Sandra.
It shattered.
“No! My spells! My life’s work! Noooooo!”
With one last burst of demonic power, he gestured from the stone altar toward the castle. Then he fell to his knees, wailing. With the slightest of smiles, Rachel whistled. Blues sparks danced around his body, paralyzing him.
Rachel’s joy was short-lived.
Azrael’s last gesture had lifted her father and thrown him violently through the air again. Ambrose Griffin flew toward the stone wall of the castle, hurtling at tremendous speed. Rachel’s mind threatened to replay the death of Agent Caldor, and the horrible keening of his sheepdog. Cutting this off, she made her mind become as clear as a mountain lake.
“Tur lu!”
She performed the cantrip that Mark Williams had used to stall her broom. It had not slowed the jumbo jet at all, but her father’s body froze in mid-air. He hung motionless for a moment and then began to plummet downward.
“Tiathelu!” cried Rachel.
Ambrose Griffin was too heavy for her to float, but she was able to slow his fall. He struck the ground head first, but he did so gently.
The tenebrous mundi shifted ominously. Joyfully, Rachel spun around and faced the bonfire, imitating the gestures Agent Standish had used to put out the burning lantern oil.
“Tur pyr!” she cried.
The bonfire of crimson, emerald, violet, and sapphire flames sputtered and flared again.
“Tur pyr! Tur pyr! Tur pyr!” She shouted over and over again, until she was lightheaded from the rush of magic that passed through her.
Finally, the bonfire sputtered and went dark.
Without pausing, Rachel turned to the gigantic tenebrous mundi and repeated the words she had spoken in the belfry.
“Oyarsa! Taflu! Obé! Obé! Obé!”
Slowly and ponderously, the great dragon-shades sank back into the earth. Dizzy with relief, Rachel dropped to her knees and cradled her h
ead in her arms. The soft grass was cold beneath her legs. She forced herself to breathe evenly.
A flash of white illuminated the gardens.
Finn MacDannan appeared, holding onto his wife and Agent Darling. Immediately, the three of them started casting spells at Azrael, who became the center of a whirlwind of sparkles, scents, and sounds. Rachel wondered briefly why it had taken the Agents so long to arrive. Then she realized that if Azrael had brought them from New York to a place with a castle, and it was night here, it must have been a great jump indeed. Few people could jump such a distance.
Finn MacDannan was one of the few.
Rachel looked up at the castle, just as the moon came out from behind a translucent cloud. In the silvery brightness, she recognized the stark towers rising above them—Beaumont. Her hero Daring Northwest had died here. This was the hideout Remus Starkadder had traded to Azrael and his cronies, in return for the promised death of his older brother Romulus.
She was in Transylvania.
• • •
It was over soon after that. Mortimer Egg was apprehended. Darling freed her two friends and Sandra. Scarlett MacDannan played a lilting bagpipe piece that sent a flurry of green healing sparks swirling around Rachel’s father. Then, Finn took the group of them back to the cavernous chamber where a crazed Lucky awaited.
With a shriek, the dragon wrapped around Sigfried and would not let go. The two of them put their heads together. It was inexpressibly adorable, though Rachel would never have repeated that to Sigfried.
Everywhere Rachel looked, she saw Veltdammerung followers encircled in glowing Glepnir bonds. The place was full of Wisecraft, both Agents and support personnel, taking these folks into custody, as well as white-clad Nuns of the Order of Asclepius, busily at work helping the wounded. Some knelt, performing first aid or administering elixirs. Others played healthful enchantments on flutes, clarinets, and violins.
Everything sparkled with green healing sparks.
The place smelled like a bakery.
“Rachel!” Sandra rushed to her, dropped to her knees.
She pulled Rachel close, hugging her ridiculously tightly. Rachel cried out with delight and hugged her back. To her shock, her big sister started to cry. Rachel gawked. She could not recall the last time Sandra had cried.
Choking through her tears, Sandra said, “Oh, Rachel, I was so worried.”
“I’m fine,” Rachel murmured into her sister’s shoulder, relaxing. Sandra’s shoulder felt warm and safe. The fear and terror Rachel had ducked in Transylvania swung back and hit her now. Her body trembled, and she fought against tears of her own, sniffling. Sandra swayed her back and forth and rubbed her little sister’s back, cooing gentle, though hiccuppy, words of comfort. Rachel stayed there for a long time, swaying in her sister’s arms, breathing sweet honeysuckle perfume in perfect contentment.
She had done it.
The Wall was not going to come down. The world was not about to fall apart. Her father and sister were not going to die. Lily-of-the-valleys, and the smell of autumn, and little children laughing—and all the good things of the Earth—were not going to pass away, reduced to but memory of a lost dream.
All was well.
They had won!
Somehow, winning was doubly wonderful, when it involved Sandra. Sandra continued to hug her tightly. Rachel’s ribs began to feel a bit tender.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be so dramatic,” her sister smiled at her finally, wiping away tears. “It’s just, well, our time trapped in the Wisecraft offices in New York was blastedly hard. Father and I went to New York for a routine meeting, and suddenly everything went pear-shaped. We were stuck there for days. And that woman…Mordeau. She is an evil thing! She said things to Father. Things to upset him. And it worked.”
“I…had no idea,” Rachel whispered faintly.
Sandra nodded. “Even with James, Scarlett, and Dorian assuring us that you were okay—that Veltdammerung had not taken control of Roanoke again, we were both still afraid. Father visited your school, after we were finally released, and spoke to the dean. He even had someone check on you while you were sleeping. He was so worried about you.”
