The Curse of Arkady (36 page)

“Webs. Silvery strings. Just kind of out of the corner of my eye, but the whole foyer is full of 'em.”

“I don't,” said Jason, even as he eyed the entryway again, “see a thing. But that doesn't mean you don't.”

“What are webs for?”

“Trapping food. And the strands quiver when the prey touches and struggles in them, alerting the spider . . .” Trent stopped.

“ ‘Come into my parlor,' said the spider to the fly,” quoted Bailey.

“The strands must be energy. An energy net, like. The minute we brush one, they know we're here.”

Jason said quietly, “I think they already know we're here. I'm suspecting the webs are a lot worse than that. Take the lead, Trent, and try not to touch one.” He waited for Trent's lead and wondered if Brennard had somehow gathered up and corrupted ley lines, the natural flow of the Earth's various energies.

Trent took Bailey by the hand, moving her away from the shadowed foyer wall, and began to walk to the lighted square of a door at the other end. Jason followed, but it was difficult because Trent took a very odd path through, casting right and left, ducking low, then stepping over things that Jason could not begin to see. They would have looked very peculiar, if there had been security cameras on to see them, but those awaiting them had chosen to depend on Magick for their surveillance.

Trent and Bailey stood in the golden arch and he had nearly reached them when something stung across his left arm, his bicep, as if he'd been lashed with a fiery whip. He let out a yelp of surprise and pain.

“I told you to duck!” Trent fretted as Jason wheeled sharply to the right and then took a side step to join them. “Is it bad?”

Jason rubbed his arm gently. He pulled the sleeve of his sweatshirt around, certain it must have been ripped open, but there was nothing . . . nothing but a faint, charcoal burn mark that smelled of singed cloth, but was cold to the touch. He rubbed his hand over it and felt the powdery grit of residue.

“What did that thing do?”

“It was like . . . like a whiplash or something. Stings like crazy. It must have been the web or something. Don't touch any strands.” The moment was over, but he felt a little queasy and who knew how he'd feel if he'd hit more than one of those things, whatever they were. “See any more?”

“Not as many but they're everywhere, Jason.”

“I wonder if a creature makes them. Some big scary Dark Hand spider.” Bailey shivered all over.

“Let's hope not. We've got enough trouble with people and wolfjackals.” Jason gestured at Trent. “We need to go that way, and through the door.”

“Follow me then, and do what I do, very carefully.”

They crossed the inner parlor, its room nearly empty except for alcoves with unlit candles in them, and boxes scattered about. It looked bigger, and older, and dustier than he remembered. The second-story floor overhead creaked, once, as if someone or something had taken a firm step. They all froze, and listened. Lacey stuck her head out of Bailey's pocket, whiskers trembling, but making not even a squeak as if the tiny pet sensed the danger. They all held their breath for a few long heartbeats, then Trent jerked his head.

“Old houses creak,” he said. “And this one is plenty big and old.”

“It must have been grand once,” Bailey whispered in awe. She looked upstairs to a landing, all paneled in deep, rich wood.

Jason nodded in agreement. “Dozer calls it settling noises.” He breathed in and out a few times to settle himself. His left bicep finally quit stinging. He set off after Trent and Bailey, casting glances around and behind them, wondering when the first attack would come. After that came other thoughts, wondering what kind of battle it would be, and if it would be to the finish.

Was he prepared for that? Could he even begin to do something like that? He didn't think so. But he would do what he had to in order to get his friends and the elders out of there. Even if he had to open a Gate to do it, a way through which the Dark Hand could not follow.

That thought sent a thrill right through him. The answer! He could. Yes, he could. Open a Gate, draw everyone with him through it, and snap it shut right in the faces of the Dark Hand. All he needed to do was find one, sense it, and focus on it, while Bailey and Trent distracted Brennard's efforts.

Of course, that might be a lot harder than it sounded, and it sounded impossible.

“W
E'RE going in,” Jason told them. “I want you to know who you're going to grab when I say, ‘Do it now!' I've got Trent. Each of you has to grab two people.”

“Eleanora and Henry,” Bailey claimed.

