Sorcerers of the Nightwing (Book One - The Ravenscliff Series) (23 page)

He waved so long to Rolfe as the Porsche crunched the gravel driving out of the Stormy Harbor lot. Then Devon sighed, looking up at the
dark sky, grateful that the rain had eased for his climb back up the hill to Ravenscliff.

“I can’t believe you, Devon,” came a voice.

It was Cecily. She was standing next to D.J.’s car, parked a few yards away.

“Cecily,” he said. “What’s the matter?”

“I saw you get out of Rolfe Montaigne’s car,” she said.

“I had to talk to him—”

She was furious. “Devon, I’ve tried to understand
you. I really have. I know you want to find out why you are the way you are. But you’ve gone too far, Devon.”

He approached her, extended his hand, tried to touch her face. But she recoiled from him.

“I know Rolfe can be cool,” she said. “I don’t hate him the way Mother does. But the fact remains that he wants to hurt my family, and there you are sneaking off to meet with him. I’m telling
you, Devon, in your search for the truth, you’ve gone too far. Alexander’s not possessed; he’s just a brat. And Rolfe isn’t your friend; he’s just using you to get at my mother!”

“That’s not true, Cecily. If you knew the stuff I’ve just found out—”

“I don’t want to hear any more of it. It’s madness!”

She turned away sharply, her hair flying, rushing to the other side of the car and sliding
in beside D.J. Devon heard the engine kick in.

“Cecily!”

He ran after the car as it started to move. D.J. looked out from the driver’s window.

“Hey man, no hard feelings, okay,” D.J. said. “Guess Cess just decided she liked me better.”

The car accelerated. And in that last instant before the Camaro gunned out of the parking lot, Devon saw D.J. grin—shiny pointed fangs in the dark,
flashing a thumbs-up sign with a hooked, yellow talon.

“Cecily!” Devon shouted—but the car screeched off down the road.

Guess Cess just decided she liked me better.

A demon posing as D.J. The same one, Devon thought, that had assumed the shape of the boy at Gio’s. What would it do to Cecily?

Flo’s red taillights were vanishing in the darkness.

I’ve got to save her. I’ve got to—

Without even consciously willing it, Devon found himself airborne—thrust forward in a single leap at a speed that left him gasping for breath. Within seconds he was on top of the Camaro, looking down through the glass roof at the two figures within.

The demon looked up and roared, exposing its true face.

Cecily, suddenly aware, screamed.

A taloned
hand came crashing up through the glass, trying to grab Devon. Darting out of the way, he managed to stay attached to the car—almost as if he had suction cups on his hands. The Camaro swerved across the road into the oncoming lane. Ahead, a tractor-trailer barreled towards them.

“Oh noooo!” Devon shouted.

The truck leaned on its horn. The demon was driving with one claw, its other still
trying to grab hold of Devon’s legs through the smashed window of the roof. It was laughing maniacally now, the same laughter Devon had heard when the thing had tried to run him and Rolfe off the road.

Devon concentrated on Flo’s steering wheel.

With his mind he wrested control of it away from the creature who was driving. With just one thought, he managed to turn the wheel abruptly. The
car swerved out of the truck’s path and off the road into a grassy embankment. It came to a resounding thud against a tree.

“Hope you remembered to buckle up,” Devon called, jumping off the roof of the car and opening the passenger-side door.

Cecily had, indeed. She was dazed but unhurt.

“Cecily, get out,” Devon commanded, unhooking her seat belt. She obeyed, tumbling out onto the grass.

Meanwhile, the demon, still dressed in D.J.’s clothes but looking like its true self—scaly, reptilian, hissing smoke through its flaring nostrils—had jumped out of the other side. It laughed at them over the hood of the car.

Cecily gasped. “Devon—that thing—”

“Run!” he shouted, and she did, sprinting off into the woods on the side of the road just as the demon leapt, landing on Devon,
pushing him down into the mud.

