“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” Arthur screamed.
But the warlock just laughed.
Morgan, the hallway, the battle, everything around him faded away into mists and darkness. Suddenly, he was back at home in Rockville. The scents of cake and snuffed candles filled the house, but Arthur wasn’t celebrating his fifth birthday in the kitchen with everyone else. He was in the living room, crying in Grandpa Nelson’s arms. He remembered the day perfectly. For weeks, he’d had it in his head that his father was going to come to his birthday party, and when he didn’t show, Arthur finally realized his dad was never coming back for him. Grandpa Nelson had held him until the tears dried up, and then he’d told him ridiculous old stories to make him feel better. Grandpa Nelson could always make the pain fade, even if the scars remained.
Then, Arthur was standing in the graveyard, watching as they lowered Grandpa Nelson’s pale blue coffin into the earth. The day was sunny and clear, and it had seemed to him the wrongest thing in the world. It should be raining at a funeral — it should be as gray and cold as their hearts. From then on, Grandma Nelson was the only family Arthur had left. And even though she did love him — in her own way — not so deep down, she resented him. The day Grandpa Nelson had died was the last day Arthur had felt happy.
Weeks … maybe months later, he no longer remembered: It was nighttime, and he was sleeping in bed. Suddenly, he cried out and sat up. His heart was racing — pounding so hard he thought it might explode. He’d forgotten this completely. But it was the first time he’d had that feeling like there were two hearts beating inside his chest. Grandma Nelson had grumpily rushed him to the emergency room, but by the time they got there, the sensation had stopped. Every test had said he was normal.
From then on, the few friends he'd had at school drifted away. His alienation from the other kids, from everyone, grew deeper. He became more lonely and awkward, and eventually rebellious. Steadily, he became convinced that he was supposed to be somewhere else and doing something else — though he’d had no idea what. He was so frustrated all the time.
Endless days of torturous boredom began to pass through his mind, but the warlock had some nerve if he thought he could make Arthur relive school. Those days were over. The anger and stubbornness and rebellion that had gotten him into so much trouble at school finally served its purpose: Arthur fought back.
Ignoring the series of moments from his past when he felt particularly lonely — rainy weekends cooped up alone in his tiny bedroom or by himself on the playground or alone at lunch — Arthur recalled Morgan telling him that they were friends. He pictured Lexi chasing pool balls around the Smoking Lounge and Vassalus fighting beside him in the training room. He thought of how happy the servitors all seemed to be with him in the Manse now. The warlock forced onto Arthur visions of Derek being lavished with Christmas gifts and attention, but Arthur smiled despite them. He smiled because he finally understood his destiny. He wasn't alone anymore; he would never be alone again.
A surge of joy cut through the warlock's illusion, and the real world came back into view. Arthur was once again standing in the Grand Hallway — and it was empty of shades and wraiths — they were all gone!
Then Arthur’s eyes fell onto what lay in front of him.
“No!” he screamed.
Riddled with cuts and scorch-marks, their silvery blood splattered everywhere, the servitors and Vassalus lay dead. Alongside them, Lexi gasped for breath. Her eyes locked onto Arthur.
He fell to his knees beside her and touched her head. “Lexi …”
“Arthur … why didn't you save us?”
Her eyes faded, and she breathed her last.
No — this couldn't be happening. Morgan! Where was Morgan?
Arthur spun, and there she lay, behind him: her perfect school uniform torn and specked with blood, her arms and legs scratched and burned, blood pooling beneath her, and worst of all, her head twisted at an awkward, unnatural angle. Her eyes were no longer storm-blue but a sullen, dreary gray as they stared lifelessly at the ceiling.
Chapter Fourteen
The Tetris Calm
“NO!” Arthur screamed.
No, no, no. This just couldn’t be. The shades must’ve killed them while the warlock was in his mind, but then where had the shades gone? Had Lexi managed to kill the last one before it killed her? The gems still hanging in the corners — the gems he had failed to destroy — blinked. Shadows appeared in the middle of the hallway, and turned as one towards him. They walked over the bodies of his friends without even noticing them, as if they were nothing.
