Spellbinder (34 page)

The Kere stepped back into the Door. “You have failed, alchemist, but we will find another. And another.
And another. Until the Empress of the Dark Spaces and all who reside with her return to their rightful place.”

And then she was gone and the gallery was quiet once more. Belladonna sank to her knees, exhausted, the Nomial still clutched in one hand.

“You have destroyed my work,” said Ashe quietly, his voice shaking with fury. “You have destroyed everything.”

He began moving toward her, removing a small vial from his pocket as he did so.

“Hundreds of years of preparation . . . gone. All my work, alive and dead, leading to this one moment, this one purpose. All gone. But don’t think you will live. Not here and not there. Your day is done, Spellbinder.”

He raised the vial and removed the stopper, then grabbed Belladonna by the hair and pulled her head back, but before he could pour its contents down her throat, a steady clear peal sliced the air of the room. A trumpet blast, long and lingering, insinuated itself through the gallery, out through the windows, across the dead garden, and toward the twilight horizon.

Belladonna smiled as she noticed that the chair was empty and that Steve was at the back of the room, holding on to the cage and staggering to the shelves, the horn grasped in one hand.

Ashe looked at him with disdain. “Stupid boy,” he said, and prepared to pour the contents of the vial down Belladonna’s throat, “it’s far too late for that.”

But the rumbling had already begun, and through the tall windows of the gallery Belladonna could see the clouds gathering on the horizon, roiling and dark, moving toward the House of Mists, the sound of hooves, bridles, and hounds swooping across the sky.

By the time Ashe realized that the Wild Hunt was already there, it was too late. The windows shattered and the dark horsemen thundered into the room. The Leader stopped, his hat shading his sparkling black eyes, and took in Steve with the horn, Ashe with his vial, and Belladonna as she wrenched herself free and stood. He rode over to her.

“You called us again,” he said, his voice friendly but stern. “This time I must add to my band. Are you ready to join us?”

Belladonna shook her head.

Dr. Ashe laughed and returned the stopper to the vial.

“Yes!” he cackled. “Yes! Take her! Take the Spellbinder to the outer reaches of Hell, or wherever it is you demons ride!”

The Leader turned his head and glanced at Ashe. “Who is this?” he asked.

“It’s . . . um . . . Dr. Ashe,” said Belladonna, her voice low. “He’s an alchemist.”

“Is he now?” said the Leader.

He looked around the room at the jars, the cage, and the Dream Door. “And what has he been trying to do?”

“He was . . .” began Belladonna.

“He was trying to free the Bound Ones,” said Slackett, stepping out from behind the desk.

“Really?” said the Leader, turning toward Ashe with a smile.

“Yes, really,” snarled Ashe. “And don’t tell me you don’t wish for their release as much as I. Or do you want to ride the night sky for all eternity?”

“Hey, boys, the alchemist thinks we’re cursed!”

The men of the Wild Hunt threw back their heads and laughed, and the room trembled with their guffaws and the stamping of their horses’ hooves, and for the first time Ashe looked afraid.

“Are you scared, little man?” asked the Leader, leaning toward him, his yellow eyes flashing. “As well you should be.”

He held out a gauntleted hand. “Come.”

Dr. Ashe shook his head and backed away. “No,” he whimpered. “What do you want with me?”

“A price must be paid,” said the Leader, “and I’ve taken a shine to the young Spellbinder and her Paladin, so I’m afraid you’re the one. You’re a pretty poor excuse for a man or a ghost, after all, so I doubt anyone will miss you much.”

“No! T-t-take him!” shrieked Ashe, gesturing toward Slackett.

“Slackett?” smiled the Leader. “Why would I take Slackett? No, it’s you, my boy. Stick him in a bag, Rodolfo.”

And with that, he grabbed Ashe by the hand and swung him easily to a burly rider behind him. The rider thrust the screaming man into a sack and secured it with a rope to the pommel of his horse.

