Demon Witch (Book Two - The Ravenscliff Series)

by Geoffrey Huntington

  “Hey buddy,” Devon said.

  Alexander was scrunched down in his beanbag chair reading comic books. “Hey,” he replied, barely lifting his head in greeting.

  “Why so glum?”

  The boy just shrugged.

  “I heard your aunt say she was talking with the school. Looks like you’re going to start in a couple of weeks.”

  Once, several months before Devon arrived at Ravenscliff, Alexander had attended a prestigious boarding school in Connecticut. But he was expelled after setting fire to the curtains in the cafeteria. Since then, the boy had just hung around the house, reading comic books, eating too many cupcakes, and getting sucked down the mouths of Hell Holes. Finally Mrs. Crandall decided the best thing was to send him to the local Misery Point public grammar school.

  “I’m sure I’ll hate it,” Alexander said.

  Devon stooped down beside him. “Not necessarily.”

  “I hate being a new kid.”

  “I do, too, but it worked out okay for me. Look at the friends I made. D.J., Marcus, Natalie…”

  Alexander just shrugged again.

  “Something’s bugging you,” Devon said. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on. I thought our days of keeping secrets from each other were over.”

  Alexander put down the comic book and looked Devon in the face. “I hate her,” he said plainly.

  “Who?” Devon asked. But he was pretty sure he knew.

  “Morgana.”

  “Why, Alexander? She is so nice. She really wants to be your friend.”

  “She’s taking my father away from me.”

  Devon shook his head. “No, she’s not. She wants you all to be a family.”

  Alexander just flopped back in the beanbag. “I hate her. I wish she was dead.”

  “Whoa, that’s pretty intense, dude.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “What do you have against her?” Devon asked.

  The boy said nothing further, as if Devon couldn’t possibly understand.

  Only then did Devon consider something. “Hey,” he said. “How often have you seen your Dad since he’s been back?”

  Alexander didn’t reply.

  “I thought you guys were going to Boston—”

  “It’ll never happen.” Alexander sat up. “I hardly see him at all.”

  Devon knew this was the real issue—the real reason why the boy resented Morgana so much. After missing his father so fiercely, Alexander had been left out in the cold, ignored by the father he adored. It was easy to blame Morgana, but Devon knew it was Edward Muir’s own selfishness that was the true cause of the boy’s unhappiness.

  Alexander stood and walked over to the window. “I wish I knew where my mother was. I’d write to her and tell her not to let my father divorce her. That way he could never marry Morgana.”

  Devon came up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He really felt for Alexander. He knew how important a father’s love was. Everything Devon was today he directly credited to his dad. His father had been the exact opposite of Alexander’s—devoted, caring, compassionate—even if, as it turned out, Ted March hadn’t been Devon’s biological parent. Still, he had more credibility as a father than Edward Muir could ever attain.

  “Hey,” Alexander said, looking out the window to the driveway below. “Isn’t that Rolfe’s car?”

  Devon looked. Sure enough, it was Rolfe’s Porsche. What could he be doing there? Devon knew Rolfe was persona non grata at Ravenscliff.

  It must be very important, Devon thought. He must be here to give me some information.

  But if he hoped to see Rolfe privately, those hopes were quickly dashed. Alexander let out a whoop and ran out of the playroom, heading for the stairs. The boy thought Rolfe was pretty cool, and somewhere, deep down, even if he couldn’t recall all the details, Devon was sure Alexander knew that Rolfe had played a part in saving him from the Madman.

  “Hey, wait up,” Devon called after him. “Don’t let everybody know he’s here.”

  But it was too late. As soon as they emerged onto the landing overlooking the foyer, they saw Rolfe had already encountered another member of the household.

  Edward Muir had a pistol leveled straight at Rolfe’s head, and he was grinning.

  “I should have done this years ago,” Edward said, and pulled the trigger.

  Devon screamed.

  Crying in the Night

  “No!” Devon shouted, suddenly leaping like an antelope over the banister and down to the first floor below.

