Blood Moon (Book Three - The Ravenscliff Series) (25 page)

And so, at last, Halloween arrived.

Devon awoke early and turned on the TV. It was times like these that he suddenly remembered things like a weather app on his phone. How long ago that seemed. How easy it had been to see if it was going to be sunny or going to rain. Instead, he sat there in front of the TV waiting for a news update before he learned what the weather was supposed to be that day.

And, of course. Thunderstorms were threatening.

He also saw that the moon would be full tonight.

Devon’s research in the future had revealed that the beast would make its first appearance on Halloween night, the same date as Emily’s death.

Could he prevent both?

If he could somehow stop the curse of the beast in this time, he could divert Marcus from it as well. If Ogden was never cursed, then he’d never pass it on to Marcus.

Of course, he knew he might never see Marcus again. As much as he hoped he’d be going back to his own time after today, he had no idea if that would really happen.

But even if it didn’t, at least he’d know he’d saved his friend from that horrible curse in the future.

Ogden McNutt entered the room.

“The Gifting ritual is slated for tomorrow, November the first,” he said. “I am preparing the ceremonial robes …”

“It will never occur,” Devon said, “unless I can prevent what’s destined to happen tonight.”

McNutt looked frightened. “Do you have a plan?”

Devon smirked. “Do I look like I have a plan?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

His smirk turned to a scowl. “Don’t call me sir. I’m just a kid.”

“You’re a sorcerer of the ancient rod—”

Devon raised his hand to silence him. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But right now I just feel like a kid.” He sighed. “I have no idea what to do. I’ve been trying to think of something but … I don’t know when or where things will happen.”

“What set the events into motion?” McNutt asked.

“Well, Emily found Jackson with Miranda … and then she ran to the cliffs and jumped, and then Jackson got so upset that he destroyed everything.”

“Well, then, it seems to me …” McNutt began.

Devon had the same idea at the same time.

“That we’ve got to keep Emily from ever seeing Jackson with Miranda,” he said, finishing McNutt’s sentence.

The Guardian nodded.

“That’s it!” Devon exclaimed. “If we can get through the night without Emily ever seeing the two of them together, then everything can be avoided. Emily will live—and I will have changed history!”

“Oh, good luck, sir—I mean, Devon.”

Devon gave him a little salute and hurried out into the corridor. Miranda’s room was at the far end of the house, where Jackson could easily slip in and out. Devon stood outside her door. He sensed she was inside. He took a deep breath, then knocked.

“Come in,” she said.

He opened the door. Miranda was sitting on her bed, caressing her belly. That was the Madman’s child she carried. For a second Devon wondered what would become of that child if he managed to change history tonight.

“Well, I suppose you’ve come to wish me a happy Halloween,” Miranda said, giving him a sarcastic face. Devon had told her this was the day he was dreading. “Is that why you’ve come barging into my room?”

“No,” he said. “That’s not why.”

Her face turned defiant and suspicious as she stood up to face him. “Then what
do
you want, Teddy Bear?”

“Just a moment of your time,” Devon replied. “Literally.”

In that moment he froze her. Miranda stood there unmoving, unblinking, not breathing, in the middle of her room.

“You’ll be fine when you wake up,” Devon promised her. “I’m doing this for your own good. For the good of all of us.”

With one nod of his head, he then caused her to shrink to the size of a small doll.

He walked over to her and picked her up. “Forgive me, Miranda,” Devon whispered, settling her inside the pocket of his jacket. “You’re going to pretty angry with me, I’m sure, but I’ll deal with that tomorrow.”

He looked off through the window.

“Tomorrow,” he echoed. “When the whole world will be a different place.”

Outside the sun had begun to rise up into the sky.

All during the day, Devon noticed Jackson stalking around the house, clearly looking for Miranda. But he never asked about her. He seemed to suspect that something was wrong, but he did not voice a word.

At one point, Devon saw Randolph take Jackson into the parlor and close the doors. He tried to eavesdrop but Randolph’s own sorcery prevented it. All he could hear were angry, muffled voices. Before too long, Jackson bolted out of the room and across the foyer and out onto the estate.

Maybe he was leaving. Maybe Devon had already changed history!

