Page 118 of Blackwicket
The Drudge opened one of its triple mouths to speak, and Grigori’s reviled voice took the air from the tower, gravelly and unkind. My blood ran cold, the fear of childhood overwhelming me anew as though I were still a young girl, listening to a man threaten and manipulate my mother.
“You were supposed to be my greatest success. You ran away, you whimpering coward. Little nothing. Scared of a bit of pain? I’ll show you pain, boy!” He yelled, raising his skeletal arm, curses transforming into a cane, scythe-like handle, sharp and cruel. The Drudge swung the ghostly weapon towards Victor, who, driven by an instinct burned into his nature, raised an arm to block the blow, body flinching inward. The phantom cane disintegrated as it made contact with Victor’s arm, and the Drudge dove like a wraith, head twisting to give a new mouth prominence.
“You abandoned me,” William’s voice, wretched and hurt, a lost soul calling from the depths, “Why didn’t you come find me? Why didn’t you help me? Look what happened because of you. Look what I’ve become in your stead.”
Victor remained hunched, his arm shielding his head, suffering the guilt and horror of his childhood, his Drudge too weak to rise and protect him.
The last mouth was given its voice, and Coppe’s rough cadence brought with it a new grating note of detestation.
“You’re the torment of all of Nightglass. My family suffered, my brother died, unraveled by Grigori to take your place. You should be dead. You!” It yowled, the sound expanding in the tower as the phantasm dove, clawed hand outstretched.
Victor’s psychic barricades had weakened, and despite his best efforts to remain standing proud, he lost his footing, dropping to his knees as the ghast tore bits and pieces of his magic away, clean and corrupted volutions of power extracted with every blow.
I called his name, rising to aid him, but was caught by my sister’s hand. Though her grip was feeble, it stalled me enough that I could do nothing as William’s Drudge found the soft spot in Victor’s defenses, and broke down into a spoil of smog.
I couldn’t watch as Victor was possessed, couldn’t bear to see him forced to swallow the ghosts of his past.
The tower grew quieter, the uproar diminished to only the clamor of the Fiend and the groaning of the house’s frame, the joists and beams struggling.
Victor’s back was still to us, and his shoulders rose, squaring off in the way I knew him for, defiant and unbreakable, and I dared hope. But as he turned to face us, it became abundantly clear he hadn’t survived the ordeal unscathed.
William’s Drudge laughed inside of Victor, his handsome face distorting into something more foul than I’d ever seen.
“This man is damaged,” it drawled, lilting the last word with a dripping satisfaction, “And he’s really fighting.”
I glanced at the portal where the Fiend was almost through. Perhaps I could reach it, give it the magic it needed to open. It would cost us everything. I hesitated, trying to think of a way, any way, we could walk free from this.
The creature stretched its shoulders back, rolling its neck to get a feel for the new body. “The magic in here is peculiar, but tastes so sweet, like you two.”
He brushed his thumb over his mouth, simultaneously biting his bottom lip, tantalized, irises the shade of whitecaps breaking shore.
“There are someveryinteresting memories here concerning you, Eleanora,” William purred in Victor’s voice. “It’s a shame I won’t be able to bring you with me. And as for you, Fiona, my love. You’re a precious, stupid woman. I hope your pride was worth all this. Now, ladies, if you’ll excuse me, I need to be out of the way when the Fiend makes its appearance.”
The beast in question had pulled itself more than halfway, shaking the house’s foundations, which creaked ominously.
As Victor made to escape, I knew what my last choice was. The only choice. The Fiend would soon be in this world,consuming all it could. There was no stopping that. But I could stop William from spreading like a disease through Dark Hall, leaving destruction in his wake in pursuit of more power, more magic. I didn’t know what worlds existed beyond this, but I knew they were not prepared for him.
In three reckless bounds, I’d grabbed hold of Victor, and as expected, he turned, ready to fight, to ruin my body with the hands of his brother, who’d once touched me so gently. But he was met with an offering that threw him off guard—all that remained of my magic, every bit of me Dark Hall hadn’t used up.
“Oh, that’s…” He intoned, low, shivering at the sensation, and in unconscious recognition of my magic, Victor’s guard lowered.
“Goodbye, William.” I grated, latching onto his Drudge, coiling it around the portion he’d already been so gracious to give me. He tried to wrench away, but it was too late, the natural laws governing this exchange were already in motion. My lungs expanded as I took in a breath that was more than a breath, an invitation to the worst kind of magic. I wouldn’t be able to take it all, and even if I had been, there was no time for Victor and Fiona to escape. I couldn’t save the people I loved, but I could make sure no one suffered the whims of a Nightglass ever again.
As the first taste of scourge rolled across my tongue, the Fiend crashed through the portal, fracturing the wall, shifting the very structure of Blackwicket House, until the boards began to snap.
In a last bid to survive, William’s Drudge released its hold on Victor, using its remaining strength to pull against me, when I was jolted by the impact of a body against mine, Victor tackling me against the wall, sheltering as he had when the house had retaliated against us for my sister’s misuse of it. The collision fractured my hold, and the Fiend fell upon us, William’s Drudge freeing itself to rise above, clambering high along the sloped ceiling.
My world became an erratic fluctuation of shadowy faces, but through it, I saw William’s Drudge crawl like a startled spider down to the ruptured Narthex, where it disappeared inside. Free.
I’d failed.
Victor slid his arms beneath me, holding me up to his chest, tucking my head against his neck. We waited. Waited for the end of us both.
But it never came. The cool plucking hands of the Fiend searched, tugging here and there, chittering and whispering as though discussing something with itself. I raised my head, and in the brume there had formed a single visage, murky and vaporous.
Eleanora,it said, a hundred voices raised in chorus, my name a discordant and ancient sound.
Fiona.
