Blood Moon (Book Three - The Ravenscliff Series) (28 page)

Montaigne sighed. “I can see from your lack of response that you carry information from the future that we will not be successful with poor Ogden. But we must nevertheless carry on and continue to try. Without hope—”

“You are right, Montaigne. It would be impossible to do everything we have to do if we didn’t have hope.”

The day dragged by ever more slowly. Sitting in a chair opposite the immobile yet highly conscious Randolph, Devon at last dozed off for a bit. He awoke with a start, aware of the lengthening shadows in the room.

Randolph came to life as well, speaking not a word. Somehow, without communicating with Montaigne, he knew the plan. He escorted McNutt to the garage, Devon following. It felt like a play, with actors just going through their parts. Devon was a weary member of the audience, who’d seen it all before and knew how it ended.

Montaigne provided a chair, and McNutt took his place in the middle of the star.

“Tell me what happens,” McNutt said to Devon, his voice calm and terribly sad.

How could he tell him? What could he possibly say?

Devon smiled, trying not to cry.

“Well, your daughter Gigi will grow up to be a lovely girl,” he told McNutt, “and she’ll find a happy home with a husband who loves her. And you will have a grandson, who will be one of my best friends, a really cool guy, smart and brave. And I promise you, if I ever get home again, I will tell both of them all about you: what a smart and brave and loyal Guardian you have been to us.”

Ogden McNutt smiled. “Thank you, Teddy. Thank you. That’s all I need to know.” He closed his eyes, waiting for the moon to rise.

It did, and the transformation began.

“Now I remember!” McNutt shrieked. “The urge to kill! That’s what came over me!”

He groaned as his body contorted left, then right.

“I don’t want to kill! Don’t let me kill!”

“You’re safe within the pentagram,” Randolph told him. “You won’t be able to step outside it!”

But McNutt could no longer hear him. He had become the beast, snarling and gnashing its teeth inside the pentagram.

The thing howled at the top of its lungs. Devon recoiled from the terrible sound echoing through the empty garage.

The beast cried again, as if calling for help.

And someone apparently heard it.

“Look!” Devon shouted.

The pentagram was disappearing! As if smudged off by an invisible eraser, the white chalk drawn on the concrete was vanishing!

With his finger Randolph attempted to magically restore the lines of chalk, but as fast as he could draw them they were erased again. With enough of the pentagram broken, the beast was able to step free of its boundaries. It roared, and Devon saw its red eyes were filled with the lust for blood.

Instantly Devon and Randolph were covered once more in their silver armor. With a wave of Randolph’s hand Montaigne was armored as well. The beast, letting out a long scream of frustration, turned and leapt through the garage window into the night.

“We’ve got to go after him!” Montaigne shouted.

“Not so fast,” came a voice.

They turned. Standing there in the doorway, smiling at them in his black sorcerer’s robes, was Jackson.

“Before you rush off,” he said, his voice calm and almost friendly, “I think there might be something here a little more urgent.”

Randolph took several steps toward him. “Listen to me, brother. Take pity on the poor souls in the village who have done you no harm. McNutt will kill someone tonight. Call him back.”

A wide grin stretched across Jackson’s face. “Do you think I have any feeling left for anyone after the way you all took my wife from me? Certainly not for the poor souls who will soon be my subjects!”

The Madman lifted his face and laughed, a sound that was even worse than the beast’s howl echoing through the garage.

He dropped his eyes back to his brother. “Did you really think you could hide your family from me, Randolph?”

Devon saw Randolph’s face go white.

“Oh, how many secrets the Guardians know, and today I have been inside the mind of a Guardian! There are no more secrets from me.”

“Leave my family alone, Jackson!” Randolph shouted.

“A brilliant hiding place! Oh, yes it was! Right here! Right among us! Only in a parallel universe, vibrating at just a slightly different frequency than our own. Brilliant, Randolph! Just brilliant!” The Madman laughed. “The children could still run and play, go to sleep in their own beds. Only they would remain out of our sight, out of our reach.”

Randolph readied himself, the terror written on his face.

“Once I knew where they were, it was easy to get them,” the Madman said.

He reached his arm through the air. Suddenly it disappeared from the elbow down as he broke through to the parallel world and pulled back, as if from some invisible pocket, a frightened, a sobbing little Amanda.

“No!” Randolph shrieked.

“Oh, yes, yes,” Jackson said, and instantly he was no longer dressed as a sorcerer but as Major Musick, the white-faced clown who had so terrified the little girl. He smiled with his big mouth and poked his bulbous red nose into her face. Amanda screamed.

Randolph lunged at him, but Jackson disappeared, Amanda with him.

“He’s got my baby,” Randolph stuttered. “He’s got Amanda!”

“Be calm, sir,” Montaigne advised. “He wanted to throw you off balance.”

Devon watched as the great sorcerer visibly restored himself. A sense of purpose returned to his face, and he let out a long breath.

“Yes,” he said. “You are right, Montaigne. We will win if we remain balanced.” He turned his eyes to Devon. “The two of you must go after McNutt. Whatever destiny must be fulfilled is up to you. I will follow my brother.”

“Do you know where he’s gone?” Devon asked.

“There is only one place,” he said, and disappeared.

Devon turned to Montaigne. “Follow me. I know where we’ll find the beast. He’ll be at East Seaboard Beach. And he’s probably already killed a girl.”

