Spell of the Dark Castle (Chronicles of Zofia Trickenbod Book 2)

by Lorelei Bell

  As Abigale slipped away to bend over another table nearby, Zofia eyed Doreen's plate. She was nearly done with her meal. She was now tearing into the loaf of bread that had come with their meal and slathered a generous amount of butter from the slab that was sitting next to the loaf. With pinky extended, she dipped the piece of bread into the gravy left on her plate and stuffed it into her mouth. Upon examining her own plate, Zofia wondered how Doreen had managed to nearly finish her meal, while Zofia had barely made a dent in hers. She sawed into her meat and began to eat during the lull of conversation.

  Zofia eased a sigh from parted lips as she stole another glance in Dorian's direction. At that exact moment, he turned his head over one shoulder and their eyes met. She could almost read his mind as he threw her a significant look. There really was no other way to do this.

  Extending two fingers, Zofia muttered low, “Snooze.” Little golden threads shimmered from Zofia's fingers and hit Doreen in the face. At once Doreen's eyes crossed, and right in the middle of a bite, she fell forward; her fork went clattering to the floor, her right cheek landed into her plate with a splat, and gravy went splattering all over the table; Zofia felt a few specks hit her face. She swiped at the wet spots with a her finger and she licked it. Not bad. A bit stingy with the salt, but not bad.

  “Oh, my goddess!” Zofia said, seeing that other people were now gaping at her and Doreen. She stood, salvaging her own plate of food and drink. “I guess the poor woman had a bit too much to drink.” The group at the closest table laughed as Zofia stepped over to another empty table. With her foot, she caught the leg of a chair, slid it out and set her plate and glass down and slipped into the chair. Throwing Dorian a smug look over the rim of her glass, she waited for Abigale and the kitchen help to swoop to Doreen's table. They pulled the heavy woman up, off her plate, removed the plate and with a bar towel, cleaned the woman's face and chest off, as well as the table—and not in that order.

  While the tavern maids finished the clean up, leaving Doreen snoring with her cheek resting on the table, Dorian drifted away from the bar, wound his way through the tables toward her. Tanker in fist, Dorian pulled up a chair. He cast a guarded look toward the rest of the room. Satisfied no one really cared that he'd sat at Zofia's table, he said in a low husky tone, “Where the hell were you? I waited at The Golden Dragon for an hour before I decided that you got the wrong tavern, and I was right!”

  “No. I was headed for The Golden Dragon when Doreen came along and re-routed me,” Zofia defended, darting a look at the poor woman who now snoozed.

  Settling his tankard on the scarred-topped table—which wobbled when he did—he squinted at her.

  “Who?” he said.

  “Doreen,” she said, motioning with her chin toward the woman. “That's Doreen. I met her on the carriage ride into the village.”

  “You hexed her?” Dorian said, his gaze slid away to take in Doreen. “Wicked good job.”

  “I didn't have a choice in that, either,” Zofia said. “But, I got a little bit of information out of her.”

  The mandolin player sprang into song suddenly, in the relative silence, which Zofia realized they had been on break and now came back. He had a wonderful tenor voice, and it drifted nicely throughout the tavern, as did the rest of the music.

  Zofia opened her mouth, and then shut it when she saw someone heading their way.

  Abigale slinked toward them. Her darkly kohled, brown eyes gleamed as she took Dorian in. A large smile upon her painted lips had not been there when she had come to her and Doreen's table earlier, so Zofia knew the smile was not meant for her. She wanted to wipe that smile off her face, until she wondered why she even cared that another woman found Dorian attractive.

  “Now then, kin I refresh that for ya, sir?” she asked, already leaning deeply toward him, giving a very enticing view down Cleavage Lane. Crossing her arms and legs, Zofia watched the exchange between Dorian and the tavern sleaze in silence.

  “Yes, please,” he said cooly, and knocked back the rest of it. “That would be nice.” He held the stein out to her. She took it as he looked up at her. “I'll take a bit of what you have over there on the spit as well.”

  “I'll 'ave it right up, m'sweet,” she purred as she settled his tankard on her tray, piled high with dirty dishes and glasses from the other tables. As though the tray was light as a feather, she rotated, and twitched away, on those black, high-heeled shoes.

