“And put a scald on that, okay, Gio?” D.J. called out.
“Extra crispy on the pepperoni,” the pizzamaker said, jotting it down in his book.
“Listen, you guys,” Devon said. “I’ve got to talk to you about something.”
“Uh oh,” Natalie said. “Please don’t let it be about monsters or going to hell.”
Devon smiled wanly. “Well, if you don’t want to hear…”
“What is it, Devon?” Cecily asked. “And why haven’t you shared it with me?”
“Well, for six out of the past ten days, you haven’t been speaking to me.”
She pouted. “I said I was sorry.”
“Will you all just let him talk?” Marcus asked.
Devon settled back in the booth. “I might as well just lay it on the line. Something’s trying to open the Hell Hole.”
“Is it Jackson Muir?” Cecily asked, suddenly terrified.
“No,” Devon told her. “It’s the spirit of a Nightwing from the sixteenth century. Isobel the Apostate.”
“Isobel?” Natalie asked.
“A woman?” Cecily seemed fascinated, almost excited by the idea. “Well, cool.”
“Cool?” Devon leaned across the table at her. “This isn’t fun and games, Cecily. We’re talking major destruction here.”
“You can handle the situation,” she said. “You did last time. I have complete confidence in you.”
“Thank you most kindly. However, may I point out that Isobel has been around for five hundred years? I think she may know a few tricks I don’t.”
“Why do you think it’s her?” D.J. asked.
“There’s been a lot of different clues. Rolfe’s confirmed it.”
“Have you seen her?” Marcus asked.
“Sort of. I sensed she was in the East Wing.”
“Did you check the portal?” Natalie asked.
“Yes,” Devon said. “It was still bolted.”
D.J. leaned his head on his elbow looking up at Devon. “And no sign of this Isobel?”
Devon had to admit there wasn’t. “But I know it’s Isobel that we’re dealing with. I’ve heard her laughter, several times.”
“So what do we do?” Cecily asked.
“I’m not sure. Just be on guard for now. But I wanted to let all of you know.”
Marcus let out a long sigh. “Feels pretty frustrating knowing someone is going to try to open the Hell Hole and not being able to do anything about it.”
Devon nodded. “As soon as Rolfe gets back, I need to talk with him. I can only imagine he’s gone off in search of someone who could help. A Guardian perhaps, or maybe even another Nightwing.”
“Another Nightwing?” D.J. asked, his eyes lighting up.
“Yeah.” Devon smiled. “It would be so cool to learn from somebody who actually knows all about sorcery and who isn’t afraid to talk about it.”
Natalie shuddered. “I just never want to see another one of those demons as long as I live. I still have nightmares from the last time.”
Gio arrived with their pizza and they devoured it in less than ten minutes, so they ordered another. D.J. got cheese on his gold chin piercing and Cecily told him he was gross. They complained about the unfairness of Mr. Weatherby’s grading system and gossiped about Jessica Milardo and her new boyfriend Justin O’Leary, who were caught making out in the girls’ lav. D.J. told them he was thinking of giving Flo a new paint job in the spring, and Natalie announced she couldn’t decide whether or not she wanted to go out for cheerleading again after this year.
It was in moments like these that Devon could forget, for a little while, about the things that had haunted him ever since he was six years old, forget that he was a Sorcerer of the ancient and noble Order of the Nightwing, the one-hundredth generation from Sargon the Great. For just a few, fleeting moments, he could pretend he was just an ordinary kid, with ordinary problems like grades and teachers. But then something always happened to jog his mind back, and he remembered the truth.
There are demons out there that want to force me to do their bidding.
“Listen, man,” D.J. said, as they were heading back to his car. Unfortunately their New Year’s celebration had to end well before midnight. Mrs. Crandall had insisted they be home by ten o’clock. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Whoa,” Devon said, smirking. “One never knows where that might lead.”
D.J. laughed. “I’m serious. I think you ought to take me in to check out that portal in the East Wing.”