Rachel blinked in astonishment. Dr. Mordeau had threatened her? Father had come by?
Rachel considered all this. She remembered how relieved she had been when she thought her family was in London, and how apprehensive and confused she had been to hear they were in New York during the lock down.
Suddenly, her eyes narrowed to slits. “You lied to me! I thought you were bored out of your mind working a deadly dull job. I felt sorry for you!”
Sandra gave her the cutest cat-with-cream grin. “I couldn’t very well tell you the truth, could I?”
Yes. You could have, Rachel thought, but she did not say this aloud.
Sandra asked hopefully, “But you are proud of me, right?”
“Of course,” Rachel’s resentment melted. “Very, very proud! How did you come to join Veltdammerung?”
“The Wisecraft knew someone at the school was recruiting new members for Veltdammerung. A year and a half ago, Father asked if I would go undercover. Our initial suspect turned out to be a false lead, but eventually I contacted the right people—or the wrong people, if you prefer,” Sandra laughed gaily. “And here I am.”
“So that’s what Mordeau was up to!” Rachel cried, as a number of pieces suddenly clicked into place. “She wasn’t there to kill the dean and Mr. Fisher. She was recruiting from the student body!”
“Exactly!” Sandra stood up and brushed off her knees. She kept her gaze locked fondly on Rachel’s face. “The Grand Inquisitor had done such a good job of wiping out the old Morthbrood that Veltdammerung can no longer find supporters among the adult population. So they target up-and-coming sorcerers. They have agents at schools all over the world, but their main target was Roanoke Academy, because our graduates are the most accomplished.”
“If their purpose was recruitment, why did Dr. Mordeau attack?” asked Rachel.
“Her plans unraveled,” replied Sandra. “I believe a student remembered something she had been geased to forget? Dr. Mordeau panicked and escalated to a long-term goal.”
“Which was take revenge on Mr. Fisher, Maverick Badger, and Dean Moth—those who had stopped Veltdammerung the first time?” asked Rachel.
“Yes, exactly,” Sandra’s voice rose in surprised. “You know a great deal.”
“Yes, I do.” Rachel beamed with pride. “Information loves me. It comes and finds me!”
Sandra shook her head, smirking at her fondly.
Rachel’s smile faltered. “Did you…know about Agent Browne? That he was a traitor?”
“Daniel?” Sandra’s face clouded over. “Yes. He is the one who introduced me to Mortimer Egg. I told Father and Cain March. They were tracking his movements. But they could not move against him without compromising me. When Jim Darling discovered his treachery independently, they were able to move in and arrest him.”
Across the crowded room, Scarlett MacDannan called, “Miss Romanov, Miss Griffin, Mr. Smith. Let’s remove those geases, before they are used against you again, hmm?”
“You better go.” Sandra leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll come visit you soon…” She gave Rachel a pretty grimace. “After I’ve been debriefed.”
Rachel crossed the room and waited patiently, until it was her turn to undergo the Spell of True Recitation. For the third time in four weeks, she floated in mid-air, amidst a swirl of golden sparks. A few more scorched her than the previous time, but mainly the tiny twinkles stars felt cool and tingly.
This time, she spread her arms and twirled.
When she landed, her mind was free of the cobwebby traces of the geas. Scarlett MacDannan then asked Nastasia a great number of questions. When the princess finished describing the little she remembered, it was Siggy’s turn and then Rachel’s.
“Nastasia explained the gist of what took place. O’Malley grabbed you. Egg
placed you on an altar. Finn and the rest of us saved you. Do either of you recall anything else significant that happened after you arrived in Transylvania?”
Sigfried shook his head. “Nope. Not a clue. I think I remember some stars. Or maybe dragons. I think there were dragons.”
“You always think there are dragons,” scoffed Nastasia.
“No dragons, Boss. I was here,” whispered Lucky.
Under the influence of the Spell of True Recitation, the real memories in Rachel’s head screamed to be heard. She opened her mouth, eager to blurt everything out.
Then she froze.
She could not explain what happened without explaining that she was immune to geases. The Agents would be able to deduce the corollary, that she was immune to their spell. The Grand Inquisitor would not like that. He would look for a different spell with which to interrogate her. What if he found one and then asked her something that would force her to explain about the Raven and what happened to Sakura? Or to betray the Elf?
Rachel looked the Agent in the eye and lied. “No.”
Of course, this meant no one would know about her part in stopping Azrael. Finn MacDannan would get the credit. She did not mind this, but she did not like to mislead her father. Silently, she promised to tell him the truth when he came to ask her what had happened.
As if he had heard her thoughts, Rachel’s father appeared beside her in a flash of light. He gave her the kindest smile, gazing at her as if she were the most important thing in the world.
“I am so glad you are all right.” He bent low, his steady hazel eyes filled with wisdom, warmth, and love. “I cannot even begin to tell you how worried I’ve been.”
Rachel beamed, so happy to have saved him. She fairly jumped up and down with eagerness. She yearned to tell him everything, but she kept stumbling in her attempt, uncertain how to begin.
“Ambrose,” Agent Bridges’s voice cut across the general hubbub, “can you give us a hand with this one?”
Rachel’s father glanced reluctantly over at where some other Agents were rounding up some of the more experienced of the hooded followers, including Faust. He sighed.
“I am afraid I must go. Duty calls.” Solemnly, he leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. Then, he was gone again.
The Raven, The Elf, and Rachel (A Book of Unexpected Enlightenment 2) Page 41