  “Thank's, Abigale,” Dorian called to her.

  “You know her name?” Zofia's frowned hardened.

  “Everybody knows everybody in Ravenwood. I'd expect there isn't more than twenty or thirty people in total that reside here.” Zofia's brow arched as she put her glass to her lips. “You get to know the barmaid's names if you stick around drinking and eating in the same two places day after day,” he added.

  “Whatever,” Zofia said, trying to affect the look of someone who didn't care, and took a sip of wine.

  “What've you done to your hair,” Dorian asked, squinting at it as though she'd turned it pink and turquoise.

  Self-consciously, she reached up and touched her hair. She'd forgotten that she'd put it up into the wild half-bun, much of the lengths falling down around her face. It was a new look she thought she'd try. “Oh, I just wanted to put it up for the evening.”

  “I like it,” he admitted and looked away, his gaze going over to the bar where his plate of food and drink were going back on Abigale's cleared tray.

  “It's a nice look on you,” he added and glanced back at her.

  “Thanks.” She felt her face warm slightly. Maybe it was the wine, she didn't know, and feeling less threatened, she uncrossed her arms and legs, turned toward her plate and resumed her meal. “What's so important you wanted to see me?”she asked through the food in her mouth.

  “I couldn't find the place you described to me, back at the castle,” he said. “I even used my Portable Portal, and I still couldn't find the entrance.”

  “Oh, really?” She smiled wryly to herself. For Dorian to admit he couldn't do something was remarkable.

  “Don't be so smug,” he said. She could tell he didn't like that she was up on some things he was not. It must have been emasculating. She smiled inwardly. Okay, outwardly too. Smug, that's me.

  Wanting to rub it in, she said, “I actually might know a little more information on our suspects, if you want me to fill you in.”

  He held up a hand, cutting her off as Abigale returned with his meal and fresh brew. Dorian threw his money on her tray, exchanged some more harmless banter, and she was gone.

  Using her glass as she and Doreen had to shield their words earlier, she said, “This tavern has a tunnel, through the store room, that may take you directly into the cult's lair. I'm nearly positive it leads back into the castle as well.”

  Looking up from his plate of food, he threw her an incredulous stare. “How could you have learned that? I've spent days talking to the locals and never once anyone said such to me!” Jealousy was not becoming on him.

  Zofia nodded slightly toward the sleeping Doreen. She would sleep for about a shadowpass and the hex would lift. “She told me. She said it's down through the cellar in this place.”

  “How would she know?” Dorian asked, then bit into a large hunk of the roasted boar. Juices oiled his lips as he chewed.

  “She went down there, to the store room, once.” Zofia smiled while watching Abigale do her thing. “I think her date got cold feet and ducked out on her. If he was a member, he'd know where the entrance would be. She never saw where he'd gone, and thought he'd disappeared, or vanished. But I think he knew where the entrance was and just ducked out on her.”

  “And you believe her?” Looking for a napkin, and finding none, he drew his shirt sleeve over his lips.

  “Yes. I do. The woman is a veritable index of who's who and what's what around here. She said she's lived here for more than thirty years. She would see things and hear things, if anyone would.
” Zofia nibbled at a piece of meat she picked up by the fingers. It had a nicely charred hickory flavor.

  “You're getting good at this, Zofia,” he said admirably.

  “Thanks. There's more. This place had a fire; burned right down to the foundation. They rebuilt it—right about the time you and the others had come here.”

  “It would have been before,” Dorian said. “This place was here. I remember it.”

  “There may have been a tunnel that might have been discovered at that time. It must travel underneath, to the menhirs.” She took a sip of wine. “I read all about the area in the book The Wondering Traveler. The caves are extensive and unexplored—or were at that time.”

  Dorian wolfed down more boar, chugged his drink and said, “I guess I'll have to go check this out for myself.”

  Zofia grunted her response as she took a sip.

  “I'll need some sort of diversion, though,” he said, looking thoughtful.

  “What? Now?” Zofia said.

