Spell of the Dark Castle (Chronicles of Zofia Trickenbod Book 2) Read online

  Seeing all this, Stephen whacked the boy on the back of the head. Nelms dropped his hat, and then snatched it up off the ground, seemingly having no ill effects from the slap. This seemed to bring him out of his momentary teenage awe, however. Stepping up, Nelms pulled something out from under his hat, and handed, first Dorian, and then Zofia a short piece of parchment each. They were elaborately penned.

  Zofia read hers carefully.

  Consultation with the Head Commander of the Knights

  North Tower, Eighth Floor—11th Shadowpass

  TEA—Garden Room off East Tower—12th Shadowpass

  Induction & Feast—Great Hall—15th Shadowpass

  “Consultation with the Head Commander?” Zofia read aloud. Her eyes snapped up to engage Stephen's. Consultation? About what? She wanted to ask him right there, but couldn't. She could barely breath. This was an official edict. He obviously knew about the demon, Erebus. After all Stephen was their most talented necromancer. Her stomach tumbled, and her hands trembled with the thought. No wonder he had told her she was to come with them, and that it was very important that she did.

  “Well, come in, come in!” Stephen gushed, escorting them through the doorway and up a set of stairs which wound up through the tower. Stephen and Dorian strode side by side, their long legs moving them swiftly ahead of everyone else, setting the pace. Stephen's golden tail of hair shimmered down a blue velvet cloak with silver edging and a light blue silky lining. He spoke in a breezy, happy voice which bounced off ancient stone walls. “The Brotherhood is just itching to see you, Dorian,” he said as they rounded the stairs ahead of Zofia and the children. Zofia listened carefully, hoping to get a glimmer of what Stephen needed to see her about. But it proved futile. He would not openly speak of his meetings with anyone. Obviously his meeting with Zofia was very private, and quite serious.

  The stairway in front of them poured out into a long hall draped in purple bunting, white silver damask covered the walls. Gold and crystal chandeliers held great, white tapers, yet unlit, as the low sun speared through mullioned windows. Blanche took in all this affluence without a word. Elton, however, gasped at every turn as they all Transvected up the stairs.

  “Is there a great hall where we eat?” he asked excitedly.

  “Yes, there is,” Zofia said as they continued up the wide hallway. “We'll be dining there tonight.”

  “Where is that servant of mine?” Stephen grumbled as they made the landing. “Clive!”

  A small man popped out from a doorway several feet ahead of them. Hands clutched together, he looked apprehensively at them. He was not much taller than the Monks, but he did not have all the physical attributes as they did—except the bald patch and a frieze of scraggly, wavy gray strands over each ear, circling to the nape of his neck. He wore very thick, wire-framed glasses, bugging his eyes out.

  “An Ugwump,” Stephen said low to Dorian, “but he's very good, really.” Turning to the servant he said, “Are the rooms ready for our guests?”

  “Yes, my Lord,” the odd little servant said with a deep bow.

  “Very good.” Will you show our guests to them?”

  “Of course. This way, Master Grandier,” Clive said with a slight bow, and extended his hand down the hallway.

  “I'm off to tell everyone you've arrived,” Stephen caroled, as he cruised up the hallway, then disappeared through a stone arched threshold.

  While Dorian and Elton were taken further down the hallway, Zofia and Blanche stood before their rooms, at the end of the wide hallway. The doors set across from one another in an oddly angled cul de sac.

  Although Zofia had not forgotten the splendor of Restormell Castle, she had to marvel at what she took in through the open door.

  Blanche made an impatient sound, whirled about, her hair fanning out as she did. “Why are we separated?”

  “I don't know, exactly, but the bedrooms look cozy enough,” Zofia said over her shoulder. “Besides, you're used to having your own room.”

  “Well, yeah, but not in a creepy old castle.” She wrinkled up her nose as she said, “Smells musky.”