  Edward Muir leaned his head back in laughter, cackling wildly. Rolfe still stood glaring at him, arms crossed over his chest.

  The gun wasn’t loaded.

  “Brave little Nightwing boy to the rescue,” Edward said, laughing. “No need to get your powers all aflutter.”

  “You haven’t changed, Edward,” Rolfe said.

  Devon caught his breath as Alexander came running down the stairs. “That was cool, Devon. Do it again!”

  “Go up to your room, Alexander,” his father ordered.

  “No. I want to see Rolfe. Can I go for a ride in your car?”

  Rolfe tousled the boy’s hair.

  Edward Muir seethed. “The last thing in the world I’d ever permit is for you to get into an automobile with this man. Now, go upstairs, Alexander!”

  The boy pouted, but he obeyed.

  “Now state your business, Montaigne, and get out of here.”

  “I came to see Devon.”

  “It’s forbidden,” Edward told him.

  “By whom?” Rolfe asked.

  “By me.” This was the voice of Amanda Muir Crandall, who, in her usual catlike manner, had appeared without any of them noticing. She stood over them, glaring down from the landing. “Devon is my ward, Rolfe, and you know I have given strict orders that there be no communication between the two of you.”

  She came down the stairs, elegant and grand. She wore a black floor-length dress and a long strand of gleaming white pearls. All eyes watched her. Her brother backed off a bit, surrendering to the authority of his sister. Mrs. Crandall held her chin high and gathered herself up imperiously to stand in front of Rolfe.

  “As beautiful as ever, Amanda,” Rolfe said, and Devon thought he was being sincere.

  “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Rolfe,” she said.

  “Please,” Devon said. “If he came to see me, it must be important. Something about Isobel—”

  “Isobel?” Mrs. Crandall asked, looking over at him.

  “Isobel the Apostate. She was a Nightwing from the sixteenth century who—”

  “I know perfectly well who Isobel the Apostate is,” Mrs. Crandall said, cutting him off. “What possible connection could she have to Mr. Montaigne?”

  “Maybe if you let me talk, I’d tell you,” Rolfe said.

  Her eyes were cold and full of hatred. There were so many years of bitterness toward this man she once loved. “You will do no such thing,” Mrs. Crandall said. “Once again, I am asking you to leave.”

  “I’ve seen a vision of Isobel the Apostate,” Devon blurted out. “She’s trying to open the Hell Hole.”

  “Isobel the Apostate has been dead for nearly five hundred years,” Mrs. Crandall snapped.

  “Death didn’t stop Jackson Muir from coming back,” Devon reminded her.

  “Enough of this. I forbid this kind of talk. Nothing can happen here. The portal cannot be opened. We have seen to that.”

  “How have you seen to that, Amanda?” Rolfe asked. “How is that possible? You have no powers. Only Devon—”

  She steamed. “Do I need to call the police to force you off my property?”

  Rolfe sighed. Devon could tell he wasn’t going to press further. There was only so far one could go with Amanda Muir Crandall before she inevitably won. Rolfe turned to leave, but not before making eye contact
with Devon. They’d have to meet later, away from these hostile forces.

  But just as Rolfe opened the door, he ran almost headfirst into Morgana, who was coming in.

  “Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry!”

  “Please,” Rolfe said, clearly surprised. He immediately laid on the charm. “The blame is entirely mine, for not seeing such a beautiful lady.”

  She blushed. “I’m Morgana Green.”

  Edward Muir was suddenly behind Rolfe. “And my fiancee.”

  “Oh?” Rolfe looked at him, a wicked little smile playing with his lips. “Does your wife know you have a fiancee?”

  Edward grabbed Morgana by the arm and pulled her inside. She seemed frightened and confused, and Devon felt sorry for her, yet again.

  “That’s none of your business, Montaigne.”

  “Edward, you’re hurting my arm,” Morgana cried.

  He ignored her. “Go on, Montaigne. Get out of here.”