  “No, let's wait ten years from now,” he snorted sarcastically. “Yes, now.”

  “And you need a distraction?”

  “Yes.”

  They stared at one another.

  “I trust you, Zofia.”

  Thrusting an elbow onto the table, Zofia leaned her chin into her fist. “Do you? That's awfully nice to know.”

  “Look, this isn't exactly the time and place to start bickering over things. What's done is done.”

  Zofia sat back. “Yes. The damage is done.”

  “I need to get to that cellar,” he pressed on. “I'm presuming it's behind the bar and through that curtained-off doorway.”

  “Yes, I would think so. By the way, F.Y.I., I'm pregnant.”

  Dorian's head seemed to snap around like it was on a length of rubber band. Sapphire eyes wide, the momentary look of discombobulation was somehow the most satisfying thing she'd seen on his face in a long time.

  “Pregnant? Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I've been throwing up and all the usual stuff that goes along with it.”

  He looked appraisingly at her. “You're not throwing up right now,” he observed.

  “No. I've been taking something for it.” Idiot.

  He sat still for another moment. “Mine?”

  “I like how you would automatically assume that,” she said, and tipped back her drink.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  She drained the last of her sweet wine, now regretting that she had, because it hit her like a cave giant's fist to the noggin. She felt the room tip slightly and she had to grasp the edge of the table. “Whoa,” she said.

  “Should you be drinking under your condition?” he asked harshly.

  “A few drinks? Hah!” She blinked heavily.

  “Who's baby is it?”

  “I—” she began, feeling the swimming head thing again. “I don't think I'm going to tell you, since you're such an ass.”

  Chapter 34

  Dorian's lip curled. “Bloody Grimories,” he swore gruffly. “You play a wicked game, Zofia.”

  Chin braced by laced fingers, Zofia blinked back at him. Her lips curled up with great satisfaction. “Yes. And it's about time I did,” she rallied back. “By the way, the entrance to the cellar is behind those curtains.” She pointed with her pinkies in the direction of the back room, without moving her hands from under her chin.

  Still frowning, Dorian moved his head slightly, just enough to allow his eyes to take in the area in question. “I'll need to get past everyone,” he muttered under his breath. “I'll need some sort of distraction so that no one notices. The cooks, the barkeeper, and the barmaids all have to have something else to look at while I'm moving like smoke in that direction.”

  “You move like smoke?”

  “Yes,” he drawled, “I do. Now, what can you do to get everyone's attention away from that area?”

  Zofia watched Abigale navigate through the tables on her hurt-me high heals. “You need a distraction?” she said, the smile broadening on her face as she unlaced her fingers and stretched them out and then wiggled them a few times. “I've got the perfect distraction. Ready?”

  There was a long pause as she felt his eyes on her. “Great Immortals, do I want to know what you're going to do?”

  “No,” she said curtly, returning his stare. “What? Why is everyone treating me like I'm porcelain, or something?”

  “Who's doing that?”

  She felt as though he'd slapped her. “Never mind!” She turned away from him and shifted her weight and let her arms drop, hands going limp at the sides of her chair and she did a shoulder roll to loosen up.

  “Oh. You mean your delicate state,” he said, finally coming up to speed. “I've known you a while. You could handle yourself in a herd of barmaids; undo their hair, make them trip over their own feet, drop a platter or two, all while consuming a raspberry tart.”

  “Thank you for your generous review,” she said, sliding her gaze his way. “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  “You can't use your Portable Portal in here?”

  “No. Everyone will see me disappear and know I'm a wizard, won't they?”

  “Ah. Didn't think of that. Right, then. Ready?”

  “Ready, blast it all woman!”

  “Count of—”

  “Just do it!” he whispered hoarsely. “Before she comes back this way.”

  “Right.” She pulled in a breath, and aimed the index finger of her left hand toward Abigale's six inch heels.

  “Are you sure you're up to this?” he asked.

  “What's wrong? Don't you trust me?”

  “I didn't say that. But your hexes have been known to—”

  “To what?” she snapped.

  “Miss-fire, now and again,” he finished.

  Her frown fell into a pout. “I'm fine.” She giggled lightly, then squared her shoulders again, face going serious. She hoped the drink would not interfere with casting her spell.