This was all his fault.
He’d been so certain they could handle this, and he had failed. He had failed Valet, Arms, Cook, and Waiter. He had failed Vassalus and Lexi. And Morgan … he had promised himself he would get Morgan through this alive, that he would never let her get hurt …
Tears falling down his cheeks, he knelt beside her. The shadows could have him. He didn't care anymore. “Morgan, I’m so sorry.”
From out of nowhere, something hit him in the leg. “Ow!”
“Arthur!” Morgan said. “What’s wrong with you?!”
“Huh?” he said with surprise.
Arthur was on his knees behind Morgan. She was still alive, with her shield up. Shades and wraiths were closing in on them. The battle was still raging, yet here he was stroking his hand across the wood floor. It had all been a trick; the warlock was playing games with his mind. But now the spell was broken, and the demented vision was gone.
She kicked him again. “Snap out of it and get to shooting, moron!”
“Oh … right.”
Gasping to catch his breath, his knees trembling, his stomach knotted, Arthur shakily climbed to his feet. He aimed at the dark-hearts above, fired, and missed badly on what should’ve been a simple shot to make.
A half-dozen shades crashed into Morgan's shield. She screamed his name as it flickered. Finally, Arthur's instincts took over, and he fought for their lives. He fired again, and shattered all three dark-hearts. Their purple shards rained down on him and Morgan. Throughout the Grand Hallway, shades disappeared. The remaining shades on this end of the hallway crowded in on Arthur and Morgan, while a wraith patiently waited behind them.
Aiming at the dark-hearts in the opposite corner, Arthur stood on his tiptoes and took shots over Morgan, who had brought her shield down lower. But as more shades bashed against her shield, she bumped into him, throwing off his aim. He put his back firmly in the corner, and kept Morgan off him with a hand between her shoulder blades. (She snarled.) He reached as high as he could on his tiptoes, and fired again. The shades lunged into Morgan’s shield right as he pulled the trigger, and he missed again. Arthur groaned in frustration.
“Use a continuous beam,” Morgan snapped.
Arthur held down the trigger of one gun and swept it back and forth. The beam wasn't strong enough to break the gems itself, but it banged the fragile stones against the ceiling. The stones struck and shattered.
The remaining shades in the Grand Hallway disappeared.
The wraith that had been waiting patiently howled and charged forward. Morgan lowered her shield, and Arthur fired shots into it. But the hits to the maddened beast’s chest didn’t slow its charge; it was going to crash into them. Morgan would be driven back into Arthur, pinning him against the wall.
Arthur dove aside just as Morgan got her shield back up. The impact knocked her against the wall. Panting, she kept the shield up as the wraith continued to strike with its claws. Wounded and enraged, it hadn’t seen Arthur dive out from behind Morgan.
Arthur rolled to his feet and aimed both guns at the beast. “Hi there.”
The wraith turned and glared at him. Arthur fired two shots into its face, and it went down. As soon as it hit the floor, it turned to smoke.
Arthur glanced up. The numina and servitors were still fighting — and losing — against a pair of wraiths at the other end of the hallway. He took off running. “Mor
gan!”
“I see them,” she responded, as she dropped her shield and followed him.
Arthur fired his raygun down the hallway, distracting the two remaining wraiths. When he got close enough to aim, he stopped, focused, and fired. He hit one in the back of the head. It toppled forward — right onto Lexi, who sliced and diced it, her claws blurring, until it was nothing more than a fading wisp of inky, sulfurous smoke. Morgan force-punched the other wraith in the back of the knee, though Arthur was pretty sure she had aimed at its head. As it fell, Vassalus jumped onto it and tore its throat out.
Arthur rushed up to the others. “Is everyone okay?
“I would have to say no, chap,” Vassalus groaned. He licked at a wound on his side that was leaking silvery blood. “I have most certainly been better. This feels worse than it looks. Wraith claws are far from pleasant.”
