The Charmed Children of Rookskill Castle (23 page)

The Tenth Charm: The Eel

Slippery as an
eel,
the Lady thinks.
These three remaining children are tricky. He'll
be a challenge, that Robbie.

But, oh, such fun. Catching
an eel with your bare hands is great fun.

Right out of the blue, she remembers doing such a thing as a girl. It was a treat, eel at the table, after days of stale bread and thin broth and that never-ending porridge. She'd been quick that day, her brothers acknowledged it, and as she waded knee-deep in the river her hands had been able to catch an eel and bring it home, and her father hadn't even beaten her that night after they feasted. Such a memory, that.

Which she promptly and firmly puts out of her mind, as her mind and memories are the last human part of her. She hates this part of her, and she hates her memories filled with
beatings and worse.

The Lady Eleanor fingers her four remaining charms. The eel, the anchor, the heart, and, of course, the thirteen, the container of souls. Only four charms and this last so heavy, as it is now filled with souls, a great clamoring of souls, and a great weight dragging her down. She walks with a pronounced limp as the chatelaine bangs against her hip. She would have borne a bruise if she had flesh left there.

She makes her way into the dining hall and sits, unable to stand for long, even with her mechanical legs, such is the weight of her chatelaine. She hears the
tap-tap
of a beak against the window glass. It would have been nice if the wolves had made it easy, for this weight is almost crippling. When the charm is full, she will no longer feel the weight. She sits in the dark and ponders her next move.

Which comes to her directly.

Witch

T
HE RAIN LET
up about the time they reached the main entry hall. The clock's slow
tock
was the only sound; as it struck three the
gong
echoed throughout the castle, up and down. The gray pall of the day lifted a bit as the clouds broke apart; Kat thought it might be a fine sunset and a clear full-moon night. And a cold night, too, and that thought made her want more than ever to find Amelie.

Rob led the way back through the castle toward the kitchen. As they passed the open doors to the echoing dining hall, they heard a noise from within.

“Cook?” Kat called, and she and Rob ran into the hall.

“I'm afraid not.” The Lady Eleanor sat in a thronelike chair at the far end of the hall before the cold fireplace. “Cook is
indisposed. But I'm glad you're here. I've been looking for you.”

A chill ran up Kat's spine, and both of them stopped dead in their tracks.

“You've been looking for us?” Kat said. “We're looking for our sister.”

The Lady nodded. “Looking for little Amelie.”

Kat heard the undertone: the Lady knew something. She knew something, and it wasn't nice.

Kat said, “Please don't tell us that she's gone home. Or off with the doctor. Or some other made-up story.” Kat clutched at the chatelaine in her pocket, her fingers tight around it. “I don't know what you really are, but you are no lady.”

The Lady rose from her chair. Even in the shadows Kat could see a grimace cross her face and her fists clench.

Sunlight broke through the clouds, streaming into the hall in broad bands, and Kat was blinded for a moment as the sun struck her right in the eyes. She squinted and shifted and lifted her hand to her forehead, but before she could get a clear picture again she heard several noises: Robbie let out a shout; the Lady laughed; Robbie's feet slapped the stone floor as he ran toward the Lady; then the sharp squeal as of metal on metal that Kat had heard so often in the night came from where the Lady stood.

The sun slipped away as fast as it had emerged. Now in the shadows at the far end of the room, Robbie faced the Lady. She
towered over him as he raised his sword in her direction. Everything about her was menace.

“Robbie!” Kat cried. She let go of her chatelaine and drew her hand out of her pocket, clenching her fists. But she was frozen in place, trapped. Trapped inside her fear.

The Lady reached for the blade and took hold of it in her two hands as Rob struggled to hang on to the hilt, and Kat thought,
There go her fingers, he'll slice
right through them,
but no, the Lady bent the blade back and back until it was at a right angle, and she walked, still gripping the blade, toward Robbie, who wore a look of bald astonishment.