  “Maybe I should do this?” Dorian said.

  “I'm a-l-l-l-right,” she said. Narrowing her eyes, she raised her left hand again, but near her face, so that no one would noticed she'd thrown a hex. Where was Abigale? She'd moved to a different part of the tavern. Damn, she was fast with the drinks and the gathering of butt slaps. She took a bead on the barmaid.

  Aiming the finger of her left hand, Zofia said too low to be overheard by anyone (the band was really loud now), “Distructus malefica!” A lot happened in the next few seconds: Abigale stopped mid-stride and dipped to a table of men to retrieve their empty steins, Zofia's hex deflected off a woman's hand mirror who was sitting half way between her and the bar, and the red line of energy just missed Abigale's head by inches—she had to have felt it as she ducked—as it zipped all the way behind the bar, hitting dozens of glasses, which were lined up on shelves along the wall, with a loud explosion. It sounded like a bomb had gone off. Everyone in the bar ducked or moved quickly; the three musicians dove to the floor—wisely taking shelter behind a large table in front of their small stage. Dorian was a blur of motion and was already gone when Zofia managed to look back at his empty chair. The ratty curtains over the door that lead to the back room were still swinging when Zofia darted her gaze there.

  “Blast, she's just too fast for me,” Zofia muttered under her breath. Zofia had slid down onto her knees to the floor, so as not to stand out. The one still standing would be figured the guilty party; sorceress revealed, they would chase her out of the tavern. And that would be only the beginning. There might be serious repercussions. There could be local laws forbidding sorcery of any kind within the town's establishments. She had to be really careful. She was working as a Knight, and her cover could not be compromised.

  The bar keeper, and all the cooks had dove behind the bar. Now, one by one they peered cautiously around to see if it was safe to come out. Abigale's big hair appeared on the other side of a table as she peered over the edge.
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  Abigale was up on her feet again, scouring the room, hands on hips, as though if she found the guilty one, she would singlehandedly deal with them herself.

  As if, bitch. Zofia smiled knowingly to herself and had to take the stem of her drink in her fingers and tip the glass to her lips in order to hide the smile. Just in the nick, too, because Abigale's gaze fell on her just then and their eyes met. She felt heat roll off Abigale and hit Zofia, just as had her misdirected power blast hit the glasses.

  “More wine,” Zofia said, while still on her knees, holding up her glass and waggling it in her hand. Abigail headed in her direction, her heels clacking determinedly.

  “Whew! That was horrible, wasn't it! You get many of those?” Zofia asked almost casually as she slid back into her chair.

  “Those what?” Abigale asked, plucking the glass from her hand almost angrily.

  “You know. Those,” she said, and then slid her eyes around the room. She whispered. “Ghogals.”

  “Ghogals?” Abigale's determined anger went through a metamorphoses to one of concern and then fear. “You think it was—”

  “Shhhh!” Zofia said, finger to her lips. “Oh, indeed. Did you ever hear of the Extercia Twins?”

  “No,” she said, looking determinately unflappable.

  “The Extercia Twins thought they were haunted, but it was really a rogue Ghogal.”

  “O' yeah?” she said curtly. “W'll they's never seen these parts, I expect. You need another drink? Food?” She asked Zofia.

  “Uh, no,” she said, slowly realizing if she had any more drink, she wouldn't be able to walk out of here on her own. “What do I owe you?”

  “Twenty konks for the food,” she drawled, “and twelve for the glass of wine. That's thirty-two konks, then.” Zofia had to admire the woman for coming up with the figure that quickly—unless of course she'd done it all beforehand.

  “Okay,” Zofia said, almost impressed. It was good to know that there was no such thing as inflation on Euphoria. The price of a meal and drink was pretty much the same as when she'd left, five years ago. Pulling out her coin purse she rummaged around and found a silver Obolus and deposited it into the awaiting woman's hand—had she placed the silver piece on the tray, it would have meant that she didn't want any change back. She knew Abigale would be all too happy with such a large tip, but Zofia didn't feel that Abigale was worth a whole twenty-two konks.