Blood Moon (Book Three - The Ravenscliff Series) (21 page)

Devon suddenly had a glimpse of her as a young girl. It was as if a layer of time had just peeled away and Devon could see through space and time. There was Emily, maybe twelve years old, wearing glasses, sitting in a junior high classroom. It must have been the last day of school, because everyone around her was getting commendations. Everyone but her. All the other kids got up and walked to the front of the class to accept their award. Emily just sat there. Her name was never called. She looked utterly bereft.

And there, to the side, among the gathering of parents, was a man that Devon was certain was Emily’s father. He was glowering.

Devon felt really, really bad for Emily. She was way too nice to have such a bad-luck life.

“You know,” he said, an idea forming in his mind, “what if there was some Nightwing orphan who needed adoption?”

Emily looked over at him. “A Nightwing orphan?”

“Yeah. I know there are. I’ve, er, met one myself. He grew up not knowing who his parents were or anything about his Nightwing heritage. And I know he’d give anything if some cool Nightwing couple had adopted him and raised him and trained him.”

Emily’s face brightened. “Why, I’d never thought of that. Teddy, you may be on to something. Where is this boy?”

“Well, he’s kind of gotten too old for adoption now. But I’m sure there are others. I’m sure Mr. Muir would know.”

Emily was smiling. “It is definitely an idea worth checking out. How good you are to think of it.” She withdrew something from the pocket of the jacket she was wearing. It was a small book, and she handed it to Devon. “Please, accept this as my thanks.”

He looked down at the title.
Prayers and Meditations.

He suppressed a gasp. It was the same book he’d found in Clarissa’s room.

“Often I have found comfort in the words inside this book. I’ve practically memorized them all by now, so it’s time to pass it on.”

“Wow,” Devon said. “Thank you.”

Now how does this book get from me to Clarissa? How did I end up getting it before she did, but after I’d already seen her with it?
These time paradoxes really gave Devon a headache.

Emily was looking very sweetly at him. Devon felt more rotten than he could ever remember feeling, knowing what he knew about her. He had to look away.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Teddy?” Emily asked.

“Well, sort of, back home,” he said, still keeping his eyes averted.

“You mean in England?”

He nodded.

“Does she know you’re a Guardian?”

“Um, no, not really,” he said, not liking the fact that he had to lie to her. Sometimes, not being sincere with someone as truly nice as Emily felt really, really wrong. “Actually,” Devon said, “she and I aren’t really seeing each other any more.”

Emily smiled. “Well, then, how about I fix you up with Miranda? I think the two of you would be so cute together.”

Finally Devon looked at her. “Um, well, I think Miranda is a little old for me …”

“You’re very mature for your age,” Emily said. “Let me know if you’d like me to put a bug in her ear. I like playing Cupid.”

“Yeah, well, thanks, but I’m good for now.”

Emily smiled and moved off across the room. Watching her walk through the sunlight, Devon knew he couldn’t just stand back and let history take its course.

He couldn’t let her die.

I’m the one-hundredth generation from Sargon the Great
, he thought.
I am destined to be the greatest of all Nightwing. If anyone can change history, it’s me.

He couldn’t just be a silent witness to all the horrible events that would reverberate for decades in the Muir family. He would have to stop them from happening.

And he’d just have to take the chance that time wouldn’t collapse in the process.

It was at the height of a thunderstorm a few nights later that the evil reasserted itself.

The glass in the window of Devon’s room shattered inward, causing him to sit up in bed with a shout.

He’d been sound asleep. That was why he hadn’t sensed it coming.

No excuse
, he scolded himself.
Even asleep, I need to be aware
.

Because a sorcerer never knew when he’d have a visitor.

A demon.

It stood amid the shattered glass snarling up at him. It was in the shape of a giant lizard—perhaps the same that had masqueraded as the dinosaur at Jackson’s magic show. Opening its maw to screech at Devon, it made a sound like an exhaust belching from the back of a bus. Devon swung his legs off the bed and slammed his bare feet into the creature’s cold, scaly belly. It belched again.

Devon managed to roll off the bed and position himself better to fight. “Come on,” he called to the thing, his heart still thudding. “Come on at me one more time!”

He was angry at himself; even asleep he had to be on guard. The calmness of the past couple of weeks had lulled him into a false security. One-hundredth generation he might be, but he still had a lot of work to do if he was going to ever be a great sorcerer.

The thing hissed at him but didn’t lunge.

“What’s the matter?” Devon taunted. “Give me your best shot. You afraid of me?”

“No,” the demon said. “It is
you
who are afraid.”

It
spoke
. Devon had heard demons speak before, but it was rare, and it always creeped him out. The thing’s voice was grating, like fingernails on a chalkboard. But it was
right
: being caught unawares, Devon’s heart was still racing, and until the shock of surprise died down in his system, he was powerless to send it back to its Hell Hole.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Devon told it. “You know as soon as I calm down just a bit, you’re a goner.”

“Perhaps,” the demon said, its breath escaping its mouth like fumes. “But there are more of us. We can see what you are even if our master cannot.”

“Where did you come from? What Hell Hole in what part of the world?”

“I think you call it Siberia. Even now the great Russian Nightwing are working to seal it shut. But our master tore it open when he was there and set enough of us free that we will keep coming after you until you are dead.”

“Well, it won’t be you to kill me,” Devon said.

“Oh, no?”

The demon sprung at him, its great jaw opening to reveal its many sharp fangs and a long, forked tongue. It got mighty close to Devon, too, and some of its stinking saliva dripped onto the teen sorcerer’s face.

“You’re starting to bore me,” Devon told the creature, punching it in the jaw and sending it sprawling against the far wall. “Now get out of here. Back to your Hell Hole.”

The demon had time enough only to curse its fate before being sucked back out the broken window into the storm.

