Autumn (56 page)

             
Arabel did not pay any attention as Owen Murphy continued on with his short speech. She was busy trying to locate Zander and Francesca. Eli had an easier time of it, as he was so tall, and he tugged on Arabel’s hand when he finally spotted Zander. The couple hastened toward a large, purple divan where Zander was currently amusing an enrapt, pretty brunette party guest with tales of past heroic deeds.

             
Zander glanced up as they approached, his green eyes flashing with his particular, slightly wicked brand of bold humour, which was quickly replaced by an intense appraisal and speculation. Zander kissed the hand of the pretty brunette party guest and got to his feet.

             
“Arabel, Eli,” Zander drawled laconically, by way of greeting, as the now-pouty brunette reluctantly let him go.

             
Arabel wasted no time. “They’re going to attack,” she whispered softly into Zander’s ear as the trio moved as quickly as possible toward the exit.

             
Zander frowned. “They’ve gotten past the defences I erected?” he asked, irritation colouring his normally cheerful voice. “Already?”

             
“I felt them, just moments ago. I cannot tell how many there are, or how great their forces might be,” Arabel responded.

             
“I thought it would take them at least several hours to dismantle my work,” Zander reflected.

             
“You knew they would come?” Eli inte
rjected and
Zander nodded.

             
“Yes. I knew they would come.”

             
“What can we do?” Arabel asked.

             
“Let’s get Francesca,” Zander spoke abruptly, placing his champagne flute on a nearby table. “The more of us there are, the stronger we will be. I will send a message to Xavier; he is not far away.”

             
The trio scoured the room for the tiny medium but she was nowhere in sight. Arabel felt a dull, incapacitating worry creep into her thoughts and she brushed it away immediately. She knew better than to give in to the dark, pervasive energy. They could risk no empty pockets of malleability for the Dorojenja to fill with fear and hatred.

             
Eli squeezed her hand and Arabel knew he felt as she did.

             
Arabel called to Ira in her mind, and the bird, currently outside scouting the perimeter of the estate, answered immediately. Ira was able to show Arabel pictures of the dark forces and from what Arabel could discern in the faded light, there were a great many soldiers riding with Saul Porchetto.

             
“We are vastly outnumbered,” she remarked, frowning.

             
“There!” Eli exclaimed suddenly, pointing toward a large, open balcony lit with torches. “Francesca is over there!”

             
The trio hurried toward the balcony, which was just slightly to the far right of the stage. A small crowd of young men could be seen and the accompanying laughter of their party, as if someone had just completed the telling of a joke, was clearly audible. Arabel could discern now that the group of young men appeared to be hovering over a small sofa, all clustered enthusiastically around a girl.

             
Francesca looked up into the hazel eyes of her companion. She’d only just met him and yet he had already shared the funniest of stories with her. Francesca’s pink eyes blazed with humour as she graciously thanked him for the telling of the tale.

             
“You are a most entertaining companion!” she exclaimed delightedly.

             
“And you are a most beguiling listener,” he responded earnestly.

             
“I am Francesca de Lorimar,” she said, as they’d not yet been formally introduced.

             
The young man shook his golden blonde curls in amazement. His laughing hazel eyes bored into her bright pink ones in astonishment.

             
“Why, I scarcely believe my good luck!” he uttered incredulously.

             
Francesca questioned him with a look.

             
“I’ve heard of you,” the good looking, curly haired blonde man elaborated. “My name’s Simon Christopher and I am sincerely gratified to make your acquaintance, Miss de Lorimar!”

             
Francesca laughed, it sounded like clear, tinkling bells. “Do tell,” she urged Simon, with a slightly naughty gleam in her eye. “What have you heard about me?”

             
“It is said you possess an amazing propensity for delight, and you are a very famous Gypsy medium,” Simon spoke almost reverently, which made Francesca laugh again in simple appreciation of his unexpected candour.

             
“And you have an amazing propensity for the telling of tales,” Francesca replied glibly. “I do hope that last one was not true, however, or I should feel very badly indeed for the heroic shortfalls of the young boy!”

             
Simon smiled widely at Francesca, a slightly embarrassed look upon his attractive face. “You already know,” he stated softly, “that the story is simply that: a tall tale.”

             
“Then I shall not repeat it verbatim, without a warning of such!” Francesca replied, smiling, her expression sobering suddenly as she caught sight of Arabel, Eli and Zander bearing down upon her.

             
“Please excuse me,” Francesca said to Simon quickly and without further ado, hastened to meet her friends.

             
Simon Christopher watched intently as the tiny beauty moved quickly toward an approaching group of people. Simon did not know them but he quickly discerned that all but one were Gypsies, such as Francesca was. Simon hoped his delightful companion would soon be back and he immediately began mentally sorting through the inventory of laughter-inducing stories contained within his head, that he might find another tale suitable to regale her with upon her return.

             
Arabel felt Ira calling her. Eli could still hear the bird as well and they exchanged a brief look of concern. Ira reported that the dark cloud of energy was shifting; it was moving along the perimeter of the estate and with it, an emerging oval, an energy void, was approaching silently, rolling and quivering into being, and making its way toward the party. Behind the energy void, a group of soldiers rolled a massive Dorojenja shield up the front lawn. Blood dripped from the wheel as it gruesomely rolled its doom-inducing horror toward the unsuspecting party-goers.

