Page 47 of Possess Me at Midnight
The musty sofa is a behemoth, and it makes me sweat when I lift it. Dust flies. I choke and cough…but at least for a moment, it takes my mind off the dead Councilman in the center of the room.
With a grunt, I heft one corner of the massive sofa away from the wall, then sweat as I drag the other end. I frown. Behind the sofa, low on the wall, I see the faint outline of something. A small door? A crawl space?
After heaving the sofa farther from the wall, I kneel and run my finger around the edge of the perfect square of raised stone. A cutout of some variety. Wedging my fingertips around the edges, I pull. It barely gives, but I pull again and again until I can grip the heavy stone block with my whole hand. Then, with one last mighty yank, the piece clatters to the floor. I grab my candle and peek inside.
A crawl space, definitely. I sit at the edge and shove my candle in deeper. Big crawl space. In fact, a hiding place big enough for an entire family. I look back to MacKinnett and his half-charred form. Had the Councilman been trying to reach this space when the Anarki caught him?
I ease in farther. The space opens to winding stairs that lead even deeper underground. I crawl until I reach the stairs, stooping over to avoid battering my head on the low ceiling. As I descend, still clutching the candle, I smell water and soil. Sure enough, at the bottom, I find a tunnel. I’d be willing to bet my life that the tunnel leads to the nearby village.
Smart. Very smart. Next time Bram builds a sprawling estate and has half the Doomsday Brethren living with him, I’ll tell the prat to create a few of these escape routes. Too bad MacKinnett was unable to reach his in time.
Turning back from the dark, dank tunnel, I take the winding stairs two at a time, the light of the cellar leading me. When I crawl out, I wipe my hands on my jeans and sigh. Only one place left to look for the magical transcasting mirror: the Councilman’s body. Dismally, I wonder if there’s anything left to find in the burned rubble, then set the candle aside and walk toward the corpse.
Sabelle
I search MacKinnett’s sumptuous bedroom. It’s stately despite its complete disarray. I open a huge armoire filled with electronic gadgets that Bram would salivate over, were he conscious to appreciate the display. A large fireplace, blackened from frequent use, and bamboo flooring with colorful area rugs strewn about, set the mood. A robe litters the floor, just beneath a convenient hook on the back of the door.
MacKinnett’s scent lingers here, along with his scholarly essence that once permeated these walls. The well-loved tomes on magical theory that once rested on the nightstand now lie broken on the floor, their spines split by Anarki violence. The sight fills me with barely contained rage.
But I can’t succumb to emotion now. We have to warn Camden. Then I have to convince Ice to leave. If we haven’t found the mirror, I have a terrible feeling the Anarki will return to search again.
Shaking my head, I move to his fireplace and search beneath the mantel, inside the pit, up the chimney walls. Nothing. Wiping away the soot, I cross the room to the armoire and check beneath the television, game console, iPhone dock, and other assorted treasures. Nothing, neither inside the armoire nor out.
This is the last room, and I’m running out of options. If Mathias found MacKinnett’s secret transcasting mirror… Bram has hinted once or twice that an enemy finding such a device would be bad indeed. I’m grateful again that I saw fit to hide his mirror at Olivia’s little art gallery, A Touch of Magic, after the black cloud swallowed him. I feared the house’s defenses would be weak, and I was right.
With a weary sigh, I bend and right the night table, retrieve the books and put them back in place. Then I open the drawers. Virtually nothing in them. Some reading glasses. A date book from several years past. A few pens.
I shove them back inside the open drawer. As I do, the top of my hand brushes something protruding.
Excitement bubbles as I yank the drawer from the night table and set it on the nearby rug. Then I flatten my palm and slide it across the panel above the open cavity. There! Something raised. My fingers trace carvings. It’s octagonal, like Bram’s mirror. This has to be it.
Curling my fingers around the edges, I pull once, twice… Finally it comes free.
Quickly, I extract it. And smile. The MacKinnett family crest seemingly carved in stone. It looks like a paperweight or something one might affix to a mantel for decoration. I know better, for Bram’s looks nearly identical, family crest excepting.
Finally—a way to warn the others on the Council about Mathias’s plans to systematically dismantle them.
I glide my fingers across the top three times clockwise, one counterclockwise. Suddenly, it pops open, much like a human female’s compact. I jump to my feet and open my mouth to shout for Ice. Then…I close it. This is Council business. I’m acting on my brother’s behalf. Camden doesn’t know me well, but well enough to know I would never lie about MacKinnett’s death. Ice… Well, given his reputation as an anger-fueled madman, perhaps I’d be better served to talk to Camden alone.
The mirror is fogged, not uncommon when it isn’t in use. Around the edges appear six other crests and one symbol at the top, which I assume allows one to reach all the other Councilmen simultaneously. I avoid that button and struggle to recall the exact crest belonging to Camden’s family. But the memory won’t come. What do I recall about the Council? Protocol. Yes, the Council loves that, and it saves me now.
The eldest member of the Council is Blackbourne, and he’s Council Chancellor. Accordingly, his family crest is the first etched into the glass near the top. Spencer’s would be just beneath his. O’Shea’s and MacTavish’s I recognize beneath that. Which leads to Camden’s. Beneath that, MacKinnett’s symbol has gone black. I hope, pray, it displays thus on all the mirrors. It will lend credence to my message.
The Rion family crest is last, and the symbol has gone a dark gray. Bram is ill, very ill. I can’t cry now. I did that at the bed-and-breakfast in Monmouth, but my concerns linger, plaguing my mind like a disease. The mirror proves I’m right to worry.
Shoving the thought aside, I focus on what must be done.
Touching my finger to Camden’s symbol, I wait.
Within moments, he appears, looking ready to shout.
When he sees my face, he closes his mouth and sends a puzzled frown instead.
“Lady Sabelle. You have MacKinnett’s mirror. His symbol is black. Is he truly dead? Are you all right, girl?”
Thank goodness, I don’t have to explain much. “Yes, I have his mirror. Yes, he’s dead. And as you can see, my brother is unwell.” I swallow. “I know you don’t wish to hear this. None of the Council does, but Mathias and the Anarki attacked and killed Thomas. Burned him alive.” My voice cracks. “All his human servants dead?—”
His expression closes up, his wiry gray brows knitting. “Nonsense, girl. Mathias is an exile.”
