"Why are the ghosts here all so weird?" Sabrina complained, walking down the hall and carrying Salem.
"I told you; we get all types here. Especially the oddballs," Leota reminded her.
"Why am I not surprised?" Salem muttered. "There is something inherently disturbing about this place."
Sabrina's eyes flitted over the darkened hallway. "Tell me about it," she muttered softly.
Sensing the quiet, and Sabrina's slightly melancholy mood, Leota intervened. "You'll be happy to know that there aren't many rooms left!" she chirped.
Sabrina raised an eyebrow. "Really. How many have we been in?"
"Twenty, give or take."
Sabrina felt like smacking herself. "We've been here that long?"
"Time flies when you're hunting demons," Salem drawled.
Sabrina rolled her eyes. "And the next room would be…?"
"The second-to-last room on the second floor is the Parlor," Leota informed her.
Sabrina and Salem's eyes bulged. "You mean there's a third floor?" Sabrina yelped.
"Yes. Just relax—there aren't many rooms up there."
"No." The Spirit Detective stood in the middle of the hallway, refusing to move. "I will not move from this spot until you tell me exactly what remains for us to do. I have been working my butt off tonight, and I deserve to know what I'm getting into."
"Maybe," Salem suggested sarcastically, "you should have said that to Drell before he shoved us through that warpgate."
"I was in shock, okay?" Sabrina snapped. "Leota, if you please…?" she prompted.
The psychic sighed. "Like I said, there's two more rooms left on this floor, and those are the Parlor, and the Portrait Gallery. The third floor is accessible from here; it's the staircase at the very end of this hallway. There are only two rooms on the third floor: the Attic and the Observatory. And after that…" she trailed off, pondering. "I don't know."
"So, you don't know what will happen once we fix those four rooms?" Sabrina asked, incredulously. This is Madame Leota, our guide through this crazy mixed-up haunted mansion, who doesn't know how to solve the big problem.
"Typical," Salem remarked.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'TYPICAL'?" Leota shrieked. "I'VE GOTTEN YOU THIS FAR, HAVEN'T I?"
"Yes, you have," Sabrina soothed, "and Salem's just jealous."
"Jealous?"
"Salem, if you don't want to spend the remainder of this trip as a pineapple, I suggest you apologize to Leota." The cat glowered at her. "Now."
"Fine." The cat turned away and mumbled something.
"Excuse me?" Leota batted her eyelashes. "I don't believe I heard that."
Salem mumbled again, but slightly louder. Sabrina glared.
"I'm sorry, Leota," Salem repeated, looking annoyed and, oddly for Salem, faintly ashamed.
Leota smirked, a smug look etched onto her face as Sabrina picked the cat up. "Okay, so where is the Parlor?"
En route, Salem refused to ride in the backpack with Leota or let Sabrina carry him; instead, he trotted by Sabrina's side, mad at both women.
Dumb cat, Sabrina thought with a trace of bitterness, he can't just do whatever he pleases anymore. Every action we make, every word we say, affects the people around us. He's got to learn that, or we're going to be in big trouble…
They stopped at the correct door, and the Spirit Detective began to deconstruct the barrier. She shot the cat a sidelong glance as he sat by her feet, aloof in expression of his annoyance.
And he may have to learn it sooner rather than later…
The barrier collapsed, and the small group entered the Parlor. Sabrina gave a low whistle at the sheer size of the room. For being a mere "parlor," the room merited half the size of the spacious Ballroom. What on Earth did they need all that space for? she wondered, as she walked to the center of the room.
The Parlor was a beautiful concoction of cream and gold. Cream-colored couches and armchairs were arranged in conversational groupings. The largest sofa, in the middle, was accompanied by a kidney-shaped, marble-topped coffee table. On top of the table was a small gas lamp, set on top of a lace doily, a small metal birdcage placed to its left. A red velvet-bound photograph album lay beside it.
Salem mewled hungrily, and dashed forward to investigate the cage.
Sabrina continued to look around. The wallpaper was white with gold scrollwork that glowed through the dust. Cabinets were strewn throughout the room, their glass windows displaying all manners of interesting things to look at. The cabinet nearest her boasted a silver tea set, and a large piece of fragile-looking coral.
"It's so pretty," Sabrina marveled, as she stooped to look at the cream-and-tan colored Oriental rugs covering the floor.
Leota smiled. "It's Elizabeth's work," she murmured. "The room hadn't been updated since the 1840s, and the walls were a dark brown color, with few pictures, and very stiff chairs. It was a exceptionally…boring room to be in."
Sabrina turned her head, admiring the landscapes hung on the walls. "Elizabeth had good taste."
"She did," Leota murmured, more softly than before.
"There's no bird!" Salem wailed from the marble table.
Sabrina laughed. "Of course not. It would have starved to death by now." She moved over to where he sat on his haunches. "See, there's no…"
She trailed off at the sudden sight of the cage. The latch was loose—as if someone had opened it, and never closed it properly. Something's not right here… The teenage witch carefully reached over, and knocked the cage door open. Moving to face it, she peered inside.