  “The lady said you were hurting her arm,” Rolfe said, growing angry.

  “What I do in my house is my business,” Edward shouted, his face turning red.

  “Edward!” Morgana seemed to be in terrible pain as he kept his grip on her arm. “You’re hurting me!”

  “Let her go,” Rolfe demanded.

  “How dare you give me orders?”

  “Edward, please!” Morgana cried.

  Devon hardly saw what came next, as it happened so fast: Rolfe hauled off and punched Edward right in the jaw. Edward flew backward, landing hard on his butt.

  “I’m calling the police!” Mrs. Crandall shouted.

  “What lie will you tell them this time?” Rolfe yelled at her. He turned to Morgana. “I hope your arm is all right, ma’am. I’m sorry to have met you under such circumstances. If ever you need a friend, and in this house I suppose that to be inevitable, please remember that my name is Rolfe Montaigne.”

  With that, he was out the door.

  Only then did Edward Muir stagger to his feet and make a great show of seeming to run after Rolfe. Morgana was begging him tearfully to stay with her. “Please, Edward, no more fighting,” she cried.

  He took her in her arms. “Darling, that man is the personification of evil. He killed two young people from this house, years ago, and spent years in prison for it.”

  She looked toward the door. “He seemed so—kind.”

  “Devon,” Mrs. Crandall said, “I’m sorry you had to witness that unfortunate incident. But perhaps now you see the kind of a man Rolfe Montaigne really is. Violent, unpredictable.”

  “He was defending Morgana,” Devon said.

  “She needed no defense against me,” Edward huffed. “Come along, darling.” He escorted Morgana toward the study.

  Mrs. Crandall approached Devon. “Rolfe has filled your mind with nonsense. I assure you there is no need for fear in this house. The sorcery is over.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Isn’t it?”

  “You know it’s not,” he told her. “You saw the attack in my room. And there have been others.”

  “Then you must have been practicing your powers again, Devon, when I have forbidden it. That’s the only thing that would stir up the creatures.”

  “I told you. I’ve heard Isobel the Apostate here. And I’ve seen her now, too. In the East Wing.”

  He could see that his words troubled her. But she wouldn’t ever give him the satisfaction of admitting that. “Go do your homework, Devon. We’ll talk about this later. Right now I’m too upset about Rolfe.”

  She moved off, gathering her long dress in her hands and walking quickly up the stairs.

  They’re like ostriches with their heads in the sand, Devon thought, watching her go. What’s it going to take to convince them? A demon sitting down with us for breakfast? The house in flames? Cecily facedown in a pool of her own blood?

  Devon just let out a long sigh and headed up to his room.

  With his door safely closed, he tried willing himself to disappear and reappear at Rolfe’s. Whatever information Rolfe had tried to deliver must have been very important, given that he risked coming to Ravenscliff in the open. But Devon’s powers didn’t work, and the Voice said simply, Not this night. Devon grumbled. If only there was cell reception out here on the cliffs, he could have called or texted Rolfe. But that line of communication was out. So, for the moment, Devon did what the other boys in his class—the ones who didn’t have to worry about demons and Hell Holes—were surely doing: studying for a history quiz.

  That night, he dreamed again of Morgana, as he had every night since she arrived. In this dream, she came to him with tears in her eyes, tears which he kissed off her face, before moving his lips down and finding her lips and kissing her deep. The dream went on this way all night, until he felt her softly stroking his face—

  “Devon,” she said.

  “Oh,” he moaned, taking her hand and kissing her palm. “You’re… so… beautiful…”

  “Oh, Devon, what a sweet thing to say.”

  He kept kissing her palm.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been so moody.”

  He opened his eyes. It was Cecily—sitting on his bed—and Cecily whose palm he’d been kissing.

  “Cecily!” he shouted, suddenly self-conscious, sitting up in bed. “Cecily!”

  She smiled. “You were dreaming about me. You are so sweet, Devon.”

  He gulped. “Yeah. God, what time is it?”