How she had the strength to bend an ancient and heavy blade with her bare hands was a terrifying mystery.

“Rob!” Kat yelled, and now her legs woke up and she ran toward him. But too late, too late, for the Lady had reached Robbie and wrenched the sword from his hands and tossed it across the room, where it clattered on the stone, and she took him in one hand by his shoulder. His face contorted in pain as her fingers closed on him.

“Kat!” Rob called, choking. “Hurts . . .”

Kat skidded to a stop only ten feet away as with her free hand the Lady jerked Rob's chin upward and then dropped something over his head and uttered words that forced Kat to throw both her hands over her ears, for the words were harsh and guttural and came rising as if from the stones
beneath their feet with a clang and a hammering.

Your soul will sleep within its keep, your
life will linger dark and deep; by rock and bone
, by blood and stone, not life, nor death, but lost
, alone.

Kat thought she was inside some dreadful mechanical device that would grind them all to bits. She shut her eyes tight and fear flooded her, a dreadful weight in her limbs.

All around her went still. Silent.

When Kat opened her eyes, her throat filled with the sorrow and horror of it.

“Rob?” It came out a pathetic squeak.

“Yes, my dear, you have indeed been robbed,” said the Lady with a harsh laugh. “Your Rob is now my Rob.”

Kat's whole body shook. Rob's blank eyes, his helpless gestures—he was missing, gone, leaving a shell behind. The Lady stumbled and then straightened, and something seemed to lift behind her, black wings at the Lady's back.

Kat tried to plant her feet, but her knees threatened to give way.

One hand of the Lady's was still on Rob's shoulder; he was so limp, she was holding him up.

Kat said in a half whisper, “You're a witch.”

The Lady smiled wider, and for a moment Kat thought she saw not teeth in her mouth but metal spikes, sharp and thin and made for grinding, for pulverizing. She shook her head to
rid herself of the terrible sight, and the Lady became the Lady again, grimacing but with perfect teeth.

“My dear Katherine, I'm not merely a witch. I have a power you can't imagine. I've already lived many lifetimes. I've made a collection to which I just added. And when I'm finished adding”—she paused and licked her lips—“I'll be perfect. And I will live forever.”

“Finished?” Kat took a step away. “Finished adding what? What have you done to Rob? Where's Amelie?”

The Lady's eyes narrowed and she dropped Rob, who crumpled to the floor, helpless. She took a limping step toward Kat; Kat took a step away. “Does it matter? They are mine.” Kat saw her hand travel to that magnificent belt, to the chatelaine that hung visible now, the three charms twisting and turning on their chains, as if alive.

Kat rubbed her eyes, wishing she could rub away this madness. And then the full reality struck her. “That's not Lady Leonore's portrait in the hall. That's you. You've been alive for centuries already,” Kat said. “You've been casting spells. Spreading confusion, even pitting us against each other. You're a monster as well as a witch.”

“I'm a monster?” the Lady said. “I don't think you know what you've already started to become. Your right hand. Have you looked at it in the full moonlight? Have you listened to it in the dark?”

Kat lifted her hand before her. “How . . .”

“Exactly what I would like to know. How?” The Lady smiled again, that cold, bitter smile. She inched her way toward Kat, her right leg dragging, as if she was tied to the floor.

“I don't know,” Kat said, her voice small.

“You would call me a monster, when you are becoming one yourself. You call me a witch when you are controlling some kind of magic, are you not?” The Lady's eyes narrowed.

“I . . .” Becoming a monster. A witch. Kat's insides were twisting and turning like the chatelaine at the Lady's waist, writhing like snakes.

“You understand, of course, that monsters and witches can do great things. Why, you, my dear, might even save your father.”

“What? Save Father?” Kat pressed her hand against her chest, fearing her heart would break.

The Lady drew closer still. “You think this power I have could not be used for any purpose I choose? All I need is for you to bring me the other boy, and I could save him, your father. I could teach you to use this magic that you possess.”