  Zofia sighed and returned a slightly put off look. “It's over eight hundred years old. What do you expect? And may I remind you, you're a guest here and you will mind your manners, young lady. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, ma'am,” Blanche said glumly, and slumped through the door, as though she had been banished into a dungeon. “Oh, wow,” her gasp came from within the room. “Purple and black? My favorite colors! How could they know?”

  As Blanche's voice drifted out of earshot, Zofia stepped into her own quarters. The wall coverings here were white and silver silk damask, while the drapes were midnight blue velvet with decorative silver stitching mimicking stars and moons. The matching bed canopy drapes were hung back on massive posts, and the mattress looked as soft as a cloud. Most of the furnishings were upholstered in the same dark blue velvet. She'd not had such a room when she had stayed here when she was young—she stayed just short of within the servant's quarters. She now had to wonder why she was getting such royal treatment now.

  Spying a cabinet next to her bed, Zofia arrowed for it and opened it up. There she found typical clothing of her world. Two chemises; one was soft cotton. It would be worn as a night shirt, and under the everyday outfits, like a bodice and outer garments. The other one was white-on-white jacquard, very elegant for dressing up. Next to this were two outer dresses. The emerald green one was accented with lace and gold piping and roomy sleeves. The other was peacock blue with puffy sleeves, and wide gold piping and lace. The blue one was for day, she determined easily enough, while the green was made of velvet and that was for evening meal. The low-scoop necklines of the chemises had silky cords that tied in the front. A woman who was daring enough to let it fall off her shoulders would be labeled a wench, and get what she deserved. A proper woman would make sure it showed just enough of the neck to the collarbone, but no cleavage—unless she was very well endowed. Zippers, and even buttons were not a Euphorian invention, therefore clothes here resembled very much those which they'd worn in the Middle Ages on First World, before they had moved from that world to this one.

  Although what she was wearing was quite permissible, Zofia stripped completely naked, and donned the softer undergarments made of luxuriously soft flannel, then pulled the cotton chemise over her head, and then took out the blue dress from the closet, gasping, “Yes! I'm home … yes!” over and over as she wiggled into the dress. She rounded her waist with a silver-coined belt she found in another drawer. Then, she toed off her First World sandals, and slipped on the divit toed shoes with beads and embroidering on black satin. They would look good with anything she wore.

  Looking up, she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror. She had to pause, once again very conscious of where she was after so many years of being away. She noticed right away that she seemed to glow. Her cheeks had a rosy hue to them, and her large dark eyes sparkled like they had not in a very long while. She didn't know exactly why. Not for a few seconds, anyway. Not until she turned to examine her still svelte figure. She brought her hands to her abdomen and ran them down across its flatness. She wouldn't show for a while. She had to tell Dorian what she had done, she reminded herself. She would do it gradually, she decided. She realized it didn't matter what Dorian had done with Xilomorah—if he had bedded her, or she him—it no longer mattered. She could find it in her heart to forgive him. She just hoped he would forgive her. That is, if she ever got a chance—and the guts—to tell him.

  Her stomach quivered under these anxious thoughts. She knew why she had been told to return. She would have to answer for what she had done. She only hoped that Stephen would recommend a short sentence in Hamparzum's, because she had killed both Blood and Xilomorah—or at least caused their deaths. That counted for something, didn't it?

  “You are a fest for the eyes,” the voice from behind made her jump.

  She turned to see Doria
n slouched in the doorway gazing almost hungrily at her. He wore knee-length black boots stuffed in black pants, a simple silk shirt with billowy sleeves and open neck, and un-tucked, as was the style for Knights. A leather belt hung with his wand giving him that irresistible bad-boy look.

  “And look at you!” she said, making an attempt to appear as though he hadn't startled her, or made her want to jump him and start where they'd left off before the fight in the bedroom.

  “I've only eyes for you,” he said with a smirk. His jet-black hair was mussed in the usual way, thrust over one eye, which he usually either combed away with his fingers, or did nothing at all—as he did now—and it made him look entirely too sexy to resist. She had to wonder if he had used this look on Xilomorah?—Why was she obsessing so?