You should have just opened that door, the creature hissed in Devon’s mind. You should have just let them out. Such power you’d have then …

“I have power now,” Devon bellowed, thrusting the thing off him. It flew through the air, landing on its back not far from where Cecily was hiding between a tree, splashing her with mud. She screamed.

“I’m stronger than
you,” Devon shouted at the creature, but it paid him no heed, getting back on its feet and leaping again, its face now a snout full of fangs.

You will be ours, the demon told him. You will come over to our side.

“A doubtful scenario, I think,” Devon cried, hauling off and socking the thing smack in the face. It recovered quickly, its long arms swinging back at him. Talons made contact with
his skin, cutting Devon across his face.

“Listen, ugly,” he cracked, “you keep this up and you’re gonna really start hurting my feelings.” Without even knowing he could do it, Devon threw himself feet first into the thing’s belly, toppling it over. It roared in pain.

He stood over it. “I send you back to your Hell Hole,” he uttered in a voice that seemed alien to him—a deep, strong, adult
voice. The thing on the ground quivered, then screamed. Suddenly it was whisked away, as if by some giant unseen vacuum, across the night sky.

Devon
just stood there, breathing heavily, in and out, for several seconds.

“Devon?” came Cecily’s little voice behind him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, turning to her.

“Am I okay?” She touched the wound on Devon’s cheek, which stretched across the bridge of his nose. “Are you okay?”

He flinched a little at her touch, then reached up to examine the wound himself. “Nasty thing drew blood,” he
snarled. “I hate that.”

“Devon, what is happening?”

She began to cry. And shake uncontrollably. Devon wrapped his arms around her.

“It’s okay, Cecily. It’s gone.”

She looked up at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I’m sorry for everything. I’ll believe anything you say now.”

He smiled a little, kissing her forehead.

“Oh, Devon,” Cecily cried. “It’s like I always knew something
would happen. Something would force the truth to come out.” She managed a small laugh. “Not that I could have expected anything quite like this. But I knew something—something was out there.”

“It’s okay,” he soothed her.

She buried her face against his chest. “Ever since I was little, I’ve known it. I’ve seen the lights in the tower, too, Devon. I’ve heard the sounds, seen the figures, felt
the presences. All of my mother’s reassurances couldn’t push away the truth. I knew it was out there.”

“Look, we can talk more later. Right now we’ve got to get back into town.” Devon looked over at the Camaro with its fender mangled up against the tree. “Poor Flo. Poor D.J.”

“Yeah,” agreed Cecily. “Who’s gonna tell him?”

Devon realized something. “You know, if that stinking thing was
masquerading as D.J., then where’s the real one?”

Cecily looked at him dumbstruck.

“Where did you meet up with Ugly?” Devon asked.

“At Stormy Harbor. I went down there looking for you. I saw D.J. sitting in his car—what I thought was D.J. anyway. A few minutes later you showed up.”

Devon nodded. “Then the real D.J. is probably back there somewhere, and he may be hurt. We’ve got to
go find him.”

They looked at each other. True enough—but just how were they going to get there? They were at least a mile out of town.

“I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to repeat the stunt I pulled getting here,” Devon said.

Cecily looked over at Flo. “Think she’s still drivable?”

“Maybe.” He grinned sheepishly. “But Cecily, even if she is, I don’t know how … to …”

She smirked. “Oh,
so you can fight off demons but you don’t know how to drive a car? Well, I didn’t necessarily mean you, Indiana Jones. I’m not just a helpless female cowering in the woods, you know.”

She slid in behind the wheel.

“Jeez, the thing sure left a stink in here,” Cecily said, scrunching up her face. She turned the ignition. The engine kicked in. “Ah,” she purred. “Flo’s still got some life left
in her.”

Devon got in the passenger side, careful of the glass showered all over the interior. “But you’re too young to have a driver’s license,” he said.

Cecily gave him a look. “For a kid who can wrestle down demons, you’re pretty naïve, Devon.” She put the car in reverse and backed it up on to the shoulder of the road. “D.J. taught me a long time ago. And when you’re Cecily Crandall,
the police don’t pull you over.”

