Every creaking floorboard, every sigh of the wind outside, made Peter’s heart jump. He stared into every shadow, looked twice at every window or alcove. Finally they reached the steps down to the cellars.
Peter’s dad gave a thumbs-up and raised the sword, like a talisman. It was glowing brighter than ever as it neared the point where the moon’s energy was focused – the Rogue Stone.
There was another glow from the bottom of the stairs. As they descended, it grew in intensity until it rivalled the crystal sword. At the last turn of the stairs, Professor Crichton paused, hand in the air. He mouthed a count of “one – two – three”.
Then they charged round the corner, and down the final few steps.
The whole cellar was bathed in the amber light of the crystal. The Rogue Stone glittered in the wall, light shining out from around its edges as if it was filtering through the crack under a door.
Peter expected Einzel to be standing by the stone, soaking up the energy that spilled out of it. But there was no sign of him. The cellar was empty.
Or almost empty. A low growl from behind made them turn abruptly. A man stepped out from behind the staircase. Not Einzel, but a tall, broad man wearing a dark suit. Except that above the white collar and plain, dark tie, emerged the head of a wolf.
The wolf-man regarded them through blood-red eyes that gleamed in the reflected glow. A trail of saliva dripped down the front of the otherwise immaculate jacket. Peter’s father raised the sword and stepped forward.
But the wolf was too quick for him. It lunged forward, knocking Crichton’s sword arm away. The sword spun off into the corner of the room. Shards of crystal splintered from its edges and lay glowing on the floor.
“Dad!” Peter yelled, running towards him.
The wolf was already bearing down on him. Crichton staggered back a pace, unbalanced by the first blow. The next connected with his shoulder and he dropped to his knees in front of the wolf. It gave a roar of triumph and reared up, claws glinting in the light from the stone and the base of the wall.
He was too far away. Peter wasn’t going to get there in time. From behind him, Carys shouted, “Peter – duck!”
Instinctively, he did. When he looked up, the wolf seemed frozen in position, arms raised, poised to attack. Then it fell slowly backwards, and crashed down to the floor.
“What?!”
Peter and his father both turned – to see Carys standing with her legs slightly apart, both hands braced on the tranquiliser gun. She pushed it back into her jacket pocket.
“The only dart, unfortunately,” she said, smiling at their surprised expressions. “Next wolf, someone else can deal with.”
“If there are any more,” Crichton said, retrieving the sword. “There’s no one else here.”
But as soon as he finished speaking, a distant rumble, like thunder, filtered through to them.
“Except for Einzel. He’s here somewhere,” Carys said.
“Are we too late?” Peter wondered.
Crichton shook his head. “I hope not. But where is he?”
“He can’t be hiding down here,” Peter said. “The light from round the stone…” His voice tailed off. The light was shining round the stone… like it was coming through the gap under a door.
“What is it?” Carys asked.
“It’s not coming from the stone, is it? The light, I mean. The stone glitters, like the ones in the circle. But this is something else.”
He ran over to the stone, the others close behind him.
“It’s more concentrated. Like the glow from the sword,” Carys said.
“Like it’s shining round a door,” Peter added. “But – it can’t be…”
Carys gasped as she made the same connection. Her hand went to her mouth. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” Peter said. “There’s a door, somewhere down here. We have to find it.”
“A door to where?” Crichton asked. He realised as soon as he spoke. “Oh I see. The glow – yes, it’s coming from another room. A room which, logically, would be through here…”
He stepped into an alcove just along from the Rogue Stone. There was a grinding of some ancient mechanism.
“Easy when you know how,” Professor Crichton said, letting go of the iron ring set into the shadowy side of the alcove.
As he spoke, the back of the alcove swung open. Brilliant light spilled out, scorching their eyes.
“D’you think Sebastian Forrest knew what his father did?” Peter wondered. “That he was desperately searching for a cure too, using anything he could find. Einzel didn’t – until now. An unexpected advantage for him.”