Montaigne approached him and asked what was happening. Devon replied that for now, he’d just have to trust him. Something told him that he needed to keep secret what he held in his pocket, even from Montaigne.

“I’ve drawn a pentagram around Rolfe’s room,” Montaigne told him, “and I’ve asked McNutt to keep him in there all day. His wife and daughter are in there, too. I hope that will protect them, if something is going to happen.”

Devon knew all three would survive what was coming, so he felt confident telling Montaigne that the pentagram would keep them safe.

The day dragged out. Devon had never felt so anxious in his life. Every once in a while he’d reach down into his pocket to check on the little doll he kept there. She was there, hard and cold as ceramic.

And then, late in the afternoon, the sun began to set over the horizon, just as a thunderstorm rolled in off the sea. Thunder crashed.

Halloween night had arrived.

“Too bad little Amanda is not here,” said Emily Muir as she helped paint whiskers on young Rolfe Montaigne’s cheeks. He was dressed as a lion. “She could go trick-or-treating with you as a lioness.”

Devon considered the irony of her statement, knowing the history those two would have. But he didn’t really have the time or the heart to think about anything else except what was supposed to happen this night.

For Rolfe, his trick-or-treating would be confined to his room in Montaigne’s cottage. Randolph had come by to give him a small, glowing, candy jack-o-lantern that spoke to him, wishing him “Happy Halloween.” Rolfe promptly took a bite.

Emily, totally unaware of what the night might bring, had baked gingerbread cookies in the shapes of witches and ghosts and—another irony, Devon thought—moons. She dropped several into the little boy’s paper sack.

“I don’t know why he couldn’t have come up to Ravenscliff,” Emily said. “I had hoped to decorate the parlor for the occasion.”

“Too many roiling forces on Halloween, especially in a place like this,” Montaigne said. “That’s why I prefer the boy to stay within the pentagram tonight.” He paused. “In fact, ma’am, why don’t you stay here with us?”

At the moment, the door to Montaigne’s cottage was thrown open. Jackson stood silhouetted against the night sky in the doorway.

Devon’s heart leapt into his throat. He coaxed it back down to his chest.

“Emily!” the Madman barked. “I have been looking for you.”

“I’m here bringing Halloween treats,” she said.

Her husband took a few steps into the cottage but paused on the other side of the pentagram that was drawn upon the floor around Rolfe’s room. He did not step across it.

“Come back with me to Ravenscliff,” the Madman told his wife, his voice softer now.

“Yes, of course, Jackson,” Emily said.

Her husband eyed his brother. “I expected dinner waiting for me at Ravenscliff, but there was none. Where is that servant girl? Miranda?”

Randolph stared icily back at him. “I would prefer that you not call her, or
any
of our Guardians, servants. They may reside with the cooks and the housemaids, but they are our teachers, our partners, our friends.”

Jackson smiled in mock repentance. “Of course, Randolph. As ever, you are right, and I am out of line.” He looked over at his wife. “Shall we go back to the house, my dear?”

“Yes, of course.”

Jackson turned and strode off into the night. Emily followed.

Devon grinned to himself, reaching into his pocket to pat Miranda again.

It’s going to be okay
, he thought.
He’ll never find Miranda, so Emily will never see them together.

Outside, the storm rose in intensity. The electric lights flickered, then went off.

“We should go back,” Randolph announced to Devon.

“I’ll go with you,” Montaigne said.

“As will I,” McNutt added.

Devon watched as each man turned and kissed the head of the child they were leaving behind. “We will be safe here,” McNutt’s wife said.

Devon agreed they would be. He knew the power of the pentagram.

But as he trudged back up to Ravenscliff behind Randolph, thunder and lightning crashing overhead, he had to wonder if he would be.

When they got to the great house, the power was off. Randolph waved his hand and the dozens of candles, which always stood ready, were suddenly lit. The soft amber glow of candlelight suffused the foyer.

Emily came out of the parlor to greet them. “I like candlelight better, actually,” she said. Behind her, Jackson was holding a snifter of brandy.

“Certainly more appropriate for Halloween,” Randolph said with a laugh as he moved into the parlor to pour some brandy for himself.