  She turned away briefly to close the large cabinet, using this moment to try and summon courage to begin her confession. “I didn't expect them to put us in separate rooms.”

  “It's how they have everyone divided up,” Dorian said. “They don't want the Knights to be in the same chambers with their families as it might muddle up their concentration just before our rituals. Need our minds clear, you know.”

  She smiled back at him. “How is it you've never brought me to these before?”

  “I didn't think you'd want to come.”

  She fed him a vexed look. “How would you know? You never asked.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “But, you'll find that I won't be with you very much. Plus, I didn't think you'd like to be stuck with all the Witenagemont wives.”

  “It would have been nice to be asked, at least.”

  He released a heavy sigh. “Very well. I'm sorry for being presumptuous. Believe me, you'll be bored to tears at dinner.”

  “I'll chance it,” she said briskly as she bent to pick up her discarded clothing all over the floor. “We still need to talk,” she reminded. “I need to tell you what happened to me.”

  “Must we?” he asked wearily. “Can't it keep until all this is over with?”

  “No,” she said, moving her overnight bag from the bed to the floor and nearly sat on the mattress, but knowing Dorian way too well, she stopped herself. “Why don't you shut the door,” she suggested. “We really need to talk. I need to tell you something. It's important.”

  Perhaps it was the grave tone of her voice, and her stilting walk, as she knotted and un-knotted her fingers that made him relent. Moving away from the threshold, he closed the door and strode across to her.

  Her stomach twisted horribly while trying to find the right way to begin. This wasn't something she could just blurt out. She had to move into it slowly, starting from the beginning. She hadn't been able to tell him everything that had happened, leading up to when Blood had finally been killed. It had all been told to him in fits and starts.

  Dress swishing with her movements, Zofia made for the divan near the window. It might be better if she sat down, as all of a sudden she felt a little light headed.

  “So, how many?” he asked. “Two? Three? Twenty?” He paused, waiting.

  “How many what?”

  “Lovers,” he said.

  “Lovers!”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Great imps, is that what you think I'm going to tell you about? My lovers while I was on First World?”

  “Yes. Of course, you had every right to, since you—and everyone—believed I was dead.”

  She fed him a nettled glare.

  “You said you took up with Richard. Who else?”

  “Stop it!” She looked away, pressing her hands to each side of her warm face. Tears of frustration leaked to the surface. “Great Immortals, it's hard enough for me to get this out, without you going on an on about lovers I might have had.”

  “I'm sorry,” he said in a gentler tone. “I thought that's what this was all about.” He folded this tall frame next to her on the divan. He gave the appearance of someone ready for the worst news as he reposed slightly back against the plush pillows. An ankle propped over one knee, foot wiggling impatiently. “Okay, I'm ready.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out. “You know how Blood had found me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Blood had hypnotized Newell Vosserman and one day Newell abducted Elton.”

  “Newell Vosserman related to that neighbor woman, Lulu?”

  “Lolly. Yes. He's her son. Quite nice, actually.”

  “Right. You told me some of this last night,” he reminded.

  “So I did. That's only part of it. You had to leave, last night to go and meet with Stephen. We didn't have time to continue.”

  “I know. Go on,” he urged gently.

  “Using the Stone of Irdisi to guide me to Elton, I stepped through a Portal,” she forged on. “The Portal led me into a cave. There, I found a dragon, and I got past him. I continued to follow the Stone and came upon a hell mouth. That's when I was attacked by Xilomorah.”

  “Xilomorah? Really?” He looked surprised. His gaze shifted off of her momentarily in thought. “How? I mean, what did she do?”

  “She pushed me from behind as I was peering down into that hell mouth. The Stone somehow fell out of my grasp and she snatched it. Then, I levitated out of the hell mouth, of course, and faced her. I questioned her—I needed to know for sure if Elton was down inside that hell mouth. She was very eager to brag about how she and Blood had stolen the Necklace of Absakara—”

  He was nodding. “Right. Go on.”

