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

by Lorelei Bell

  He made calming gestures. “Not to worry. The Phaethontrodites had a feast.”

  Zofia's frown deepened. “Bird People?”

  He nodded, almost chuckling. “They attacked and ate them. They are mortal enemies,” he explained at length.

  “And what about Biddle? Where is he? Is he alright?”

  “Yes. He is resting comfortably. He will be back in your service in another day or so.”

  “Is he—I mean, was he hurt badly?”

  “Nothing a little bed rest won't cure. He is at Restormell Castle presently, where other Ghogals tend to him.” Zofia frowned a little more at that and twisted her lips knowingly, but said nothing. Resting was not the only thing Biddle might be doing in bed, she surmised if he was back in Restormell Castle. But then who else but another Ghogal could tend to him?

  “Dorian. What about Dorian?”

  “Thanks to Saint Germain's quick and very attentive actions, Dorian will be up and around in a day or two as well. He lost a lot of blood, but was stitched up very neatly, and even was given what I believe is called a transfusion. I must say I admire Saint Germain's ingenious use of the Philosopher's Stone to become invisible, otherwise he would never have been able to free both you and Dorian. We owe the man a great debt of gratitude as well as our humble apologies.”

  Zofia cocked her head. “Really? Well that's quite a switch in attitude. What brought this all on?”

  Paradeep managed to look more humble than normal and said, “We were wrong about his opening up illegal Portals, here and on First World. Although he traveled there, he did so by using normal routes of ley line power. That is not illegal. However, as it turns out, Phineas had been opening all sorts of illegal Portals up—the one in your backyard was one—and we fear that his plot that morning was to take you, for his dreadful plan of opening up that hell mouth for the Helsingas.”

  After a moment of thought, she asked, “What about Lolly, my neighbor? Did anyone ever find her?”

  “Saint Germain did. He hypnotized her and sent her back to her backyard. Fortunately the poor woman can't remember a thing. I gather she is quite the conversation around town. She has been on Ugwump TV, according to sources.”

  “Tillie?” She gave a wry smile.

  “Blanche,” he corrected.

  Zofia blinked in thought. What was she forgetting? Who was she forgetting?

  “I fear I must break the terrible news to you,” Paradeep said then.

  “What is that?” Everyone she could think of was accounted for.

  “We did everything we could, but we lost the baby.”

  Stunned Zofia's gaze dropped to the edge of the bed. The blood on the floor of the inn. Of course. She'd forgotten all about that. She'd had a miscarriage. “It was my fault.”

  “It appears that everyone wishes to blame themselves for this. Dorian blames himself for not being aware of your pregnancy—which is just silly. Saint Germain blames himself for being too amorous. And Stephen blames himself for placing you in such danger.”

  Zofia thought on that one. “Yes. I would put the blame on Stephen. By the way, tell him I quit the Witenagemont.”

  Paradeep chuckled. “You can do that yourself when he comes to visit you.”

  “I will. Where is Saint Germain now?” she was eager to see him and thank her herself.

  Paradeep's eyes seemed to exhibit sadness. “Gone, I'm afraid.”

  “Gone? Gone where?”

  From within his robes he produced an envelope, it was quite large and thick. “He has left you with this letter and these keys.” He held out the envelope and three keys looped on a satin ribbon, all of them different in size, shape and metal—one was large and made of iron, the other two smaller, and probably made of brass.

  Paradeep pressed these things into Zofia's awaiting hands, then stepped away from the bed, and moved across to the fireplace, but didn't leave the room. He allowed her privacy by turning his back to her while he touched a lamp, and it blinked on; he seemed to marvel at this and kept making it go on and off.

  With shaking hands she opened the crisp parchment folded over once. The beautiful, bold scrawl, which she knew was Saint Germain's, filled the pages, end to end.

  My beloved Zofia,

  I have instructed my most trusted servant, Percival, that in the event of my death, or if I have survived this day, but cannot get this letter to you myself, that he should have it placed into your hands along with these keys.

  Were it that I could explain everything in a simple letter, this would not prove so difficult. I shall do my best, however.

  First let me tell you that when I first saw you I thought it was a trick of the mind, that you merely looked like Christine, the woman I married in the year of our Lord 1765, (Earth). I could not understand, however, that everything about you screamed Christine to me. You not only look like her, you have a way of speaking that she did—your gestures, your facial expressions—and your wonderful laugh. How? How could this be, I asked myself. And readily the answer came. We spoke of it, of course. You must understand that at first I thought I had gone utterly mad. Then, realizing you were a sorceress, I thought that somehow you had cleverly entered my mind and merely made me think I was seeing my dead wife again. But, in time, I realized that this was not so. I have told you, and I still tell you, you are Christine reincarnate.

  It is true. It must be. I have lived through the centuries avoiding Death's dark hand, and often, whilst alone with my thoughts, wondered what the point of it all was. My loneliness stretched on endlessly. I saw no relief. What had I gained in immortality?

