by Funaro, Greg
“I understand, sir. All this son business is new to me too.”
Father chuckled and checked his watch. “All right, then. Time to cast our line.”
And just like that my fear returned in a rush. We stood up on the stone and Father slipped a small bottle of white powder from his coat pocket.
“As with most evil spirits,” he said, handing me the bottle, “your standard demon will only manifest itself in visible form if sufficiently provoked. The itching powder in this bottle should annoy them enough to do just that.”
“Itching powder, sir?”
“Upon my command, you’re to fling some down there at the opening of the hell mouth. I’ll take care of the rest with the demon catcher.”
“But I don’t see any opening, sir. Just the grass and a patch of dirt.”
“Evil most often enters our world unseen to the naked eye. You may feel a sudden drop in temperature, and may perhaps hear a ringing in your ears, but I’m afraid that’s the only warning you’ll get that the hell mouth has opened.”
I swallowed hard, and Father produced from the demon catcher a pair of necklaces, each of which held a large milky-green stone. Father slipped one of the necklaces around my neck, and then the other around his own.
“Now take heed, lad,” he said. “The warding stones on these necklaces should protect us from demonic possession. However, in the unlikely event one of us does become possessed, the other is to knock him squarely on the head with the demon catcher. That should set things right again. Understand?”
“You mean, a demon can actually get inside a bloke’s body?”
“Unfortunately, yes. And if that happens, believe me, a thump on the noggin will be the least of your worries.”
Summoning my courage, I took a deep breath and stiffened my spine.
“That’s a good lad,” Father said. “Now uncork that bottle and get ready to toss the itching powder at the hell mouth upon my command.”
Father minded his watch as I stared unblinkingly at the ground. “Nibble, nibble,” he whispered finally, and a cold, moaning breeze wove its way among the stones. At the same time, my ears began to ring so loudly that I could barely hear Father when he said, “Now!”
I flung a dash of itching powder at the desired spot, and a low, inhuman whine began rising up all around us.
“What’s happening?” I cried. If the hell mouth had opened, I certainly couldn’t tell by looking at the ground.
“There,” Father said, and a handful of demons materialized in the grass at the base of the stone. Their pint-size bodies were entirely black, but their eyes and the insides of their black-fanged mouths blazed with orange fire as they squirmed about, frantically scratching themselves all over.
Suddenly, one of the demons cried, “It’s the boy what done this!” Upon which the whole lot of them turned their orange eyes on me. After all, I was the one standing there with the bottle of itching powder.
The demons howled with rage and flew up at me in a single mass—their hideous, snarling faces hovering just inches away from my own. My entire body froze—and I tried in vain to scream—but then the demons caught sight of the amulet about my neck, and they shrank back in terror.
“The stone!” they cried as one, and in a great, sweeping whoosh flew off shrieking into the night.
Before the last of them could escape, however, Father opened his box and shouted, “Demonicus expugno!” A giant skeleton hand sprang forth from the box and snatched one of the demons from the air. The inky black spirit howled in anguish, and then the skeleton hand withdrew again into the box with the demon in its clutches.
“Well, that was easy,” Father said, latching closed the lid. But then I noticed an orange-eyed shadow descending upon him from behind.
“Father, look out!”
It was too late. And before Alistair Grim even knew what hit him, a demon tore off his warding stone and tossed it into the surrounding darkness.
I gasped in horror. Father was no longer protected!
Struggling with the evil spirit on his back, Father dropped the demon catcher and tumbled from the stone. A second later, the demon vanished and Father began writhing on the ground with a chorus of horrible animal noises coming from his mouth.
I jumped down into the grass beside him. Father whirled around on all fours to face me. His eyes blazed with orange fire, and his snarling mouth was filled with fangs. I screamed.
The demon had taken possession of Alistair Grim’s body!
“Die, boy!” he growled, and with a terrifying roar he swung his fist at me. I ducked and, scrambling around behind him, picked up the demon catcher and thumped it on his head.