“Gavan and Tomaz.”

“All right. Once I've done what I'm going to do, I can grab Dr. Patel. I'll be linking arms with Trent, so we both have our hands empty. Bailey, you'll have to stow your crystal when I yell. Everyone understand that?”

“Yeah,” said Trent, and Bailey nodded. “Sorta,” she answered. Then, “No. What are you going to do?”

“Something spectacular and hopefully unexpected.” Jason felt excitement build in him. He could do it . . . he could! He grinned at her. “Opposites attack!”

She took a deep breath. Lacey poked her head out of the pocket, let out a tremorous squeak and dove back in, only her tail hanging outside. “I'm ready.”

“You're sure.”

She nodded, ponytail swinging. “Nearly sure, anyway.”

“In that case . . .” Jason reared back and then kicked out hard, the doors falling open and inward under the blow. “Charge!”

 

The library doors slammed open with a Bang!

“JASON!” shouted Henry. His glasses sat sideways on his round face, one of the lenses broken, and a long scratch underneath it, his brown hair standing nearly straight up. One sleeve of his sweater hung in unraveled strands.

“Jason, go back!” cried Eleanora. Her pale face turned to him, dark curly hair in a disorderly mass about her face. She sat in a Victorian chair, her wrists neatly tied to the wooden arms, her long skirts tumbled about her.

“Jason, lad, think very carefully what it is you're going to do.” Gavan Rainwater spoke last, bound elbow to elbow with Tomaz, who kept his silence. Even as Jason looked toward the two who stood against the bookcases, dark shadows enveloped them, and he lost sight of them. The veil, he was certain, was only illusion.

The trap was sprung.

“I can't quite see them,” Trent told him in a very low whisper. “But I can see the wolfhead cane. They're still here.”

Brennard stood in front of the great mahogany desk which seemed to brace him as well as set him off. Shadows held other figures which Jason could not quite see as he came to a halt in momentary dismay, then he realized it did not matter if the Magickers he hoped to rescue were tied or not. Easier, perhaps . . . a package deal!

Trent whispered behind his left ear, “Room is filled with webs. The only straight path is right for that guy.”

Jason looked straight at “that guy,” and said, “I believe this is the first time I've actually met you . . . Antoine Brennard.”

“True. It seems our knowledge of each other has only been in dreams.”

“Nightmares,” Bailey snorted. “Afraid to come out in the open? Jason's not scared of you.”

“Oh, but he should be.” The Magicker looked at her. The expression in his dark eyes seemed to be one of amusement. When it changed, and it would, Jason thought, she would be in deadly danger.

“The Hand seems to be here, too,” Jason commented.

“You can see them?” Brennard's eyebrows arched in his slender, elegant face.

He shook his head, even as Trent whispered softly to him, “One behind the desk behind Brennard, two to your left corner rear and one in the right corner rear . . . I don't see a fifth.” Why show all your cards? It disturbed Brennard enough that Jason could even sense them.

Brennard relaxed slightly then, leaning back against the massive desk. He wore a dark velvet coat showing ruffles at the cuffs as he crossed his arms over his chest. “A proposition, Jason. A trade.”

“I'm listening but not for long. Tell your Hand in the left corner to stop trying to flank us.” Jason put his chin up and shifted his position to guard Trent, who had again relayed the enemy's movement to him. He grinned and repeated Trent's whispered comment. “Or maybe he's just a Finger?”

Total surprise flared over Brennard's face and disappeared as suddenly. He raised a hand and gestured and something Jason could almost but not quite hear ceased to happen. Anita Patel looked with concern toward Brennard. She alone seemed unbound. Bailey stared at her for a very long time, as did Henry, who seemed to have begun to twitch, and his eyeglasses now dangled even more precariously from his face. His mouth worked soundlessly.

“This need not be as unpleasant as it could,” Brennard stated. “I want—”

“We know what you want,” Jason interrupted. “You want the three of us. You used Henry for bait for them, and all of them as bait for us.” He took a deep breath. “You're not getting any of us.”

“I don't think you see the situation clearly,” said Brennard. One corner of his mouth twitched, showing that he was still amused.