  As you know, Christine was with me only a short time, and was taken from me by a terrible sickness which I could not cure. I came to your world in hopes of forgetting her. I had achieved it for a full five years, and then the loneliness seeped in. Even after more than two hundred years, I still wept for her.

  Of course I filled my time with all the trappings of my various interests and hobbies, and so forth. But nothing could fill the void.

  I knew that the only way for me was to return to that time again, and administer the cure to my beloved Christine. You see, in the many years I had remained alive, down through the centuries I had worked on the cure. This is a new breakthrough in medicine on Earth, and through my own experiments here I have recreated it in my own labs.

  My plans thus had unfolded; I worked day and night, excited at the prospects, I would make it so that my Teleport Machine would take me back in time, back to that date, or at least before it—as close as I could come, and bring the cure to Christine.

  I must inform you that all my plans were coming together just as you arrived at my service. When I saw you, I was almost willing to believe that Christine had somehow come through my Teleport during one of my experiments.

  Then, of course, I realized you were not Christine, the actual woman who had died in my arms, but her incarnate. The emotions this brought to me—can you imagine? As well as the mounting questions. Do I leave you, and go to her in the past? And then what should I do, when I arrive in the past? My plan was I would return with the cure, then I was going to give her the Elixir—once she had gained health again. That was my plan. She would live on, as I did, be with me throughout time.

  It took me a while of deep thought, I realized that this was my answer to my deep loneliness. I was also fearful that perhaps going back would not work, and I might be stuck somewhere I did not intend. I was confused about that, as well as what it all meant.

  However, I then saw the folly in my plans: you would never have been born. I could not with full conscience, do this.

  Zofia, I realize that what we have had was a glorious three days together, my love. But my being in your life now is not right. I've cheated death. I understand that everything I have done from that moment I began taking the Elixir was selfish and unnatural. I have disrupted your life, and every life I have come into contact with. I cannot right this wrong. Not fully. But what I can do is go back, as I have sai
d I was planning to do in the first place. Return to my century, my world. I would give the cure to Christine so that she would have a long life by my side, and I would not take the Elixir any more. I would grow old with her and we would die a natural death, as it was meant to be.

  Alas, my love, I hope that what I have put to paper will not grieve you too much. You must realize the people who love you, and you love back, surround you. I could not offer you better than what you have now. My remaining there on the same planet would inhibit the natural course of things. We—you and I—had our time together, here and now, and then.

  I have been a greedy man, and I have come to realize my foolish ways. You were the one to show this to me, in your own wonderful way.

  I return to my rightful place in history, with heavy heart that I had to leave you this way. I know, and I am certain you will see in time that this was for the best. Best for everyone involved.

  Know also that my love for you transcends the centuries, and is not held by physical boundaries. We will meet again, my love. Not in this world, but possibly the next.

  Because I feel I owe you so much just for being you, and filling these past few days with such warmth and banishing my loneliness for a short while, I bequeath onto you, Zofia Trickenbod, my castle, and all that is within it; all of my belongings, including all jewels, and gold. Also, both Percival and Jacques have agreed to stay on here at the castle, and are at your command. Also, my coachman, Randal Rathbone; all six stallions; the coach and all tack—to enjoy and use as you desire. All contents of my laboratories, as well as the Teleport Room, and all within it, is also yours and yours alone to do with as you so desire. The only thing I take with me are a few bare necessities, a list of ingredients, which I have need of, and, of course, my Teleport Machine.

  Three keys that I deem important for you to have:

  The small gold key opens the drawers of my desk in my personal library.

  The large iron key opens all three doors of my laboratories.

  And the last, of course, unlocks my suite above yours.

  Now, my love, I must say Adieu, we shall find each other again, some day.

  With love,

  Franz

  (Count Saint Germain)

  Zofia's hand trembled as she held the letter, staring at it. Tears fell onto the parchment, causing the ink to bleed. Dropping the letter, she covered her eyes and wept quietly, knowing she would never see Saint Germain again, but they were bittersweet tears. She was happy about his plan, and that he had shared them with her. She hoped that he had arrived in the right year on First World so as to be with Christina, and wished deeply that somehow he could get word back to her. But she knew he wouldn't be able to.

  “Ah, I think we have a visitor,” Paradeep's voice cut through her tears just then.

  Through a fog of tears, Zofia saw him cross to the door. Funny, she hadn't heard anyone knock. He opened the door to something small and white. It came bounding in like a dust mop with feet and a black nose, it's white fur glistening and flowing as it ran straight toward her bed.

  “Hey! What's Lolly's dog still doing here?” Zofia managed to mutter past her runny nose just as Mr. Tigges jumped onto her bed and looked at her with it's head cocked.

  “He didn't want to leave with Lolly, I'm afraid. He ran away from the woman, in fact.”

  Mr. Tigges turned circles at the end of her bed and curled up finally into a ball of white froth.

  “He's clean! Last time I saw him he was filthy,” Zofia said.