“Maybe he tried to tell us,” Carys said.
Whether he had or not, they both now knew that Lionel du Bois had not returned to Wolfenburg Castle to destroy the Crystal Room.
He hadn’t broken it up. He’d dismantled it – and brought it back to Wolfstone.
They stepped over the threshold. Into the Crystal Room. The walls shone dazzlingly bright with the moonlight. Gradually they made out a shape in front of them – a dark figure standing in the middle of the room.
The triumphant roar of the lone wolf split the air as the enormous, savage creature turned towards them. Light seemed to pour into the matted fur and gleam in its eyes as it soaked up the energy of the moon.
Peter watched in horror as his father walked slowly towards the huge creature rearing up in front of them. He looked tiny, pathetic, as he raised the sword. Its broken blade glowed as fiercely as the walls, silver glinting beneath the crystal.
As Peter and Carys followed Professor Crichton, another figure seemed to coalesce out of the light.
Heels clicked on the floor as the woman approached. She ignored Peter’s father, striding towards Peter and Carys, blocking their view of the confrontation.
As she got closer, Peter recognised Irena – the blonde hair, ice-blue eyes and immaculate suit. She shrugged out of her suit jacket, letting it fall to the glowing floor behind her as she walked. Then she kicked off her shoes, padding towards them in bare feet.
“High heels are so impractical in these situations, don’t you think?” she snarled.
Her face was already changing. The blonde hair became a mane of silver-white fur. Hair sprouted from her face as its shape altered, lupine features erupting from her immaculate skin. The sleeves of her blouse split apart as muscles knitted together. By the time she reached them, the transformation was almost complete.
Carys drew the tranquiliser gun, even though it wasn’t loaded. But Irena lashed out, smashing the gun away. Her next blow was aimed at Peter.
He leaped back. Claws raked down his chest, shredding his shirt, missing his skin by a fraction.
Carys grabbed Peter and dragged him back. Irena was in front of them, so their only retreat was back through the door.
“We can’t leave Dad!” Peter yelled.
“We don’t have a choice.”
Over Irena’s shoulder, he saw his father standing in front of the Einzel creature, sword raised. His father looked back for a second – just long enough to nod at Peter. Then he turned away, hacking down with the sword.
Irena was coming at them again, blotting out Peter’s view. Carys dragged him back, and together they fell out of the room.
“He’ll be all right,” Carys said, her face close to Peter’s as they stumbled into the cellar room. “We have to get her out of here – deal with Irena first, or lose her. Then we can come back and help.”
“If it’s not too late,” Peter muttered. But Carys was right, They had to tackle Irena first. Staying alive was their priority.
“At least he’s got the sword,” Carys said, backing further into the cellar.
Light shone round Irena, blurring the edges of her grotesque form. She stalked out of the Crystal Room, growling hungrily. Behind her, Peter saw his father swing the sword again. Saw the Einzel creature swatting aside the blade with ease. Heard the wolf’s howl of triumph. But it was coupled wi
th pain: the sword had bitten into the creature’s flesh.
The view cut off as the door slammed shut behind Irena.
Peter looked round desperately for anything they could use as a weapon. The open cage. Burned out candles… Nothing. Carys had reached the same conclusion, and was running for the stairs.
“Come on!” she yelled.
The wolf was close behind him. Its breath was warm on the back of his neck. Its growls purred in Peter’s ears. He took the steps two at a time, knowing the hideous creature was bounding up after him – would catch him at any moment.
He reached the top, ducked as Carys swung a piece of wood broken from an ancient piece of furniture. The wooden strut sliced over Peter’s head, and connected with the creature behind him. He heard it cry out, fall backwards, stumble down the stairs.
But he didn’t turn to look. No time. He grabbed Carys’s hand and together they charged through the dusty house. Boards creaked and protested under their feet.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Anywhere. Just keep running!”
Down the corridor and into the main hall. The front door?