Devon stopped in his tracks. “What for?”
“Just to see if I can pick up any clues you haven’t.”
Devon frowned. “Deej, I’m not sure it would do any good. What could you see that I didn’t?”
“Who knows?” D.J. leaned into him, stopping him from following the rest of the group to the car. “Come on. How about it? Let me see the Hell Hole, okay?”
“D.J., even I can’t get in there without a key. How am I supposed to let you in?”
D.J.’s face was intense. “I want to see it. Come on, Devon! After all we’ve been through together, after all I had to deal with while Jackson Muir was on the loose, I would think you’d trust me enough—”
“It’s not a matter of trust,” Devon said. “I just can’t get in there—”
“We can break in.” D.J.’s eyes danced. “Believe me, I could do it. In junior high, I broke into more places than I’d ever own up to.”
“No, D.J.” Devon pushed around him to join the others at the car. “It’s too dangerous. There’s no reason for you to go in there.”
On the way back to Ravenscliff, D.J. was quiet. No one noticed but Devon, as D.J. was often quiet while the girls and Marcus yapped on and on. But Devon detected a dark cloud hanging over his friend’s head, a roiling, angry energy exuding from his body.
What is going on? Devon asked himself. Is this a side to D.J. I’ve never seen, part and parcel with his crazy crush on Morgana?
Or is it, Devon feared, something else—something far more sinister than the swing of a teenaged boy’s mood?
That night, just as the old year turned into the new, Devon had his most intense dream yet about Morgana.
“Oh, my love,” she said, covering his face with kisses. “How much I want you. Need you.”
She was so breathtakingly beautiful. She wore a sheer black lace nightgown. Devon was aroused in a way he’d never been before. He felt at the peak of some high precipice, waiting to jump into the darkness of her eyes.
“Come away with me, Devon! Leave this place! Come with me! Come!”
“Yes—oh, yes, I will—yes—yes—yes!”
He sat up in bed with a shout. His whole body was shuddering.
“Man oh man,” he muttered. “What just happened?”
Sweat dripped from his brow.
“Oh, man,” he said.
He sat there for several minutes, just panting.
Then he got up and took a shower.
A few days later, a Saturday, Devon got up early. The house was quiet and still, draped in the blue shadows of early morning, a few highlights of pink reflecting on the walls. No one else was awake yet.
Or so Devon thought.
“Hey,” he said, starting down the stairs and spying Alexander hiding in the shadows of the foyer. “What are you doing down there?”
The boy suddenly ran to the foot of the stairs. “Devon, stop! Don’t go any further!”
“Why?”
“Just wait,” the boy shouted frantically. He bent down quickly over the bottom step and seemed to retrieve something. “Okay, now you can walk down the rest of the way.”
Devon did, coming to stand over the boy. “What did you just do, Alexander?”
“Nothing. I just thought—thought I saw something on the stairs.”
“Saw something? Like what?”
“I don’t know.” The boy hesitated. “I thought it was a m
ouse, but I was wrong.”
“A mouse?”
“So I was wrong!” Alexander seemed anxious to move off the subject. “How come you’re up so early? Usually the only one who gets up this early is Morgana.”
“I’ve got a better question,” Devon said. “What are you doing up so early?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, Alexander. If you’re going to lie to me, you can do better than that.”
“I’m not lying.” The boy folded his chubby little arms over his chest. “So are you staying down here or going back up to your room?”
Devon eyed the boy slyly. “You don’t want me down here, do you, Alexander? What are you up to?”
“I told you. Nothing.”
“Yeah, whatever. I’m going into the kitchen to get some cereal. Want to join me?”
Alexander shook his head. “No. I’m gonna—I’m gonna go back upstairs.”
Devon smirked. “Good idea.”
He watched as the boy started slowly up the stairs. Devon had no idea what the boy is up to, but he had that old malicious look in his eyes, the look that Devon had become so wary of in his first days in this house.