Lightning crashed, illuminating the mess the fight had left in the room. Bookshelves had been knocked over, the wall was scraped, glass and rainwater had spread across the floor.

And Greta Muir was banging on his door.

“What is going on in there? Teddy, open this door!”

When he did, the room and the window had all been repaired with a blink of his eye.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Muir,” Devon said. “The storm blew open my window—”

She pushed her way in to look around. Clearly she had felt the heat of the demon, but everything was back to normal now. She looked at him oddly.

“My husband said there was nothing to be concerned about,” she said, more to herself than to Devon. “But I’m not so sure.”

“I’m sorry it disturbed you,” Devon said.

Greta Muir just eyed him suspiciously and walked out of the room.

Devon slept the rest of the night with his guard on alert.

As startling as the demon attack was, however, it was the following morning that brought a far greater surprise.

Devon was with Montaigne at his cottage, cataloguing crystals, learning about their various storehouses of knowledge, when he heard a knock.

“Hullo,” came a voice when Montaigne opened the door. “Please forgive my tardiness, but I have had a most curious delay.”

The voice was that of an Englishman. Devon strained to get a good look, but Montaigne stood in the way of the visitor.

“Delay?” Montaigne asked. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you are.”

“Of course not.” The man began again. “I was sent here to help preside over the return of an errant Nightwing, to participate in the Ritual of Return.”

“Oh?” Montaigne’s head turned slowly to look at Devon.

Oh, great
, Devon thought.
Now my cover is blown. The real guy finally shows up.

“A most unusual occurrence happened on my way here,” the Englishman was saying. “I am quite eager to speak with a Nightwing expert about it. For, you see, I seemed to travel through time—”

“Come in,” Montaigne said, stepping aside so the young man could enter. “What is your name?”

“Oh, forgive me, I should have introduced myself directly.”

Montaigne stepped aside and the visitor’s face was revealed.

Devon gasped.

“My name is Ogden McNutt.”

Sure enough, it was he: the young man in tee shirt and blue jeans whose ghost would one day haunt Ravenscliff. The man who was, in reality, the beast.

“I was on my way here,” McNutt said, “but on the ship traveling across the Atlantic, I took a staircase up to my room only to emerge in a time some thirty years in the future.” He shivered. “And what a strange place it was. I must say, sir, you have an exact duplicate in the future. He called himself Rolfe.”

“Rolfe?” Montaigne reacted. “That’s my son.”

“If you met Rolfe,” Devon said, suddenly approaching McNutt to look him directly in the eyes, “you must have met others, too.”

“This is Teddy,” Montaigne said, raising a suspicious eyebrow at Devon. “Who claimed he was here to do your job.”

“Um, I’ll get to that in a minute,” Devon said. “First, Ogden, tell me who else you met in the future.”

McNutt’s face saddened. “Several people. A lovely dark-skinned woman by the name of Roxanne. And a boy named Marcus, who was plagued by the curse of the beast.”

Devon’s heart dropped. He wasn’t sure at what exact point McNutt landed in the future, but if Devon had been hoping for evidence of Marcus’s cure, those hopes were now dashed.

But it was clear that McNutt did not suffer from the same affliction—at least not yet. The curse of the beast was something alien to him. Sitting down over a pot of steaming hot coffee, the newcomer told his tale: how after an evening spent in Rolfe’s study he had headed up the staircase only to emerge in a shop just outside Misery Point. Quickly determining he was back in his own time, he had hurried to Ravenscliff, realizing that while he’d only spent a few hours in the future,
weeks
had elapsed in the past.

“I so regret my delay,” McNutt said. “But I must conclude that my timeslip served some purpose …”

“It did.” The voice was a new one. They all looked up. Standing in the center of the room was Randolph Muir.

“It allowed the arrival of young Teddy here,” Randolph said, approaching them. “I’m sorry to have deceived you, Montaigne, but it was necessary at the time. You see, Teddy is not a Guardian. He is Nightwing.”

Montaigne looked at Devon with astonished eyes. “I must not sit, then, in your presence,” he said, standing quickly from the table where the three of them had been sitting.

“Oh, no, man, it’s cool,” Devon said. “Don’t start treating me any differently …”

“I must,” Montaigne told him. “You are Nightwing. I am a Guardian. My job is to serve you.”

McNutt likewise stood. Devon groaned, but Randolph smiled.

“If all of this is true,” Montaigne said, “then I would advise McNutt not to reveal too much of the future then. Isn’t that right, Randolph?”

The great sorcerer nodded. “We must honor the boundaries of time.”

“Are you so certain history can’t be changed?” Devon asked. “I mean, I know things—I know what is going to happen—I could help you all prevent—”

“No!” Randolph Muir raised his hand to silence him. “I have told you, Teddy! You must not try to alter the course of history. It is futile to try.”

“If it’s futile,” Devon persisted, “why are you so insistent that I not even
try
?”

“Heed my words, young novice,” Randolph said, cleverly reminding Devon of their positions relative to each other. “Do not go against my warning.”

“Well, sir,” McNutt said, “if I may … I suppose I am no longer needed here. I have missed the Ritual of Return, and I do regret that, because I was so looking forward to working with you, sir, the heir to the great Horatio Muir.”

Randolph smiled. “We could still use you, McNutt. My brother’s wife will need training for her eventual Gifting. She has no powers as yet, but they will be bestowed upon her, as I bestowed them upon my wife. We could use another Guardian to train her.”

“I am greatly honored, sir,” McNutt told him. “But the assignment was to be temporary. You see, I am newly married, with a child—”

“If we brought them here to Ravenscliff to live,” Randolph said, “would you be interested in the position?”

“Sir!” McNutt stood, beaming a grin from ear to ear. “Would I ever!”