“Come, lads, this indoor air is too stale for my blood!”

He wheeled his horse around to face the shattered windows, then turned and touched his hat in salute. “And farewell, young Belladonna Johnson, we shall meet again.”

As the bag on the burly man’s horse struggled in vain, the Leader spurred his horse up and out of the window. His men followed with a great yell and howling of hounds and galloped to the horizon and away with the thunder.

B
ELLADONNA WATCHED
until the last of the Hunt had vanished and the sky was still and quiet. She wondered where they went, what they did, why they rode, and why Aunt Deirdre pursued them through the night.

She was still deep in thought when the silence of the long gallery was suddenly shattered with the crash of breaking glass. She spun around.

Steve was standing next to the shelves with a large bat. He still looked a little pale and tired, but the glint in his eyes that meant trouble for teachers was back. He grinned at Belladonna.

“What’s that?” she asked, trying not to show how pleased she was.

“Dunno,” said Steve, hefting the bat lightly. “I think it’s a baseball bat. It’s what the ruler turned into. Elsie’s in here somewhere.”

He swung at the glass jars again, shattering another four or five and releasing their misty contents. The freed ghosts were without form, just breaths of icy air that shot out and up to the ceiling, circling the chandeliers. The cold spirits were not to the ember beetles’ liking and the few huge insects that hadn’t fallen during the Kere’s storm began dropping from the ceiling like moths.

“Amazing!” said Slackett.

“Ember beetles,” said Steve, “can’t stand ’em.”

“Not that, the Rod.”

“The what?” said Steve, obliterating another bunch of bottles and jars.

“The Rod of Gram! I’ve never seen it actually working.”

“The Rod of Who?”

Another bunch of jars released their prisoners.

“The ruler. You just pulled it from your pocket and . . . wham!”

“Oh, yeah, pretty cool, huh?”

Steve swung at another row of jars, but the effort was beginning to tell.

“D’you think you two could lend a hand?” he said. “It’s just jars, you know, not dragons or anything, and I have been a bit under the weather.”

Belladonna grinned and looked around for something heavy. She picked up a piece of broken window frame and joined Steve in demolishing the glass
prisons. They were about halfway down the final shelf when a small jam jar crashed to the floor. Most of the released mist rose to the ceiling, but one piece lingered, then congealed, darkened, and brushed itself off.

“Elsie!” yelled Belladonna and Steve in unison.

“Right you are,” said Elsie, as if nothing much had happened. “Bit of a rum do. Thanks for the help.”

Steve and Belladonna looked at each other, taken aback, then burst out laughing.

“Stiff upper lip and all that,” said Steve, putting on a posh accent.

“What-ho, chaps!” giggled Belladonna.

“What?” said Elsie. “Well, honestly, you are odd!”

Steve tried (not very successfully) to stifle his laughter and got back to finishing off the rest of the jars.

“Why are they all going up there?” asked Belladonna. “Are they going to . . . you know, become people again?”

“Of course we are.”

Belladonna spun around. “Mum! Dad!”

Her parents were there, really there. Standing right in front of Ashe’s desk, looking slightly tired but pleased as punch. Belladonna couldn’t stop smiling as she looked from one to the other. They were fine. They were back.

And then she did something that she knew she would only be able to do here. Something she hadn’t
been able to do for nearly two years and something she thought she’d never be able to do again—she hugged them.

“And how about something for the old man too?”

Belladonna grinned, wiped the tears from her eyes, and embraced Grandpa Johnson.

“You were so brave,” she said.

“Not as brave as you, Belladonna,” he said, his face suddenly serious. “It’s easy to be daring in the spur of the moment when there’s no time to think, but you came here to save us all when you could easily have turned the other way.”

Belladonna smiled, but felt a little embarrassed by all the praise. She just wasn’t used to it and she was suddenly very, very tired.

“Go home,” said her Dad, stroking her hair.