  “She told me that Elton was down in The Place of No Return. I wasn't sure if she was telling me the truth or not, but I feared she was. I'd learned that both she and Blood had been hiding out down there from Paradeep and Stephen, and that they were paying him off in souls—yours to begin with.”

  “Exactly,” Dorian said. “Go on. How'd you get past her?”

  “Well, she tried to hex me, and I put up an Umbrella Protection Spell. Her Powers deflected and hit the walls and caused a cave-in. She was killed by falling rock, and I got the Stone back. Then, I had no choice but to go down into the hell mouth to get Elton back.”

  “And obviously you did.” Dorian squeezed his eyes at her. “So, this is what you wanted to tell me? You went down to the Place of No Return?”

  “There's more.”

  “I'm sure there is,” he said. “Like how did you get out?”

  She paused to gauge his expression, and to get the courage up for the rest of the story. He looked calm—except for the foot keeping a tempo—because he didn't know what exactly happened down there. She didn't know how he would react, once she related what she had to do to get Elton back.

  “I met the head Soul Snatcher. I can't say his name, or it will allow him to access our world—but you know that—”

  “Yes.” Looking annoyed, dark brows came closer together as he leaned forward. “What was it you gave the Soul Snatcher in barter for Elton's soul?”

  “I—”

  There came a rap on the door.

  “Blast!” Dorian swore. He was on his feet, looking down at her. “I'll want to hear the rest.” He strode for the door and opened it. Stephen stood there beaming in at them.

  “Ah! There you two are. I knew I would find you two love birds together in one room or another. Dorian, old man, you realize that the Knights are all very eager to see and speak to you. It's not every day a Knight returns from being a vampire for five years, now, is it? There's a little reception downstairs to welcome you back, and they're waiting for the man of the hour—you.” He pointed at Dorian. “You don't mind, Zofia, dear, do you? You understand he's been terribly missed.”

  “Not as much as I've missed him.” She pressed her lips into a forced smile. She wondered if they all knew that if it were not for the spell Tillie did on him, he probably would still be a vampire.

  “Wicked good,” he said as though he hadn't heard a word she'd said. “Just take the stairs to the left, go down, and we're through the third door at the end. See you there,” Stephen sang as h
e swooshed away.

  Dorian half-turned toward Zofia and gave her a side-long glance. “I'll want to hear the rest.”

  “You will. I promise.”

  “Maybe I can find a way for us to get off alone before the Feast?”

  “That would be a miracle,” she said. “Oh!” She had a sudden thought. “What are you doing between now and Tea? I mean when you're not at the reception?”

  “Uh—” He fished his itinerary out of his pocket and looked it over. “I'm pretty booked. Let's try it at tea.” He gave her one more glance, said nothing more, and left.

  She tried to be hopeful, but felt that what she had done would tear them apart.

  With a resounding pop, Blanche materialized in the middle of Zofia's bedroom.

  Zofia jumped. “Blanche! Stop doing that! Don't you know it's against Code to pop in on people unannounced?”

  “Is it?” She shrugged, then made a face along with a quick roll of the eyes. “Look at this dress, you can't really expect me to wear this, now, can you?”

  “Why? What's wrong with it? It looks perfectly wonderful on you.” She was wearing a darling pale-blue, ankle-length, and high-waist dress with puffy sleeves that tapered down to her wrists ending in very intricate lace. She looked quite striking, her dark hair contrasting nicely with it.

  “I hate it! Why can't I wear what I had on?”

  “It isn't allowed. You can't go around showing so much skin.”

  “Why? They do it on Earth,” she complained. “No one thinks it's a big deal there.”

  “Blanche, on Euphoria women can't walk around half naked. It's not proper.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You can't expect me to wear this all the time!” she said.

  “No, of course not. That's your party dress. You'll wear something more comfortable. There must be something else in your closet?”

  “Yeah, there was. It was uglier than this.” She eyed Zofia's dress. “Sort of looked like that.” She pointed at Zofia's dress. “Only it was ugly pale yellow.”