Dazed, Father teetered for a moment on his knees and then fell over face-first in the grass. At the same time, the shadowy figure of the demon seeped out from his ear and, like a drunken bullfinch, zigzagged its way out of the stone circle and into the darkness beyond.
“Are you all right, Father?” I said, turning him over, and he blinked open his eyes.
“That was quite a wallop, lad,” he said, rubbing his head. “Nevertheless, I thank you for it.”
The demon catcher shook violently in my hands.
“We better get our newest Odditoria back on board,” Father said, taking it from me. He called up for Lord Dreary to lower the ladder, and in no time we were back inside the reception hall, demon and all.
“What happened?” Lord Dreary cried, but then he saw the demon catcher shaking under Father’s arm, and the old man’s face blanched with fear. “Is that the—”
“You needn’t worry,” Father said. “The demon is perfectly secure, and thus the first phase of my plan is complete.”
“Yes, but—”
“I’m also proud to announce that Grubb proved himself a worthy apprentice on my latest quest. In fact, I couldn’t have captured the demon without him.”
Father mussed my hair, but Lord Dreary appeared unconvinced.
“Jolly good, then,” the old man said. “Now that you have your demon, would you mind telling me what you plan on doing with it?”
“I’m afraid that will have to wait until morning.”
Lord Dreary gasped in disbelief. “Alistair, how could you!”
“Please try to understand,” he said, and he put his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “As is most often the case here at the Odditorium, any attempt to explain my endeavors without an accompanying demonstration would prove futile. And in order for that demonstration to work, Nigel and I have a long night of tinkering ahead of us.”
“Yes, but—”
“I promise you, Lord Dreary, all will be revealed tomorrow after breakfast. So until then, I ask that you and Grubb get a good night’s sleep. We still have quite a journey ahead of us, and I’ll need you both to be sharp and well rested for the next phase of my plan. Please, old friend. For me.”
Lord Dreary heaved a heavy sigh and reluctantly nodded, upon which Father crossed to the wall and twisted one of the animus-burning sconces. The winch immediately retracted back into the floor, while at the same time the giant birdcage dropped down from above. Father stepped inside, bade us good night, and promptly disappeared up into the ceiling. Lord Dreary was about to leave too, when something in his waistcoat pocket began to tremble. It was McClintock.
“I believe this belongs to you,” he said, handing him to me.
“Thank you,” I said. “And chin up, sir. I haven’t a clue what Alistair Grim’s up to either.”
A smile hovered upon the old man’s waxy white mustache. “Story of my life,” he said, and then Lord Dreary took his leave through the adjoining parlor.
“What time is it?” Mack cried as I opened him. “Hang on”—he spun round in my hand—“what are we doing down here? And where’s that scaffy banshee what took the Eye of Mars?”
Mack had been dead to the world for quite some time, I realized—not to mention that, in all the excitement, I’d completely forgotten about Lorcan Dalach.
�
�A lot has happened since you fizzled out back in the library, Mack. I’ll explain it to you on the way to the shop.”
As I passed through the dining room and kitchen and down the servants’ hallway, I brought Mack up to speed on the evening’s events. Once we were back in the shop, I set him down amongst the clutter on Father’s worktable and readied myself for bed. However, as I was still anxious from my encounter with the demons, I decided to leave the warding stone on.
Just then, I heard the muffled sound of organ music, and the entire Odditorium began to shake. We were on the move again, blasting off into the air as Father set course for our next destination. I closed my eyes and imagined myself at the organ in his place, my fingers moving along the proper keys to control the Odditorium’s spider legs.
Soon, however, the organ music stopped and everything grew still. We had reached the desired height—or “altitude,” as Father called it—and the helm was now set to follow his course automatically. And so it was that the Odditorium drifted off into the night while Alistair Grim went to work on the next phase of his plan.