Is everyone freaking out around here? Alexander? D.J.?
Me?
In the kitchen, Devon poured some milk over a bowl of Frosted Flakes and settled down at the table. He was glad no one else is up yet. He’d had yet another dream about Morgana. Dad had told him that his hormones would start kicking in around now, as they did for all boys, and that they could make you think and act crazy at times. That was all this was: he had a stupid crush on an older woman who—
Who said she loved me.
Devon put his spoon down. Suddenly his throat was tight and he couldn’t swallow his Frosted Flakes.
That was when he heard the crash from the foyer and someone shout out in pain.
He dashed out there as quickly as he can. He found Morgana sprawled face first on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. Alexander was scampering down from the landing.
“She fell, Devon!” the boy shouted. “She might be dead!”
Devon was at Morgana’s side. “She’s not dead,” he said. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
But her face was banged up, and her lip was bleeding. She seemed to be in shock as Devon helped her to her feet.
“Morgana,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“I—I think so,” she said.
He led her into the parlor and helped her sit on the couch. “Stay here. Let me go get some ice.”
Alexander was in the doorway. “Is she going to be scarred for life?”
Devon grabbed the boy’s ear. “You come with me.”
“Ow, you’re hurting me.”
He pulled the boy into the kitchen. While popping ice cubes out of the tray into a dishcloth, Devon grilled Alexander. “Did you push her? Don’t lie to me, Alexander. I’ll know if you’re lying. You were up to something when I saw you.”
“I did not push her,” Alexander insists, folding those chubby arms over his chest again.
Devon moved past him and hurried back to the parlor. “Here,” he said, pressing the ice gently against Morgana’s cheek. “Hold this so we can keep down the swelling.”
“Oh, Devon, you’re so kind.”
“Are you okay otherwise? Looks like you have a scrape on your elbow. Any pain anywhere?”
She managed a smile. “I think I’m going to be fine. I was more in shock than pain.”
Devon sighed, looking down at her. “Did you lose your footing? Is that how you fell?”
She looked at him deliberately. “It felt as if I tripped over something.”
Devon turned around to glare again at Alexander, who looked up at him with angelically innocent eyes.
“I suppose I should go find Edward, and let him know what’s happened,” Devon said.
“No,” Alexander said quickly. “She’s okay. Why do you have to go get my father?”
“Yes, Devon,” Morgana said. “I’d appreciate it if you did go find Edward. Bring him here.”
Devon nodded. He hated getting his little friend in trouble, but he was convinced Alexander had something to do with Morgana’s accident. And seeing her in pain had made Devon angry. He shook his head at the young boy as he walked past him and hurried up the stairs.
But Edward Muir was not in his room. Devon couldn’t find him anywhere, and concluded he must either be out or in his mother’s room, where Devon was forbidden to enter unless invited. So he just headed back down to the parlor, concerned that Morgana’s injuries might have gotten worse while he was away from her.
He was on the landing overlooking the foyer when he heard her voice from the parlor. And Alexander’s, too.
“I hate you!” the boy was saying. “I’m going to tell my father not to marry you! I’m going to tell him that I’ll run away if he does!”
Devon paused on the stairs, listening.
“You little skunk,” Morgana said, her voice low and mean. “You tried to kill me, and I won’t forget that.”
“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”
“I hate you, too, you little skunk!”
Devon figured he’d better get in there. He hurried back into the parlor and seemed to surprise both of them. Morgana, still sitting on the couch, looked away. Alexander ran to Devon and threw his arms around his waist. “She put a curse on me! She’s a witch!”
“Stop that, Alexander,” Devon said, though he had to admit he was taken somewhat aback by the ferocity he heard in Morgana’s voice. He looked at her. “Edward’s not in his room.”
She smiled. She was her soft, gentle self again. “I’m fine now, Devon.” Her eyes found his. “Thanks to you.”
He managed a small smile in return.