“Peter?” Kat squeaked. “You need Peter? You'll save Father?”

“Yes.” The Lady was close now, her voice a low hiss. “Bring me the boy.”

“What will you do to him? To Peter?”

“He'll be mine. Like all the rest.” She moved her hand,
dismissive. Then the Lady coiled her voice around Kat like a rope. “But you won't care, once your father is safe. You'll see how powerful a monster can become, and you'll be glad.”

The Lady's voice was liquid velvet. Kat rubbed her forehead. One side of her clamored against this velvet voice; the other cried out for Father.
Bring Peter to the Lady so she could
deal with him like the others. Trade all of them
for Father.

Torn into pieces, that's how she felt.

The chatelaine in her pocket made a noise, the charms clattering together, soft, an insistent jingle. Kat shook herself, waking from a living nightmare.

Kat turned and bolted for the door, stumbling blindly. She grabbed the door with her terrible right hand, her monster hand, her powerful, treacherous hand. Kat had to get to Peter before the Lady did.

She couldn't think about her father. She had to put him out of her mind.

Pen, Scissors, Thimble

K
AT SLAMMED INTO
Lord Craig's room. Peter sat slumped in the chair next to the bed, and for a fraction of time she thought he was already under the witch's spell—but then he jumped as the door banged against the wall behind Kat.

Lord Craig did not stir.

Kat turned and shut the door, locked it, and drew a chair up and propped it under the handle so that the door couldn't be opened from outside.

“What are you doing?” She could hear the nervous laughter in Peter's voice.

The words tumbled out in a rush. “She's a witch. She's put a spell on Rob—on all of them. Heaven knows where they are, all the others. That's why they're so strange, so mesmerized. That's
what's been happening here. I don't know how she's done it, but now at least I do know why.”

“Hang on,” said Peter, thoroughly flummoxed. “Who's a witch? Cook?”

“No, no, we never got to Cook. It's the Lady. There's something dreadful about her and she's spelled them all. Everyone. Amelie and now Rob.” Kat had to swallow hard not to burst into tears.

Peter's brow furrowed. “Slow down, Kat. Take a breath and explain.”

She told Peter what she'd seen, ending with, “She says it will make her supremely powerful. That's why she's done it. To have some freakish power.”

She did not tell him that the Lady had offered to save Kat's father. About the bargain Kat could make. And she could not tell him about her hand.

Peter let out a low whistle and scratched the hair at the top of his head. “I have to say, this sounds pretty strange.”

Kat clenched her fists. “I'm not making it up. It's all true.”

“I didn't say you were making it up.”

“I don't make up stories like that,” Kat said, heated now. “I'm not a silly girl. I saw Rob! She had him completely under her power, she bent the sword right in her own two hands, she said these terrible words . . . !”

Peter held up his hand. “I didn't mean to suggest—”

“I'm practical.” Kat was afraid she might cry, so she paused and bit her cheek. “But there is magic in the world. And it can be evil and dark.” Kat took a breath and held it.

Peter watched Kat carefully, then nodded. “I believe you, okay?”

Kat reached in her pocket for her great-aunt's chatelaine.

Peter said, “Now. Tell me again what she did to Rob. Try to remember exactly, moment by moment.”

Kat spoke as slowly as she could. “She took Rob's shoulder in one hand. She had this chain in her other hand with something on it. A charm. She draped the chain over his head and said these terrible words—and that's when I shut my eyes, I couldn't help it, the words were like some great black suffocating ooze rising right up from below the floor—and Robbie melted away. He was gone. As if whatever makes Rob the real Rob was gone away, leaving an empty shell.”

The voice came from the great bed behind Peter, the voice sounding feeble and distant. “She stole his soul.”

Peter and Kat started, then went together to Lord Craig's bedside. He still lay in what seemed a complete stupor, his eyes shut tight. If she'd been alone, Kat would have thought she was imagining that he'd spoken a single word.

“What did he say?” Kat whispered.