Devon entered the room as well. He felt eyes on him. He glanced over at Jackson. The Madman might have been lifting the brandy snifter to his lips, but his black eyes were trained on Devon.

“A toast,” Randolph proposed, lifting his brandy. “To Emily. Tomorrow you will join us as a Sorceress of the Nightwing.”

She looked near tears. “I could never have imagined such a glorious life. Thank you, Randolph, for welcoming me to Ravenscliff.” She turned, lifting her glass to Ogden McNutt, who stood off to the side of the room with Montaigne. “Thank you, Ogden, for teaching me so much of the Nightwing tradition.” Finally she turned and faced her husband. “And thank you, most of all, my beloved Jackson, for making me your wife.”

The anger and suspicion in his eyes faded away as the Madman turned his gaze to Emily. Devon could see how much he loved her, even if he cheated on her, even if he lied to her, even if he planned a future for her that she would detest.

“You are my entire world,” he said to Emily, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.

“No,” came a tiny voice.

Only Devon heard it. There was movement in his pocket.

Miranda had broken free of her immobilization. Even now the little creature was attempting to crawl out of Devon’s pocket.

Devon hurried out of the room as she crawled up his sleeve. He plucked her off his jacket between his thumb and forefinger as if she were cricket. In the safety of a dark corridor, he held her in front of his face.

“Let me go!” Miranda called out in a tiny voice, thrashing and kicking between Devon’s fingers. “Undo whatever you’ve done to me!”

“I can’t,” he told her, “not until tomorrow.” He looked in at her more closely. “How did you break free anyway?”

“You’ve never given much credit to the magic of my family, have you? Well, I’m not just some girl you can freeze up and shrink down, Teddy Bear! I am a
Devon
!”

“Shh,” he cautioned her.

“Jackson!” she screamed, but her little voice was too weak to be heard.

Still, taking no chances, Devon dropped her back into his pocket. This time he zipped it shut.

Of course, now he was worried she’d suffocate. So he rushed down the hallway to the kitchen, where he grabbed the first jar he could find. It was a nearly empty container of peanut butter. He took a knife and punctured several holes in the lid. Then he hurried upstairs to his room.

Once safely behind closed doors, he unscrewed the lid, scooped Miranda out of his pocket, and plopped her inside. She was ankle-deep in peanut butter.

“Gross!” she screamed in her tiny doll voice.

Devon screwed the lid back on the jar.

“Sorry,” he said. “You’ll understand one day. I hope.”

“You’ll pay for this!” Miranda screeched. “When Jackson finds out, he’ll have no mercy on you! And I won’t save you! I’ll let him do whatever he wants to you!”

There was a knock at his door.

“Who is it?” Devon asked.

“It’s Ogden.”

Devon let McNutt inside.

“Are we safe?” the Englishman asked. “Have we diverted the course of history?”

“We won’t know until the end of the night. But I think we have a good shot. We have to keep them apart until morning.”

McNutt looked around the room. “But where is Miranda? What have you done with her?”

Devon grinned, pleased with himself. He lifted the peanut butter jar from the side of his bed and showed McNutt. Inside, Miranda was pouting, sitting on a mound of peanut butter, her tiny arms wrapped around her tiny knees pulled up close to her tiny body.

“Very clever,” McNutt said. “And at least she won’t starve.”

Devon tried not to laugh.

But the seriousness of the situation once again hit him. He set the jar down on the table and moved over to the window to look out into the night. “There’s one other danger we have to avoid tonight,” he said. “Behind those storm clouds there lurks a full moon. At some point those clouds will go away, and the moon will be revealed.”

“But what do we need to fear from the moon?”

“A curse.” Devon leveled his eyes at him just as an extremely loud thunderclap reverberated through the house. “A curse that will be passed down through the generations. You need to go to back to your wife and daughter now, Ogden, and stay there. Do not come out of the cottage for anyone or anything. Do you hear me? Stay there until this night over!”

McNutt smiled. “You need not fear for me, young master.”

“But I do.”

“I have protection,” McNutt said.

“Protection from whom?”

Again McNutt smiled as he backed out of Devon’s room. “Just put all your fears to rest, young sir. Everything is going to be fine.”

Devon watched him as he left, puzzled by his change in attitude. McNutt had been as frightened as he was. Why was he now so calm and reassured?