“You can say that again, Buster Chumps,” Lexi said, panting. A jagged wound ran down her back. She flicked her head one way, then the other, trying to reach it, but it was no good.
“Who, Alexis, is Buster Chumps?” asked Vassalus.
“You don’t know?” she replied.
“How could I? I have only been alive for a day, and the knowledge imparted to us by the Lady Ylliara is far from complete.”
“Well, Buster Chumps is … well, you see, he’s …” She sighed painfully and lay down. “You know, I really don’t have a clue who Buster Chumps is. Maybe I just made him up.”
“Well,” Vassalus added, “you did get hit on the head a few times …”
Arthur squatted beside Lexi, examined her wound, and winced — this was his fault. If he hadn't let the warlock distract him for so long, they wouldn't have gotten hurt. “Lexi, this looks bad. What should I do? I don't know any first aid.” He shot a panicked look at Morgan. “Do you?”
With a worried expression on her face, Morgan shook her head.
“It's nothing a spot of tea and a nap wouldn't fix in a right jiffy,” said Lexi. “But seeing as how I can’t have tea before my nap … it might take a little longer than I’d like.”
The two numina looked really beat up, and their banter did nothing to make him feel better — Arthur knew they were just doing it so he wouldn’t worry too much. They had plenty of smaller injuries in addition to the big, ugly cuts. Vassalus was favoring one of his front paws, and Lexi kept shifting around like she couldn't get comfortable. Arthur was worried that she'd broken a rib.
Vassalus slumped down, miserably, beside Morgan.
“You’ve got burns on your muzzle,” Morgan said to him, her voice starting to quiver oddly. “They look pretty bad.”
“Nothing a night or so of sleep will not cure, my dear. Worry not for me.”
Arthur noticed then that Lexi had a burn on her side, as well as burns on her paws and her muzzle. He hadn’t recognized what they were at first, since even Lexi’s burn marks were monochrome.
“I didn’t think the wraiths could burn you,” Arthur said.
“The shades can’t,” Lexi replied with a grunt as she struggled to her feet before resettling in a different position, “but the wraiths can. Their claws are even worse, though.”
The servitors, with the exception of Valet, had all shuffled about ten feet away when Arthur had arrived. It suddenly occurred to him that if the numina had sustained this many injuries, the servitors had to be just as bad off, if not worse. They weren’t as strong or tough. What if the servitors weren’t just being deferential by stepping away? What if they were hiding something?
“What about you guys?” He waved for them to come over, not wanting to leave Lexi's side.
But they didn't hurry over. Instead, Cook and Arms stepped to the side so he could see Waiter slumped on the floor, unmoving. Horrified, Arthur jumped to his feet and rushed over. Waiter lay clutching a hand over his shoulder, near his neck, and his leg had been ripped up bad enough that blood pooled beneath him. When he saw Arthur, Waiter struggled into a sitting position.
“Waiter! Are you going to be okay?” Arthur asked.
Waiter shrugged.
Arthur reached out to help the servitor, but pulled back again, unsure what to do. “How — how can I help?”
Waiter shook his head.
“Isn't there anything we can do?” His voice cracked with desperation. “Anything at all?”
“Maybe … maybe we could bind the wound,” Morgan suggested.
“I'm sorry, but that will not work for us,” Vassalus said. “We are not flesh in the sense that the two of you are — not really. The servitors should heal in time … or else … well, there is only so much damage we can recover from … I should think.”
“Will he … will he die?” Arthur asked.
“Nothing for it but to wait and see.” Vassalus said bracingly. “Let them take him somewhere to rest, Master Paladin.”
Arthur nodded miserably. “Of course.”
Arms helped Cook and Valet lift Waiter, and they began to carry him slowly and carefully toward the Great Room. Once he tore his eyes off Waiter, Arthur noticed that Cook had cuts on both cheeks and a rip in her side that dripped silvery blood down her apron. Valet was limping badly, and his sword arm was soaked in blood. Even Arms wasn't unscathed. He had tons of small rips and tears all over his uniform, but at least he wasn't obviously bleeding anywhere.