And so it was that I too drifted off to sleep with the warding stone about my neck.
Had I known how much trouble it would bring, I’d have left the cursed bauble back at the hell mouth where it belonged.
In my dream, I was lost in the dungeons of Prince Nightshade’s castle, dashing this way and that through a murky-red maze of corridors and staircases. I pushed open a large iron door and stumbled into the prince’s throne room. Great stone pillars rose up around me as shafts of bright red light cut downward through the dark. But instead of a throne, hovering there in midair above the dais was an enormous, glowing green eye.
I froze and trembled under its gaze.
“Aye, that’s him,” echoed a gruff and growly voice. I recognized its owner at once. Mr. Smears.
“Are you certain?” asked a woman, unknown to me.
“For twelve years I fed and clothed him, and what’ve I got to show for it? Nothing but ruin and a bad reputation.”
“It is destiny that brought us together,” said the woman. “And so together we shall have our revenge.”
“You hear that? I’m coming to get you, Grubb!”
And with that, the eye transformed into the hulking figure of Mr. Smears—his snarling, scarred face twisting with fury as he sprang forth from the gloom and made to strangle me.
Terrified, I bolted upright—my nightshirt soaked with sweat, my eyes darting over unfamiliar shapes and shadows. Where was I? The dark chamber in which I’d awakened looked nothing like the stable. For the briefest of moments I thought I saw a green light flash beneath my nose, but then I caught sight of Mack, asleep on the worktable, and everything came back to me.
“The shop,” I sighed with relief.
Yes, I was safe in my bed at the Odditorium, far away from Mr. Smears and all the other demons in my life.
Demons.
Instinctively, I grasped the warding stone. The bauble felt warm, almost hot to the touch. Odd, I thought as I gazed around the room, and all at once I had the gnawing sensation that someone was watching me.
It’s just the dream, I told myself. Just that glowing green eye and Mr. Smears what’s put you out of sorts.
The animus in the wall sconces burned bright enough for me to see that I was alone. But this was the Odditorium, and appearances could be deceiving—not to mention that, in this very room, Cleona once played a trick on me by slipping Mack into my pocket while she was invisible.
“Is that you, Cleona?” I whispered. No reply except for Mack ticking softly on the worktable. Even Cleona knew it wasn’t proper to play tricks on people when they were asleep, and after what happened as a result of her last trick, no doubt she’d think twice about pulling a stunt like that again. However, come to think of it, Cleona had been acting strange lately—distant and gloomy—ever since the Gallownog stole on board.
“Dalach!” I gasped, and Mack stirred.
“Heh-heh, silly bam,” he muttered in his sleep, and then he began to snore.
I, on the other hand, had begun to panic. Yes, there was now another spirit at the Odditorium who could make himself invisible. And if Lorcan Dalach had escaped from his prison sphere, the sort of tricks he might play would be far worse for us than anything Cleona might dream up.
You’re just being foolish, I told myself. After all, who wouldn’t wake up feeling watched after dreaming about a big green eye? But still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Then, through the crack under the door, I saw a blue light pass by in the hallway outside.
My heart began to hammer. The light was too strong to have come from a samurai on patrol. No, the only things at the Odditorium that glowed like that were banshees.
I donned my slippers and crept silently from the shop so as not to wake Mack. I tiptoed down the hallway and came to the engine room’s big red door. Listening there for a moment, I could hear only the low hum of the flight sphere within, so I cracked open the door and peered inside.
As I expected, the flight sphere was aglow with fairy dust, the gauge above it reading more than three-quarters full. Attached to the gauge was an alarm clock that would wake Gwendolyn should the reserves run low. I couldn’t see her from the hallway, but the yellow light coming from her dollhouse told me she was fast asleep in her bed. The force field around the prison sphere also glowed bright with fairy dust, and a wave of relief washed over me upon seeing the hazy figure of Lorcan Dalach still inside.