             
The sound of the revelry of the ball intensified, as if all of the chatter had been brought up ten decibels in strength. The colours of the room deepened and darkened and the candles glowed brighter and hotter. The band resumed playing but their efforts now produced a loud, overpowering blast of discordant audio instead of the gracious music they had just been playing prior. Arabel put her hands to her ears to block out the jarring sound.

             
Everywhere she looked, Arabel could see energy falling within the room; down, down, down, onto the unsuspecting guests, coating them in some sort of hypnotic trance and mass possession spell. The energy fell in globules shaped as snowflakes, large, visible white flakes, terrifying in intent. Arabel felt faint, as if someone was plucking valuable life-energy from her very core and stealing her light, thereby cancelling out her mental faculties and accessibility to magic and intuition.

             
Ira was cawing, loudly, warning of dark forces entering the mansion. Arabel and Eli could hear the bird as he raucously sent for help from the rest of the corvids. Arabel felt the sleek black feathers of the bird’s wings flapping with the urgency of its cries. She could see Ira’s beak bobbing up and down as he cawed incessantly for assistance. Arabel struggled to stay awake; she felt her feet shifting, moving of their own accord, and then she felt Xavier, active within her mind.

             
Eli grasped Arabel’s hand tightly and somehow they made their way to where Zander stood. He had his eyes closed and he was deep in the creation of an energy void of his own. Francesca stood next to Zander, holding her hands out in front of her and clutching her white beads as if holding back evil. Francesca swayed to and fro, as if listening to an inner voice, all the while her lips chanted inaudible words.

             
Arabel fought with all of her strength to stay within the confines of her body. It felt as if she was being sucked out of her very own form against her will, and s
he wondered fleetingly if this wa
s how the thief Jonty Governs had felt when he had been taken over and possessed by Saul Porchetto’s magic.

             
The red stones on Arabel’s wrist buzzed, the ring glowed steadily, and Arabel’s heart mercifully slowed to a sustainable rhythm as she counted out the invisible lines of the protective spells within her head. She could still feel Xavier moving within her mind and Arabel listened intently for a message from the Gypsy leader.

             
“We must pierce them in the mind, for they have no heart,” he commanded decisively.

             
Arabel turned to Eli just as the candelabras burst into exuberant, inextinguishable flames and the ballroom erupted into a mad panic of chaotic disarray. Glass shattered like crashing dominoes and the room became instantly suffocating as heat swarmed it in undulating waves of invisible flame. Arabel stood her ground as shouting, sobbing and fleeing guests ran pell-mell in every direction, all hastily headed for the doors to exit the ballroom.

             
Some hysterical guests fell and were trampled; others were rendered frozen to the spot, unable to move, dominion over their senses replaced by the Dorojenja’s control almost instantly. Chaos replaced the gaiety of the ball and wicked threads of dark hostility ran gleefully amok throughout the room, their intention to overpower the light easily seen.

             
The Chief and his men, while strongly affected by the burgeoning evil, still struggled to do their job of maintaining order and providing a sense of protection on the estate. Arabel could see the Chief, quite valiantly, actually, as he struggled to beat off the coating of white snowflake terror, which was still falling profusely from thin air and into the ballroom.

             
“We must stop that!” Arabel cried, directing her mind toward the white substance.

             
The grey energy swirled in front of Arabel. She could hear the dark chanting within her mind now; it was coming close
r, it was gaining in strength.
It was almost upon her!

             
“Do not resist me,” Saul Porchetto taunted gleefully and maliciously within Arabel’s head.

             
Startled, Arabel closed off the telepathic avenues to her mind and blocked Saul’s cruel voice out. She could, nonetheless, still hear Saul laughing coldly as he waited for his chance to render her unconscious and take her innocence for his own. Arabel once again felt the smear of his brutal lips against hers in chilling detail. She wiped at her lips immediately, to ensure no trace of him remained.

             
Arabel called to her heart, to the energy of her parents, to Eli and Ira, to the energy of her grandmother, to the energy of all she loved. She held the flavour close and sent the energy whirling into the room to counter-attack and immobilize the grey energy.

             
The grey energy bit back angrily and Arabel could feel its jagged teeth ripping into her heart-shaped energy-field. Great, ugly slashes appeared on Arabel’s arms and neck and she cried out in the sudden pain as they immediately welted and bled.

             
Eli grabbed Arabel and held her close, shielding her exposed skin as best as he could from the vicious spell. Arabel felt the angry, harsh slashes as the energy attacked them both and the pain was intense as the cuts hit her body. Blood rapidly soaked Arabel’s dress and Eli’s suit as the jagged teeth raged like a savage beast.

             
Arabel realized in quick, sudden shock that this was how her grandmother and Paloma had died, both mercilessly cut to ribbons, and she increased the strength and intensity of her energy-field.

             
Arabel and Eli’s combined heart-centered energy block prevailed momentarily and it was thankfully long enough for the grey energy to withdraw, which it spitefully did, abating until it could spot that their defences were once again weakened and it could renew its attack with fresh, evil vigour. A hasty glance informed Arabel that despite their concerted efforts, the white terror continued to fall steadily within the Grand Ballroom.

             
Party guests were screaming in agony and writhing upon the floor as the dust coated them, rendering them unable to fend for themselves, to move, or otherwise leave the premises. Glass was strewn everywhere and Arabel picked her way as carefully as she could as they moved amongst the wreckage.