“That she . . . stole his soul,” Peter answered, his eyes wide.

“My lord?” Kat ventured, reaching for the hand that lay
on the coverlet. “Are you there?” She looked at Peter, who shrugged, helpless. “Lord Craig, please, can you help us? What has she done with him?” And she wanted to ask, but couldn't,
What did she do with his soul?

And,
Could she
really save Father?

Lord Craig lay utterly still. The sun skated in and out behind the clouds as it lowered in the sky. Just as Kat's body went limp with exhaustion, he spoke again.

“She's stolen their souls. All of them. Deirdre tried to tell me, even when I dinna understand, when I couldna do a thing about it.” Lord Craig lifted himself off the bed, staring, as if waking from a long sleep. “I'd no idea what danger you bairns were in, what was happening here, what was happening to me. I'd no idea because Deirdre, bless her heart, dinna have all the pieces and her memory's affected. But now I understand. Eleanor has stolen them, their souls. Locked them in the thirteenth charm.”

The thirteenth charm. Kat bent over, her muscles all tense once more, and whispered, “How do you know?”

It was another moment before he spoke again, as he sank back against his pillows, closing his eyes, the strain wearing him down. “I know because I've just put together a string of puzzle pieces that made no sense till now. I know because I once overheard my beloved wife muttering in her sleep about that cursed chatelaine and the thirteenth charm and the souls
of children. I know because, as I already told ye, I'm no' dead yet.”

Kat feared he would be at any moment, but he rallied yet again and said, “She had that chatelaine from before, but persuaded me that it was a wedding gift. Well, it was, but not for our wedding, no. I thought she was good, a good person. I loved her so, you see. I was wrong.” He paused and Kat thought he might pass out again, so she pressed his hand, and he came back. “Her charms, that's what did it.”

“Her chatelaine,” Kat said. She pulled her great-aunt's chatelaine from her pocket and held it before him.

“Aye, that's it, that's the ticket.” Lord Craig lifted his hand and pointed. “Magic,” he said, and then his eyes shut tight and he sank, if it was possible, even deeper into his pillows. “She muttered in her sleep about that chatelaine, that thirteenth charm. Attracts magic to it, it does. I thought it was a nightmare she was having. Well, it was. A nightmare of dark magic.”

She and Peter both stared at the chatelaine in Kat's hand. “If my aunt was right, this chatelaine is magic, too,” Kat said. “Maybe it does more than emit light.” Pen, scissors, thimble.

“At the very least they're tools,” said Peter, “if we can figure out how to use them.”

“That's the question,” murmured Kat.

Lord Craig fell deep in slumber again. Peter and Kat spent the next hour searching the room, every nook and cranny and
corner. They found the hidden passage next to the fireplace. They dragged a sofa over to block it off. Then they lit a fire to warm the room.

“That's how she's gotten around,” Kat said. “All these crazy hidden passages.”

“This place was built by a lunatic,” Peter muttered.

“Or the whole place is spelled, brick and stone,” Kat said.

“I hope we don't have to hold out here for too long, or we'll starve to death.”

Kat's stomach rumbled at the thought of food. “I wish we'd been able to find Cook.”

“So these things,” Peter said, and pointed at her chatelaine, “they're each magical?”

“My aunt told me what they were for, but I didn't believe her. She said the pen is mightier than the sword and can write of its own accord. The scissors can cut through anything. And the thimble . . .” Here Kat paused. “Is for catching souls.” Catching souls. Like the Lady Eleanor had done.

“All right,” said Peter. “Let's think for a minute. You say you didn't see what she put around Robbie's neck?”

Kat shook her head, misery invading her at the memory of Rob's face.

“Have you seen any of the things on her chatelaine?”

“Yes,” Kat said slowly. “That first day, and then again just now. It was a bit like the chatelaine that Storm showed us. On
hers I saw a couple of charms. The one that stood out was a heart. And Isabelle spoke of one that she saw.” Kat didn't want to describe that one.