That was when Devon looked back at the table and noticed the lid was off the jar of peanut butter, and Miranda was gone.

“Stop him!” Devon shouted as he ran after McNutt, but the young man was nowhere to be found in the house. Neither was Randolph or Jackson, for that matter. In the parlor stood only Emily, looking out at the storm, candlelight dancing across her face.

“Teddy, what has gotten you so aroused?” she asked.

“I’ve got to find Ogden. Or Randolph—”

“I haven’t seen them since they left the parlor …”

Devon turned to dash out of the room and ran straight into Montaigne. “What’s going on?” the Guardian asked.

“I’ve got to talk to you!”

They hurried down the hall into the study and Devon told him everything.

“You talk madness,” Montaigne said.

“No, no, it’s true! Jackson must have put McNutt under his power! I shouldn’t have trusted him! I shouldn’t have trusted anyone but myself! I got cocky and showed him the jar! He must have taken Miranda out and brought her to Jackson. Now—if we don’t stop things from happening—Emily will die!”

Montaigne’s face had gone pale. “I’ll talk with Randolph,” he said.

“No need,” came a voice behind them. “I’ve heard it all.”

It was Randolph Muir. The master of Ravenscliff stood in the doorway behind them with a terrible, defeated look on his face.

“It goes against all the rules of time,” he said hoarsely, “but I had to listen. I had to hear what the boy had to say.”

Devon rushed up to him and grabbed his coat. “We still have time,” he said.

Randolph looked down at him significantly. “Do we?” he asked.

In that instant, Devon’s Nightwing vision allowed him to see what was happening upstairs in the West Wing.

Emily was heading down the corridor to her husband’s study.

“We’ve got to stop her!” Devon shouted. “We’ve got to stop Emily from going into that room!”

They all started to run.

Devon could see Emily getting closer to the study.

He tried to disappear and reappear in the corridor but was unable to do so. He didn’t have time to wonder why. He just ran up the steps as fast as he could, Randolph and Montaigne fast on his heels.

Clearly concerned by Devon’s anxious state, Emily had gone off in search of her husband. She must not find him!

Devon could see her hand on the knob of the door to the study.

“Emily!” he shouted.

He saw in his mind’s eye the way she turned when she heard her name echoing down the corridor, but she did not pause. She opened the door and walked inside.

Devon cleared the top of the stairs and booked down the hallway, desperate to get there in time.

But he was too late. Emily stood in the doorway. There, a smelly, messy, but normal-sized Miranda was in Jackson’s arms.

“Choose, Jackson!” Miranda was demanding. “Choose her or me!”

Devon could see it all clearly even though he was still some yards away from the study.

Jackson’s black eyes saw Emily in the doorway. He thrust the peanut-butter-smeared Miranda away from him. “I love my wife!” he roared.

Devon could see the rage that suddenly distorted Miranda’s face. He saw the magic of the islands fill her eyes.

“Is that so?” she seethed, making a sound like a pot of tea reaching a boil. She spun on Emily.

“Is this what you want, Emily Muir?” Miranda snarled. “Is this the life you would gratefully accept as your own?”

And just as Devon arrived at the door he saw what Miranda conjured. As if projected onto a screen, terrible images filled the room. Slimy green hands crept out of the Hell Hole. Randolph lay dead in a shimmering pool of blood. Little Amanda and Edward were crumpled by his side. The vision of Jackson Muir grew into monstrous size until he loomed over the black spires of Ravenscliff.

Emily screamed.

The scene continued to unfold: the demons got down on their knees, slobbering and gnashing their teeth.

“All hail our new master!” they chanted. “All hail the child of our destiny!”

“My child,” Miranda taunted, her eyes flashing as she patted her belly. “Not yours, Emily! Not yours!”

Emily screamed again.

Then she turned and fled, pushing past Devon with such a force that he nearly fell off his feet.

“Stop her!” Devon shouted as Emily headed for the stairs.

But for all his sorcery—for all of Randolph’s—they could not stop her. She sailed down the stairs, hair and tears flying.

Jackson bolted from the study, intending to follow her, but Miranda was all at once on his back like a she-cat, snarling and clawing his face.