Suddenly the wolf launched itself from behind them, skidding off the wall, landing on all fours. It stared back at them, blocking the way to the door.
Peter managed to turn aside, running up the main staircase. One step collapsed and his foot went right through it. He wrenched it free, feeling the splintered wood scrape along his shin and pierce the skin above his ankle. Ignoring the pain, he kept going. It was only when he reached the top landing that he realised Carys wasn’t with him.
Above the hallway an enormous glass chandelier hung on a rusty chain. It was just below Peter as he looked back down. It swayed slightly, creaking, dripping dust like faint rain. Like everything else, it was ancient, decrepit, ready to collapse. Light from outside reflected off the less dusty glass drops, like a scattering of moonlight shining through the clouds.
Below it, Carys was sprawled across the floor where she had fallen. The wolf-woman moved slowly towards her. It paused for a moment to look up at Peter. Its eyes gleamed red. Shreds of Irena’s suit clung incongruously to its fur. Its jaw twitched open in a grotesque smile. Sharp teeth gleamed in the dusty moonlight.
Carys was struggling to get up, pushing herself backwards, away from the approaching wolf. The wolf paused again, savouring the moment. It tensed, back legs braced ready to leap.
Watching from above, Peter felt helpless. He looked down through a gap where the bannisters had broken away – horrified, numb, empty.
Carys looked up at him – her face pale and scared. Her eyes widened in a desperate plea. She was counting on him. She needed him. And he could do nothing but watch as she died.
“Peter!” she yelled.
The sound startled him into movement. He didn’t think, it was just instinct. He jumped.
His body crashed into the chandelier three metres out and a metre below the landing. The impact jarred through his arms and chest. The unforgiving glass and sharp metal bit into him. The whole thing lurched sideways under his weight, and he almost slipped off. He struggled to hold on.
Then he was falling. The whole chandelier was falling, crashing down into the hallway.
Through the dusty glass and tarnished metal, he saw the wolf turn again. It stared up at him, with sudden fear in its eyes. Very real, human fear as the chandelier crashed down with a crunch of glass, metal, bone, tissue.
Peter scrambled off the shattered mess, his whole body aching. He stumbled across to help Carys to her feet. A red stain edged out from under the broken frame of the chandelier and crept across the floor towards them.
They stood by the door, well away from the smashed chandelier, holding each other tight.
Neither Carys nor Peter said anything for several moments. Then they both spoke together.
“I have to get back to Dad.”
“We need help.”
They stepped apart, Peter’s hands on Carys’s shoulders.
“You get help,” he said.
“We both go.”
He shook his head. “I can’t abandon Dad.”
“But what can you do?”
“Maybe nothing.” Going back to the Crystal Room was futile, and they both knew it. “But I’ve got to try.”
She bit her lower lip. “I’ll come with you.”
“No.” Peter said it more sharply than he’d meant, but no way was he letting Carys risk her life again. He’d almost lost her just now. He could feel the emotion welling up inside him just at the thought of it. “You’re right,” he said. “We need help. I’ll do what I can, but I’m relying on you – all right?”
She gave a quick nod. “All right.”
“Be careful,” Peter said as he turned away.
“You too.”
He skirted round the spreading blood, and ran across the hall. On the other side, he turned back, hoping to see Carys watching him. Hoping to see her sad half-smile. Maybe for the last time.
But she had already gone.
Howls of pain echoed through the woods. Branches tugged at Carys’s clothes. Leaves whipped across her face. She stumbled onwards, as fast as she could. She felt terrible leaving Peter, but what could the two of them do on their own? She’d never been so afraid as during the past few days. Never as frightened as when she faced the wolf in the hallway of Wolfstone Manor. She owed Peter her life, and now she was abandoning him.
No! She told herself, she wasn’t running out. She was getting help. She’d be back. She’d save him.
Breathless, heart pounding, she staggered up the last of the incline to the edge of the circle. Mike, Abby and her mother stood looking down into the pit, their figures illuminated by the flickering remains of the firebrands they held. Their faces reflected the pale moonlight that splayed across the scene and glinted on the standing stones.