  “Time for you to get up if you don’t want to be late for school. I just came in to apologize for the past few days. I’ve been so irrational.”

  He sighed. He felt sweaty, and ran his hand through his hair. “It’s okay. It happens.”

  “I don’t know what it is about Morgana that just makes me so hostile toward her. She’s really perfectly nice. I don’t know why I feel the way I do.”

  Devon was conscious of morning breath. He hopped out of bed, hurrying over to his bathroom where he brushed his teeth. Cecily stood in the doorway watching him.

  “Alexander’s been really hostile to her, too,” he said, between spits of toothpaste. “But I figured out why. Edward has barely spent any time at all with the kid since being back, and Alexander blames Morgana.”

  Cecily nodded. “Uncle Edward is unusually devoted to her. What is it about her? D.J.’s got that stupid crush, too.”

  “Who can explain hormones?” Devon tried to laugh, but his dream remained still too vivid for him. “Hey, Cecily. I’ve got to shower now. I’ll see you downstairs.”

  She smiled. “Okay.” She reached over and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for calling me beautiful.”

  He managed a small smile in return. If she only knew…

  After she was gone, he hopped into the shower. Cecily was right to wonder just what it was about Morgana that had nearly every male who met her worshiping at her feet. Even Rolfe seemed dazzled. She was beautiful, to be sure, but it was more than that. It was as if she was the most beautiful woman in the whole world—the most beautiful woman who had ever lived.

  “Not as if,” Devon said dreamily under the shower. “She is.”

  “I can’t get her out of mind,” D.J. said at school, leaning against his car, smoking a cigarette.

  “You really ought to quit, you know,” Devon told him. “Not to sound parental, but cigarettes are pretty nasty.”

  D.J. grunted. “I tried. Then I got caught up with these feelings about Morgana. Dude, she’s all I think about.”

  “I know.” Devon noticed Cecily and Natalie approaching. “Don’t bring it up around Cess. It’ll just get her started.”

  “Will you give us a ride home after school today, D.J.?” Natalie asked.

  “He may have errands to run for his lady love,” Cecily said, rolling her eyes.

  “I’ll be glad to drive you all home,” D.J. said, making a face at Cecily. “Flo is at your service.”

  “Good,” Natalie said. “Maybe we can go to Gio’s. We ha
ven’t been there in ages.”

  “That’s cool, too,” D.J. said, showing Cecily just how agreeable he can be.

  The first bell rang. They all headed off to different classes. Devon thought he did very well on his history text, naming all of contenders to the throne of Henry the Seventh. He kept checking his phone to see if Rolfe had replied to his text. As soon as he’d gotten to school and saw he had enough bars, he’d blasted off a message to the older man. what do you have to tell me? he’d asked. But so far, no response from Rolfe.

  In the corridor between classes, Devon stopped at his locker to get his geometry book. He was joined by Marcus, who had the locker next to his.

  “How’s my face today?” Marcus asked.

  Devon looked. “Clean. No pentagram.”

  “Why do you think it appears sometimes and not always?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll start keeping a record of when I see it, and see if the dates mean anything.”

  “Cool.”

  “Excuse me, Devon March?”

  Devon turned. It was one of the secretaries from the office.

  “Yes?”

  “This was just dropped off for you.” The woman handed him a white envelope. “It’s marked Urgent.”

  Marcus looked over at it. “What could it be?”

  “It must be from Rolfe,” Devon guessed. “It must be about what he came to tell me last night.”

  He tore the envelope open. But the note inside was not from Rolfe.

  It was from Morgana.

  Dear Devon,

  Please meet me at Stormy Harbor after you get out of school. It’s very important. Keep this just between us, okay?

  Morgana

  Marcus had read the note over Devon’s shoulder. “What does she want?”

  “I don’t know.” Devon looked up from the note. “Look, Marcus. Don’t tell Cecily or D.J. about this, okay? They’re all heading over to Gio’s after school. Go with them and tell them that I can’t go, that I have to do something else.”