Indeed, when they got there, just as the newspapers would tell of it in the future, the girl was dead. Her body lay on the beach as the waves crashed steadily against the sand, the moon casting its terrible white glow against the rocky surface of the sea.

The beast stood over her, looking down. It howled, not out of rage or triumph, but out of grief.

I don’t want to kill! Don’t let me kill!

Devon stood face to face with it. The beast’s cries were heartrending as it stood in the moonlight.

Montaigne came bounding onto the beach. The beast noticed him, made a low growl in its throat, and advanced upon him.

“Get back,” the Guardian shouted, but the creature kept lumbering toward him.

“Ogden!” Devon shouted.

The beast paused in its approach.

“You don’t want to kill!” Devon reminded it.

The beast turned once, and in its eyes Devon could see its humanity. He could see Ogden McNutt.

Then the creature turned again and resumed its menacing approach toward Montaigne.

“Ogden!” Devon shouted again.

But now the beast had nearly reached Montaigne, its giant arms outspread to maul him, its maw snapping with a thirst for blood.

Montaigne had no choice but to shoot, sending a silver bullet straight through the beast’s heart. It staggered backward, letting out a long, wounded howl, and fell onto the sand.

And there, in the moonlight, another transformation occurred. The beast once again became the gentle Ogden McNutt. Devon hurried to him, cradling his head and shoulder in his arms as he died.

“Tell … them …” McNutt whispered.

“I will. I promise.”

With that, Ogden McNutt closed his eyes and was gone.

It was a horrible experience, growing up.

Devon had arrived in this era a boy, but now, with the deaths of two people he cared about—two deaths he had been powerless to prevent—Devon no longer felt so young.

He had never really known the innocence of childhood, of course—not with the monsters in closet being real. But he had been lucky, up until now. No one had died. He had managed to save them all—Alexander, Cecily, D.J.—whenever any of them had been in danger.

Now he knew that his great powers would not always save the day.

He didn’t like growing up. Not if it felt like this.

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” Montaigne said, the gun still smoking in his hand.

Devon let out a long breath and stood, looking down at Ogden’s lifeless body. “He’d prefer it this way,” he said, his voice cracking. “He didn’t want to go on killing.”

They brought the body back to Montaigne’s cottage and made an anonymous call to the police about the dead girl on the beach. But the grief that threatened to overwhelm Devon had to be cut short: there was still the Madman to deal with, and Randolph was going to need his help.

“I know where they are,” Devon said. “Take my hand.”

Montaigne did so. They disappeared, and reappeared in the West Wing.

At the Hell Hole.

“Welcome!” Jackson cheered, still dressed as a clown and still holding a terrified Amanda in his arms. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to arrive!”

He faced Randolph, who stood in front of the Hell Hole, blocking his brother’s path. Only a distance of about three yards separated the Madman from his ultimate goal.

“Just the boy to break our standoff!” Jackson sang in his clownish voice. “Tell my brother he’s being foooooooolhardy. It’s an even exchange. His daughter for my Hell Hoooooooooole!”

“You can’t be so monstrous,” Randolph shouted. “She’s just a child!”

“Monstrous?” The voice deepened, and the clown face showed its sharp yellow teeth. “You took my wife from me! The only woman I ever loved!”

“No one took her from you except you yourself, Jackson,” Devon said.

The Madman snarled with one brightly painted red lip. “I had hoped you might be more reasonable, boy,” he told Devon. “But I see you are as intransigent as my brother here!”

“Give me Amanda,” Randolph said, trying to remain calm. “Give her to me, and then we will discuss whether I open the Hell Hole for you.”

“Oh ho ho ho!” The Madman laughed. “I’m not letting this little lady go that easily!”

Devon could see Randolph was weakening. The harder Amanda cried and the more terrified she became, the less resolve her father had to hold the Hell Hole.

“Don’t give in, Randolph!” Devon shouted.

“If he doesn’t,” the Madman cooed, smirking, “then I’m going to have to start
really
scaring my precious little niece here.”

With that there came the sound of leather wings. Another bat-like demon, similar to the one Devon had defeated on the grounds of Ravenscliff, appeared above them. It screeched, stretching its enormous wings and flexing its giant talons. Then it perched on a bookcase, training its burning red eyes on the girl.

Amanda screamed, a bloodcurdling cry of terror from the two-year-old child.

“All right then!” her father shouted. “You can have the Hell Hole! Do with it what you will! Just give me my daughter!”

“No!” Devon shouted. “Think what he will do with all that power!”

Randolph was running forward, his arms outstretched. “I don’t care! Just give me Amanda!”

The Madman’s eyes grew wide with lust as the bolt on the Hell Hole began to slide away.

“No!” Devon shouted again.

The portal creaked open.

“It is mine!” Jackson exulted. “It is mine!”

He dropped the girl as he rushed forward to embrace his prize. Amanda was caught by her father.

This was it, Devon realized.

The moment Jackson Muir was defeated.

It all happened in the blink of an eye. Devon proved faster than the Madman. He made it to the portal before Jackson did.

And he dove straight inside.

I’ve been in here before
,
he told himself.
I can do it again
.

It was black and terribly hot, and the smell was overpowering.

I don’t have to go in far. Just far enough to block the demons from getting out, and Jackson from getting in to set them free.

He positioned himself at the portal itself, his torso serving as a barricade to prevent anyone from coming or going.