  “Yes, you are quite right,” Paradeep answered standing half way between the open door and the bed, his robes were a nice orchid color today, she noticed distractedly. “When it was learned that you had suffered so, a very lovely woman by the name of Dorothy—”

  “Clutterbutt?” Zofia finished for him.

  “Yes. Mrs. Clutterbutt offered her help in any way. So, when we found the dog we didn't know what to do with it, since it didn't want to go back. So she took it in, and cleaned it, and vowed to take care of it. However, the animal found it's way back inside the castle. I sense that here is where it wishes to be.” He smiled and peered over the rim of his glasses at her and added, “He knows his way around better than the help, I believe.”

  Zofia found herself smiling at the way the dog had just curled up at the end of her bed as though it belonged there with her.

  Two new forms appeared at the door.

  “Mom? Are you awake?” Blanche asked.

  “A dog!” Elton cried and surged across the room.

  The white dog was on his feet, oddly not barking. It went up to sniff at Elton as he reached to pick him up.

  “Wait a troll minute. This is Lolly's dog! What's Lolly's dog doing here?” he asked, looking sharply at Zofia.

  “I think we've inherited him,” Zofia said, watching as Blanche settled demurely on the bed beside her. She had a somber expression as their eyes met.

  “So, we're not going to have a little baby sister?”

  “—Or baby brother,” Elton injected quickly as he held the dog's front paws while it stood on it's hind legs pink tongue out looking entirely too happy.

  “No,” Zofia said. “I'm afraid not.”

  “Bummer,” Elton said.

  “Why aren't you in school?” Zofia asked curtly.

  “Are you kidding? The biggest bust in thirty years! They let school out because of everything that happened—the Helsingas getting loose, and other things. Any way I'm here until they call us back.”

  “I see.” She absently scratched her head.

  “Dad wanted me to tell you he's sorry to hear about it, too,” Blanche said.

  “Your father is here, somewhere?”

  “Yeah. He's in a room just down the hall. There were several that weren't being used by anyone. That Jacques guy opened them up for us,” Blanche explained. “That guy is weird. He speaks a strange type of French, I can't even understand him sometimes.” Zofia suddenly remembered Blanche had been taking French in her Ugwump school.

  Into the pause the white dog barked sharply. Looking to see what the matter was, Mr. Tigges was facing the door. In the door paused two tawny, large cats. Perth and Argyll both stopped, arched their backs and hissed.

  Mr. Tigges jumped off the bed and scurried across the floor after them. All three animals disappeared down the hall; barking, and the voices of Argyll and Perth complaining miserably about having the dog in the castle carrying to her ears.

  “Oh!” Tillie said, hand to her chest as she stood shunted away, just inside the door.

  “Hey wait!” Elton raced out the door, making Tillie step back once again. She followed Elton with her eyes and then shot Zofia a look of exasperation.

  “I thought that woman with the huge chest and funny accent had that dog in her place.”

  “No,” both Zofia and Blanche said. She noticed that Paradeep was no where in the room. He had Evanished at some point during the family reunion.

  “Any way, I'm going to strangle Frenchie,” Tillie said with murderous eyes.

  “Frenchie?” Zofia said.

  “That's what she calls that Jacques guy,” explained Blanche.

  “His name is Jacques,” Zofia explained.

  “Yeah, whatever. I don't like men in my kitchen.”

  “I think the kitchen is his, Tillie.” Zofia found the fact that Tillie had been able to locate the kitchen in this crazy castle absolutely amazing. But then the woman had a nose for flour, sugar and eggs, she guessed.

  “What?”

  “He's going to be our cook from now on. I just became the soul owner of the whole place. Dark Castle, everyone that works in it, and everything in it, I now own.” She lifted the letter from Saint Germain which said so.

  Tillie's mouth fell open.

  Blanche's eyes went wide, then glazed over. “We're rich?” She jumped up. “Oh, goddess! Oh goddess!” She jumped up and down. “We're rich! We're rich!” She ran out of the room screaming these words over and over again. />
  “So,” Tillie's mouth began to work again. “You're saying I don't have to get up at the crack of dawn and fix breakfast for four to six people any more?”

  “Nope,” Zofia said, smiling.

  Tillie's face split with a smile as she snapped her fingers and twirled around. “Thank you! Thank you!” she praised, hands raised over her head as she strode out the door.

  Zofia let out a grateful sigh.

  Tillie trekked back in, and peered inquisitively at her.

  “Dearie, did you need anything before I go?”

  “No. I've a bell pull, if I need something.”

  “Yeah. Elton has been giving the butler a time of it, so I had to charm it temporarily.”

  “Fantastic,” Zofia said. “I'm hungry.”

  “I'll find Frenchie.”

  Zofia made a wry face. “Uh, over see the cooking for a while, will you?”

  About the Author

  Lorelei has always rooted for Dracula/vampires to be the romantic hero in books and movies before it was “cool”. Author of the Sabrina Strong series. Baby Boomer, avid bird watcher, naturalist, and member of Writers of Mass Distraction, lives on a prairie reserve in the Midwest with husband of 26 years and three feral cats.

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