She sped back into town, skidding into the parking lot of Stormy Harbor. “He was parked over there,” Cecily said,
pointing to the far end of the lot.

Sure enough, when they investigated, they found D.J. behind a clump of bushes, just in his underwear, bound and gagged and shivering—but otherwise okay.

They untied him.

“You should’ve seen it, man,” D.J. said as soon as the gag was removed. “Claws and fangs—”

“We know, D.J.,” Cecily replied.

“You okay, buddy?” Devon asked.

The other boy realized
his nakedness in front of Cecily. “Oh, crapola,” he murmured.

Devon doffed his coat and threw it to D.J., who speedily wrapped himself in it.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he said. “But that thing, man. It took my car.”

Devon looked at Cecily. “You fill him in, okay? I’ve got to get back up to Ravenscliff.”

She nodded, helping D.J. stand.

“Hey, man,” D.J. said, looking at Devon’s bloody face.
“What happened to you?”

“Tell you later. Just be on your guard, okay? Things may not be as they seem. Don’t trust anybody.” He winked at Cecily. “See ya at the big house.”

He bounded off toward the road. Within minutes he was at the cliffside staircase. He took three steps at a time. He emerged into the cemetery cautious, feeling quite certain Jackson Muir would be standing once again in
the tall grass. But there was nothing there except the moonlight on the gravestones.

He passed the flat stone marked “Clarissa” and realized he hadn’t had a chance to ask Rolfe about that name or about the marker called “Devon.” There was so much he hadn’t had a chance to ask, so much he still didn’t understand.

But he knew one thing: their time grew short to save Alexander Muir.

He rushed into the foyer, out of breath. Ahead of him in the parlor he could see Mrs. Crandall sitting in her chair in front of the fire, with Rolfe Montaigne standing over her.

They both looked up at him as he entered.

“Devon!” Rolfe exclaimed. “What happened to you?”

“I—had a little run-in,” he said, sitting down on the couch.

“Dear God,” Mrs. Crandall was saying, on her feet
now, looking at the boy’s face. “Simon!”

The servant seemed to appear from nowhere at the door to the parlor.

“Bring me a bowl of warm water, a cloth, disinfectant, and some bandages. Quickly!”

She stooped down in front of Devon, inspecting his wound. “It’s not too deep,” she said. “If we clean it, bandage it, and keep using vitamin E, it’ll heal quickly and not leave a scar.”

Rolfe
was looking down at him intently.

“Did you tell her?” Devon asked. “Did you tell her about Alexander?”

“Yes, he told me,” Mrs. Crandall said, but Devon couldn’t tell what emotion lurked behind her words. Anger? Gratitude? Indifference?

Simon had arrived with the first aid. Mrs. Crandall took the cloth, dampened it, and began patting Devon’s face. “Does it hurt, Devon?” she asked.

“A
little.”

He sat there and allowed her to tend to him. It was a side of her he hadn’t seen before: caring, nurturing, compassionate.

Dare he say maternal?

And the thought struck him, as Mrs. Crandall tenderly treated his wound, gently reassuring him—could this woman be my mother?

The idea startled him. It would make sense—more sense than her husband being his father. His powers, inherited
through her, through Horatio Muir. Mrs. Crandall was Nightwing—just like him.

That’s why my father sent me here. Because Mrs. Crandall is my mother!

And then—Cecily—Cecily really is my sister!

He tried to get the Voice to confirm the idea—to tell him whether it was true or not. But the Voice remained stubbornly silent.

Devon looked at Mrs. Crandall as she sat back to observe his bandaged
face. “There, Devon. You’ll be all right now.”

Such concern in her voice. Was it possible, this crazy idea?

Cecily …

“You can fill me in later on the details of your little run-in, Devon,” Rolfe said. “In the meantime, I think we’ve got things under control here for now.”

Devon pushed aside the thoughts about Mrs. Crandall. They were too much to consider right now. Way too much. He’d
rather have thought about demons and Jackson Muir masquerading as that crazy clown than think about Cecily being his sister.