“I see it far better than you think I do.”

“Hand moving on the right,” Trent whispered quickly.

Jason looked to the right and said, “Hold it right there.”

Anita Patel swung about in astonishment, and Brennard jerked an impatient thumb. “Do not force things yet,” he said quietly, and again that almost noise he could almost hear stopped.

Bailey cleared her throat. “Let's play . . . Red Rover.” She smiled brightly at Brennard.

The Magicker looked at her. “Red Rover?”

“Yes. Red rover, red rover, won't you please send Henry Squibb over?” And she put her hand out for Henry.

Brennard laughed. “She thinks it's a game.”

“Not hardly. And you're not playing with children.” Bailey held her crystal up, and a thin white light lanced across the room, smoking. It sliced across one arm of the chair Eleanora was bound to, and then she pulled on her bindings and the ropes parted with a faint
twing!
Quickly she reached over to undo her other wrist, but Brennard gestured with a harsh word that seemed to darken the room. The Magicker went limp in her chair, and Bailey went to her knees, motionless. Lacey let out a pitiful squeak.

Gavan growled from the shadows that veiled and held him. “I will kill you for that, Brennard!”

“She only sleeps. Do you think I would harm a hair on her head? And the same goes for the girl.”

“No,” Jason said, a little sick to his stomach, “you wouldn't hurt anyone as long as you had a use for them.”

“Oh, I have uses.” He held up a woven sack and scattered its contents about the room. Bones and teeth went scattering. “I need a body or two.”

“What is that for?” Jason stared, not understanding that one.

“Evidence,” Brennard said. “To cover your taking. Your families will grieve over these, all that will survive in the ashes.” He gestured. “Get the old ones out of here. Treat them to the delight Fizziwig felt when he disobeyed me!” He stood. “Enough talk. You are well and truly mine. You are mine!” He waved his arm in a grand gesture.
“Inardesco!”
shouted Brennard.

“Burn!” whispered Trent in his ear. “It's Latin for start to burn or ignite.”

What?
Jason pondered. Burn? Latin? “How on earth do you know that?” He turned his head back toward Trent in total amazement.

“Harry Potter,”
muttered Trent, and blushed.

“Good grief.” Jason turned his attention back to Brennard who had regained his cold smile.

“It is your choice, Jason. Come to me freely, and they go. Or I will take you anyway, and they will stay here . . . to their deaths.” Brennard lifted his gaze, across the library room, through the open doors at Jason's back. “Candles burn so well. The whole place will go up like tinder. An All Hallows' Eve prank. No one will prove any different, nor will anyone come after you, thinking you still alive.”

Jason could smell the hot wax. Crates and crates of very flammable paraffin candles spread out downstairs and up, no doubt. His nightmare of facing Brennard and burning walls was coming true. . . .

And so was his need for a Gate. Not just any Gate. Fire Gate. He understood now, what it was all about. The McHenry house and his dreams had been trying to tell him for weeks.

He locked his eyes on Brennard's face. He curled one hand about his lavender crystal, and felt it answer to his touch, the only way a cold stone could, by warming. “Let them go.”

Brennard laughed, and as in Jason's dreams, it was a sound without true joy, nor did it light his eyes. “Do you think you can coerce me? A mere boy? You don't even have chin hairs yet!” He straightened, and his voice got stronger till it roared out of him, like a banked fire awakening and leaping into roaring sound. “I am the master of anyone in this room. Anyone! Don't fool yourself into thinking you can put enough steel in your voice to make me think twice!”

While Brennard's voice boomed, Trent said in his ear, “I still have clear sight of Gavan's cane. I know where they are, I'll get them.”

Bailey said nothing, but her linked arm tightened. She stayed with her head bowed, feigning unconsciousness.

Jason set himself, and began to pull forth what he knew about opening a Gate. He could smell the smoke beginning to pour into the room. By the time the flames reached them, it would be too late. They would already have suffocated. Bailey coughed once or twice harshly, as if confirming that. Smoke would kill before the heat. So the flames of his Fire Gate would have to be in his mind, a thousand thousand candles, ringing all of them.