“Edward must be with his mother,” Morgana said, standing. “I’ll go upstairs.”
“Are you okay to walk?”
She nodded. “I’m fine, Devon. Really. Your concern means the world to me.” She kissed him on the cheek on her way out.
“Ewww,” Alexander said. “Wipe your cheek.”
“Why do you hate her so much?”
“She put a curse on me. You should’ve heard her yelling at me.”
“I did.” Devon looked down at the boy. “Empty your pockets. Let me see what you have in there.”
Whether it was the Voice telling him to look or merely a hunch of his own—and maybe, after all, there wasn’t much difference between the two—Devon felt the boy’s pockets would produce something interesting. Alexander resisted at first, but Devon told him he’d look himself if he had to. Finally the boy reached down inside and pulled out a length of fishing line. Clear, strong, and nearly invisible.
Devon snatched it from his hand. “You strung this across the step, didn’t you? That’s what you removed when you saw me coming downstairs. Then you put it back so Morgana would trip.”
“Okay, so I did. And go ahead—tell my father! She’s a witch! And if I don’t stop her, nobody will!”
The boy rushed out of the room. Devon just stood there, staring down at the fishing line in his hand.
Cecily wanted him to go shopping with her at the mall near Bangor, but Devon was in no frame of mind to go trekking through Sephora and Abercrombie & Fitch. So Cecily called Marcus and Natalie instead, knowing full well that D.J. would refuse, and got Bjorn to drive them. “Try to stall any demon invasion until we get back, okay?” she asked. “I don’t want to miss out on any action.”
“You’re taking this far too lightly,” Devon told her.
“If I walked around here so serious all the time the way you do, I’d go crazy. So we live in a haunted house. Deal with it.” She hurried outside as Bjorn honked the Cadillac’s horn.
Devon wished he could pretend to be light and carefree the way Cecily did. But ever since the encounter with Alexander that morning, he’d felt the temperature rising in the house and the pressure
starting to close in from the walls. Something’s happening, he thought. Whether it has to do with Isobel or whoever it is that’s locked in the basement, I don’t know. Maybe it’s all part of the same thing. Whatever it is, I’ve got to talk with Rolfe.
He hoped that Rolfe was back from wherever he’d gone.
He was getting dressed when he heard a sound. But it wasn’t a sound from anywhere nearby. Devon listened intently. Scratching, banging—and it was coming from the tower. Just as before, his ears had suddenly become super-attuned to noises from great distances, even through brick walls. He looked quickly out of his window. It was shaping up to be a beautiful winter day, with a sharp, crisp, clear blue sky. But the sunlight revealed no sign of any motion in the tower windows. Still, Devon was certain: the sounds he heard are coming from somewhere inside that crenellated structure.
It was the first time he’d heard or seen anything suspicious in the tower since Bjorn had taken whoever had been living there down into the basement. Devon tensed: the tower was where he’d first heard the mocking laughter of Isobel the Apostate. Could this have been it? His showdown with her over the Hell Hole?
But as he concentrated, he began to make out an image of something far less formidable.
“D.J.,” he whispered, and willed himself to disappear.
He reappeared in a thicket of evergreen bushes surrounding the base of the tower. D.J. was jostling a window, trying to break in.
“Uh, excuse me,” Devon said, tapping his friend on the shoulder.
D.J. gasped and spun around. “Dude! You scared the smoke right outta my nostrils!”
“What are you doing?”
“Devon, you wouldn’t help me. I had to try. I have to get into the East Wing!”
“Why?”
D.J. gripped him by his shoulders. His eyes were wide, the pupils dilated. “I’ve got to see the Hell Hole!”
“What is wrong with you?”
“Devon, we’ve got to check the Hell Hole! I’ve got to see it!”
“I told you, no, D.J.!”
“Let me inside!” The teenager’s voice was low and raspy, nothing like his own. “I’ve got to get in there!”
“No!”
Demon Witch (Book Two - The Ravenscliff Series) Page 16