A wolf roared up out of the pit. Paws scrabbled on the grassy edge. Claws bit into the ground as they tried to gain purchase.
Mike stepped forward, thrusting out his flaming brand. The wolf roared in pain, and fell back into the pit.
“It’s taking too long,” Carys realised. “Peter and his dad need help now.”
“But we can’t leave here until they’re all dead,” Abby said.
“It won’t be long,” Mike assured her, lunging at another of the horrific creatures. He forced it back into the turmoil of the pit. Steam rose up and blotted out the moon like clouds.
Faye put her free arm round her daughter’s shoulders. “I’m sorry. You stay and help here – I’ll go. I’ll do what I can.”
She held the firebrand out to Carys. But the girl didn’t take it. “No. I have to do this. I owe Peter that.”
But what could she do? She closed her eyes, forcing back tears. In the darkness behind her eyelids, she saw again the chandelier crashing down in an explosion of glass and metal. When she opened her eyes, her face was a mask of determination.
What if his father was already dead? Peter dreaded going back down to the cellar. What if he found Einzel standing triumphant over his dad’s lacerated body? He thought about the blood staining the hallway, and imagined a similar crescent-shaped pool spilling across the crystal floor.
A roar from below – anger or pain? He clattered down the steps, fast as he could, not caring who or what heard him coming. In his hand he had the only weapon he could find – a broken length of metal from the chandelier. A makeshift sword of his own, for all the good it would do.
“Don’t be long, Carys,” he murmured as he stepped into the alcove. He knew she’d be back. She’d bring help. She’d do something. Knowing Carys, it would be something outrageous. He smiled grimly at the thought, and pulled the metal ring that opened the door to the Crystal Room.
Peter’s father ducked aside as the creature lashed out at him. They were both slowing, both tired. Einzel’s hirsute body was slick with blood. Professor Crichton seemed unharmed, but his clothes were
torn and his face was smeared with sweat. It was only a matter of time before the wolf caught him. Caught him and ripped him apart.
Peter ran to help, hammering the metal strut into the creature’s knee. It howled with pain and staggered back. But it didn’t fall. Instead, it turned its huge, bloodshot eyes towards him. Peter felt the full impact of the creature’s anger and hatred. He saw in its eyes only triumph and victory. It knew this was the last battle, and it knew it was going to win.
The creature flexed its claws, drew itself up and let loose the most almighty roar. It charged across the Crystal Room, claws skittering on the hard floor and launched itself at Peter. He twisted out of the way, but too late. The wolf slammed into him, knocking him backwards. The air thumped out of his lungs as he hit the wall.
Then his father was there, swinging the sword up at the wolf’s belly. A killing blow.
It stopped short. The creature caught the sword hand as it drove upwards, twisting the weapon from Professor Crichton’s grip. It dashed the sword to the ground. The broken blade splintered again, crystal shattering across the floor like crushed ice.
The creature’s triumph was a low, rumbling purr that echoed round the room. It seemed to get closer and louder as Peter’s father staggered back to join him. Their backs were against the wall, close to the door. Was there time to run from the room before the wolf got them? And how far would they get – the stairs, maybe? Probably not even that far.
Knowing they were already dead, the wolf reared up. It was so huge that its head looked close to the top of the chamber. It spread its massive arms and bellowed in victory. The low rumble grew louder still, counterpointing the roar of triumph.
“That noise,” Crichton said, “it sounds like…”
His words were lost in the growing roar. But Peter knew exactly what it sounded like.
The Einzel creature seemed oblivious. It scented victory and nothing else mattered. At the very last moment, the rumble became a thunderous crash from above. And the creature looked up.
At the same moment, Peter grabbed his father’s arm and pulled him down. They dived across the floor, keeping low, sliding into the safety of the doorway as the ceiling caved in.
The Wolfstone Curse Page 27