Much to my surprise, however, there was now someone outside the sphere too.
“Cleona!” I gasped, and quickly clamped my hand over my mouth. Thankfully, she didn’t hear me.
“Please, forgive me,” Cleona was saying, with her hand upon the sphere. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“You can still come home,” Dalach replied. “If you help me escape, I’ll bear witness for you at the trial.”
“You did that once before, remember? And look where it got me: eternal banishment.”
“Things were different then. You were my betrothed, and so my word carried little weight with the Council.”
My jaw dropped. Did I really just hear that? Cleona and Lorcan Dalach were to have been married?
“And now?” Cleona asked. “Have your feelings changed so much these last twelve years?”
“Time passes much more slowly for us banshees.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
Lorcan Dalach pressed his hand against the inside of the sphere, opposite Cleona’s.
“Every second away from you has been an eternity,” he said, and Cleona rested her head against the glass. “Please, my love,” Dalach said, his voice heavy with emotion. “I beg of you, come with me. I am now a captain in the Gallownog, and I’ve gained influence with the Council. If only you’ll tell them how you were bound to the Grims by sorcery, they will no doubt pardon your transgressions here.”
“And those of twelve years ago? You forget that I tried to save Elizabeth O’Grady of my own free will.”
“You’re wrong. Elizabeth O’Grady was versed in the art of sorcery too. Don’t you see? She slipped and fell off that cliff and conjured you in a panic. There was nothing you could do to resist her. You were bewitched then just as you are now.”
“That isn’t true,” Cleona said, recoiling from the sphere. “You are a Gallownog—solitary by nature and incapable of attaching yourself to any family. As such, you cannot possibly fathom my bond with the Grims.”
“Cleona, my love, you’re in too deep to recognize them for what they are. There’s a reason we banshees are forbidden to interfere in human destiny. It goes against the natural order of things. You understood that before you fell under these sorcerers’ spells. And once you’re back amongst your kind, you’ll see just how badly you’ve been bewitched. So will the Council of Elders, I promise you that.”
“What I do, I do of my own free will. Just as you do now.”
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��What do you mean?”
“The Order of the Gallownog doesn’t know you’re here, do they?” Cleona asked, and Lorcan Dalach bowed his head. “I know your heart better than anyone. You came for me of your own accord, but the question is will you tell the Order you found me when I refuse to return with you?”
“Cleona, listen to me!”
“Quiet, you’ll wake Gwendolyn!”
Dalach lowered his voice, but it grew tight with anger. “What I do, Cleona, I do out of honor for us both. I am a captain of the Gallownog first, and your one true love second. You best remember that should you seek to test me.”
“I don’t believe you,” Cleona said, stepping away from him. “I am not bewitched now and I never was. And should the Council take me at my word, would you really risk losing me again to eternal banishment? Could you live with yourself knowing it was you alone who sent me there?”
Lorcan Dalach was silent for a long time. “You underestimate both my love for you and my resolve,” he said finally. “But hear me, Cleona of Connacht: By hook or by crook you will come back with me, upon which I shall prove that you are just another victim of Alistair Grim’s sorcery.”
Cleona was about to reply, but then Gwendolyn poked her head out of her bedroom window.
“What’s all that jabbering down there?” she called. From where the dollhouse was hanging, she could not see Cleona on the other side of the prison sphere, but just to be safe Cleona made herself invisible. “You better shut your gob, Gallownog,” Gwendolyn said, “or I’ll come down there and shut it for you!”
I didn’t stick around to hear any more, and quickly padded back down to the shop. I climbed into bed and pretended to be asleep just in case Cleona decided to check up on me. My mind was spinning, however, and I lay awake for hours, consumed by what I’d just witnessed. More than the revelation of the banshees’ betrothal, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was any truth to Dalach’s tale. Was my mother really a sorceress? And if so, had both she and Father bewitched Cleona into helping them?