Arthur hoped they’d all be okay. He desperately wished that there was something he could do for them. A night of rest had healed Valet after they had fought the monster in the training room; he had to believe some rest would cure the others as well.
Morgan suddenly muttered something under her breath, and then knelt down on the floor and grasped her stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“What’s the matter?” Arthur asked her.
Trembling, Morgan shook her head and choked back a gag.
“Nerves,” Vassalus said. “The danger has passed; the adrenaline is gone. Not everyone … not even the most adventurous of souls … is as born to this as you were, Master Paladin.”
Lexi nodded and said with a yawn, “You were made for this, Arthur Primus. And without you, we would all be lost.”
Arthur glanced back down the hallway toward the door at the end and thought of how the warlock had taken over his mind. Only a good kick by Morgan had brought him to his senses and saved them. Without her noticing that he’d faded out, the vision the warlock had used to strike fear into his heart would’ve come true.
That whole plan of charging down the hallway … it was stupid. What had he been thinking, charging out into the middle of the hallway like that? He’d been so sure of himself, but it was pure luck that no one had died — and he wasn’t certain Waiter was going to make it. That could just as easily have been Lexi … or Morgan.
Arthur suddenly couldn't get enough air. It felt like Derek was sitting on his chest, pinning him down like he so often had done. But Derek was gone; Arthur had left him to die. Some hero he was. If the others were depending on him, they were all doomed. Lexi's last words in the warlock’s vision replayed in his mind. Arthur ... why didn't you save us?
He started sweating and shaking as panic erupted within him. If the warlock could play with his mind that easily while still trapped behind a protective rune, then what would he do once they came face-to-face? Everything the warlock had said was true: he had been abandoned, he didn’t have any training, and he wasn’t prepared for any of this.
“Arthur, are you okay?” Morgan asked him, her voice weak. She still looked like she might throw up.
“I’m not the Multiversal Paladin,” he said dully. It was hard to look at the others now, especially Morgan. He kept seeing her broken and lifeless body on the floor.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“The Aetheria only accepted me because I'm the last Paladin left. My father abandoned me because he knew I was never going to be good enough.”
“Arthur …” Morgan sighed, “that’s a load of crap.”
&nbs
p; “Remember when I zoned out, down at the other end of the hallway? It was because I heard the warlock’s voice inside my head. He spoke to me and told me that —”
Lexi interrupted him. “It doesn’t matter what he said, dearie. You are the Multiversal Paladin. You can — and will — defeat him.”
“Don’t forget you’ve got something important your father didn’t have,” Morgan added matter-of-factly. “You’ve got me!”
A hint of a smile formed on Arthur’s face — then vanished.
The warlock had threatened to kill Morgan. And he would, given the chance.
Something snapped inside Arthur.
The world shrank to a tunnel of shadows. And once again, it seemed that he had two hearts thundering within his chest. Blood pounded in his ears, blocking out all other sounds, as Arthur’s eyes locked onto the door of the Inner Sanctum and the glowing sigil that kept the evil in that room from killing them all right now. If he had to die, so be it. But he was not letting anyone else get hurt because of him. Ever since Grandpa Nelson had passed, Arthur had felt like he'd been fighting against the boring life he felt trapped in. For the first time, he had something to fight for. He wasn't alone anymore; he had friends — real friends. And he was going to protect them.
Gritting his teeth, Arthur drew his rayguns and started toward the Inner Sanctum.
“It’s time to end this.”
Morgan stepped in front of him. “You can’t take him on now, moron.”
“I have to.”
Lexi bit into the cuff of Arthur’s jeans, and tugged him backward.
“Morgan, get out of my way! Lexi, let go of me!” Neither budged. “I have to face him — alone — now — before he hurts any of you to get to me.”
“You’re not ready to face him,” Morgan said. “And we don’t even have a plan.”
He shook his leg, trying to make Lexi let go. “You heard Lady Ylliara; I don’t have much time.”
The Shadowed Manse Page 12