He nodded. “So maybe she has a different one of these charms for each person's soul.”

“Yes,” Kat said, feeling better. “Lord Craig said she's locked them, all the souls, in the thirteenth charm, which I'm betting is hers. Which means she must have had twelve charms to use.”

“So let's think. We have”—Peter began counting on his fingers—“that girl you saw on the first day with the fish, the crippled boy we spooked who was in your bathroom . . .”

Kat interrupted. “And the boy I startled in the kitchen with the cats, and those singing voices . . .”

“I'll bet there are two of them from the sound of it, two girls, that's what it sounded like to me.”

“Jorry and Colin and Isabelle . . .”

“And Amelie and Robbie,” Peter finished.

“Ten,” Kat said.

They stared at each other in silence for a minute. Then Peter said, “We're eleven and twelve.”

“And then she'll have the thirteenth charm,” Kat said. “With all of our souls locked inside. So that she can live forever with a terrible power. While we're trapped in some awful limbo . . .”

The sun slanted through the window in a fat red ray,
penetrating the low clouds and moving toward sunset. The thin line at the horizon flared pink.

“Amelie's soul is trapped,” Kat said. Her throat swelled with grief.

“And Rob's,” said Peter.

“And all those other children . . .”

Peter walked to the window, where the sunset bathed him in red light. That gave Kat chills, seeing him in the red glow, as did his next thought. “And us next.”

The fire snapped, and the sun lowered to the horizon.

“Unless,” Kat said as the last of the sun's rays lit the room, “unless we figure out how we can use my chatelaine against her.” Kat flexed the fingers of her right hand.

Lord Craig hadn't stirred for a long time.

“I don't know if I have the courage to face her again,” Kat said. She pressed her hand against her chest, against the tightness that bound her heart.

“But what else can we do?” said Peter. “Wait it out until we starve? I'd rather just face her now and be done.” His voice rang with frustration. He paced back and forth.

The fire warmed the room, and Kat stood before it, rubbing her hands. Her right hand felt especially cold and she fanned it open, catching the heat of the fire. The tall windows that
stared out over the lawn were reflective black now. The night was already freezing and the full moon rising. Wispy strings of clouds, the last of the storm, skated across the dark starlit sky. The dark eve of All Hallows', the time when evil walks the earth.

A full moon. Kat would not go near the window, not wanting to see what the Lady meant. Not wanting to see her own hand. Like a creeping sickness, the dark force of worry and fear twisted inside Kat. “We don't know how to stop her,” she said.

“Let's think again. You have a pen, mightier than the sword. That can write of its own accord.”

“Great. If I have to write the witch a letter, I'll use that.” Misery filled her with the taste of metal filings.

Peter pursed his lips. “What are the other charms on your chatelaine again?”

“A pair of scissors that can cut anything . . . Hold on. What if I cut her chatelaine from her belt? Got it away from her and . . . did something with it?” Her voice trailed off, as she had no clue what she'd do with it once she had it.

“By the time you got that close to her, she'd have you charmed.”

He was right. Kat slumped into the chair.

“What's the third charm?” he asked.

“A thimble. Supposedly for catching souls.”

“Well, maybe you could use the thimble to catch back the souls she already has.”

“And how would that work? And do what with them if I even could? Stitch a nice embroidery with them and the thimble?” She couldn't help it; she couldn't keep her voice steady or low any longer.

“Um,” said Peter.

Hunger and tension and Peter's hesitation and not knowing what to do got to her. “This is impossible!” She stood up and paced away, her fists clenched. “Ame and Rob and all the other children have been kidnapped, stolen, had their souls ripped out—ripped right out of their bodies—and the same thing's going to happen to us!” Kat's voice was so loud, she could hear it echo. “What are we supposed to do? Guess? My silly old aunt didn't give me any instructions. Just foolishness.” Tears filled Kat's eyes and she rubbed them hard. “What exactly are we supposed to do?”