“We’ll be there when you get back. I’ll put the kettle on,” said her mother.

And with that, they vanished into the mist again.

Slackett patted her shoulder. “They’ll be fine,” he said.

Belladonna nodded happily. Slackett smiled, and even though Belladonna now knew he was not working for Ashe, she still found the expression on his face strange. As if it hadn’t been designed for comfort but was streamlined for sneaking.

He strode to the chair and picked up the Draconite Amulet from the floor.

“Do you still have the other one?”

Belladonna nodded.

“Good. Take this one too.”

“But why—?”

“Now I’d better get you home. Come with me.”

He marched off toward the door. Belladonna looked at Steve, who stuffed the plastic ruler back into his pocket and shrugged. They ran to catch up with Slackett.

“Are the doors open again?” asked Belladonna.

“Not yet,” said Slackett, “but this one should be. It’s the oldest and the strongest.”

He led the way down the stairs and into the vast entrance hall of the House of Mists. On one side, next to the largest grandfather clock Belladonna had ever seen, was what looked like a lift. Slackett pressed the button. There was a moment’s hesitation and then the doors slid open with a familiar hiss. Belladonna and Steve stepped inside.

“Hang on,” said Steve, “we’ve been here before!”

Belladonna looked at the honey-colored marble walls, the onyx floor, and the cryptic buttons and recognized it at once.

“It’s the Sibyl’s!”

“Oh, good,” said Slackett, “then I don’t have to explain the buttons.”

“Wait—!” said Steve.

But it was too late. Slackett had hit the outside button and the door had closed before the word was even out of his mouth.

“Oh, great.”

“What’s the matter?” said Belladonna. “It’s not like we don’t know the button to press to go home.”

“Yes, but I wanted to know what the
U
and the
S
were for.”

“
U
is probably Underworld.”

“And
S
?”

Belladonna smiled, shrugged, and hit
G
. The lift hesitated, then suddenly took off sideways, lurching to the left for what felt like a few meters and then slamming to a stop. The doors whispered open and Belladonna and Steve stepped out into the groundsman’s hut at the end of the football field.

As soon as they were clear, the doors snapped shut and the whole lift vanished into the floor, leaving nothing but a small cloud of dust. For a few moments, they both stared at the spot where it had vanished.

“Well,” said Steve finally, “I suppose that’s that.”

Belladonna nodded and was about to open the shed door when there was the unmistakable sound of about thirty boys running onto the field. She looked at Steve.

“What day is it?” he asked.

“I don’t know. It was Sunday when I came through from the graveyard. Um . . . Wednesday, maybe.”

Just then the door flew open, nearly knocking Belladonna to the ground. Frank, the groundskeeper, shambled in, one hand in his pocket and the other clutching a newspaper of the sort her father would never let in the house.

“Here!” he growled. “What are you kids doing in here? Get out of it before I report you both. Skiving lot! Out!”

Belladonna and Steve stepped outside and Frank slammed the door. They pressed their bodies against the shed, trying to stay out of sight.

“We’ll have to go through the school,” whispered Steve. “There’s no chance of getting out across the field with this lot lobbing them about. Oh, did you see that? Bill Russell’s just rubbish! I don’t know why he’s even on the team!”

Belladonna nudged him sharply to get his attention back to the matter at hand. He grunted disgustedly and led the way back toward the school, avoiding the netball courts and the large windows of the art room. They crept inside through a back door—fortunately classes were in session, so the corridors were almost empty.

“Look like you’ve been sent to fetch something,” whispered Steve, holding his head up and marching confidently.

“That always worked for me,” said a familiar voice.

Belladonna and Steve spun around. Elsie had manifested right behind them, looking just as she always did, curls perfect, high-button boots polished, and eager for some fun.

“Elsie!” Belladonna beamed.

“Your Mum said to get some milk on the way home,” said Elsie, “and your Dad said not to forget his newspaper.”