Huddled in the bottom of the cage was the twisted, crushed skeleton of a bird.
It's…twisted… How…what happened to it?
Sabrina touched the cage itself, and concentrated. "Show me," she whispered.
The young woman stood at the other end of the room, terror beginning to dawn across her face. She looked like a frightened child, too young to be wearing a wedding gown. Her dark brown eyes were bulging and terrified as she stared at the one in the center of the room.
"I'll not ask you again, child," the cold voice purred. "Where is the Beacon? I must have it…"
She backed against the wall, shaking her head wildly, dark curls falling out of place.
"Tell me now, and I may spare you."
The woman clenched her fists, even as tears began to threaten to fall. "You'll NEVER find it! It belongs to Edward!"
"Foolish child. The Beacon calls to me. No mortal can handle its power. Not even your beloved Edward."
A soft chirping noise filled the air.
The woman made a choking noise as the dark one lazily opened the birdcage next to him, wrapping long, pale fingers around the small bird inside.
"A final warning, child. If you do not tell me now…"
A crunching noise filled the air.
The dark one held up the twisted, crushed corpse of the songbird. "Edward Gracey shall soon resemble this."
Sabrina jerked away from the birdcage, gripping her hand like it had been scalded. I know that woman, and I know that voice… But would Elizabeth have told Thorne where the Beacon is hidden? No…no, I don't think so…her loyalty to Edward was too strong…so what happened?
She backed away, moistening her suddenly dry lips. Think, Sabrina, think. There's got to be a plausible explanation…
"Hun?" Leota called softly. "Shouldn't we be working on finding the light switch?"
Sabrina blinked. "Oh…uh, yeah!" She laughed nervously. I keep forgetting that they can't see what I can…
The blonde stopped, staring at the walls. "Is it just me, or does that staircase lead to nowhere?"
Salem leapt off the coffee table to stand by her feet. "Yup, that's definitely weird." A staircase had been built along the wall across from them, yet the staircase led…
"There's no landing. There's no place to connect it to." Leota blinked. "Rest assured, it was not like this back when I was alive."
"I think that statement could apply to the entire house," Sabrina muttered, moving closer. The Detective, however, failed to notice the small, oval rug she was about to walk on. In the next five seconds, her foot landed squarely in its center.
The wall facing the rug was immediately yanked out of place, and pulled backwards. Sabrina stared, openmouthed, as the wall twisted around in the inky blackness beyond, and reattached itself to the wall with a very solid-sounding slam.
Leota and Sabrina continued to stare at the newly reversed wall.
Salem blinked. "Cool."
"Oh my God," Sabrina muttered. "What made it do that?" She stepped backward, surveying the wall with a sense of horror.
"How come our walls at home don't flip?" Salem whined. "You could have instant redecoration."
"Something had to have triggered it," Leota reasoned. "What did you do?"
"N-nothing!" Sabrina blurted. "I just stepped forward…" She did so, to demonstrate, and stepped on the small carpet again.
Once more, the wall was jerked out of its place, flipped around, and pulled back.
The girl, cat, and ghost looked down at the carpet Sabrina's foot was resting on. "I'll hazard a guess that the carpet has something to do with it," Leota drawled.
Salem darted to the right-hand-side wall. "There's a carpet here, too!" he called, and quite obviously stepped on it. That wall pulled away and flipped, to reveal a fireplace.
As Sabrina walked over to investigate the fireplace, Salem began to trot around the room, looking for more of the 'special rugs.' The Spirit Detective reached out a tentative hand, running her fingers over the intricate molding. Her fingers smoothed the dust away, running over the smooth wood.
She admired the tarnished candlesticks that adorned the mantle, set on either side of a massive golden clock under a glass bell jar. The blonde checked the time. It's stopped at 10:31. I wonder what time it is now…
She quickly looked up to see Salem playing with the rugs. She narrowed her eyes. He's flipping the ones right next to the wall with the staircase… Her eyes bulged as he flipped one that revealed itself to have a landing.
"STOP!" she shouted, dashing over.
"Ehh?" the cat blinked. She then pointed to the staircase. It matched perfectly with the landing.
The landing appeared to consist of nothing more than an entrance to a door, and access to the light switch. Sabrina ran over to the staircase, and began climbing.
"What's the door?" she asked curiously, as they neared.
"It leads to a guest room. Very comfortable, though, so I've heard."
As she got close enough, Sabrina tried the knob. "Leota, it's locked."
"Well, that makes sense. Only the servants or guests would have a key. And seeing as everyone's dead by now…"
"There's nobody to ask for a key," Sabrina finished gloomily.
"Plus, that's not one of the places we're looking."
Sabrina pouted, but went to the right of the door and flipped the pulsing switch. As a fire sprang to life in the hearth, Sabrina slowly descended the steps. "You know, Leota," she said, slowly realizing something, "we didn't see any ghosts in this room."
Leota's mouth formed a round 'o' of surprise. "Which could very well mean…"
Before the psychic was able to finish her sentence, the flames in the fireplace collapsed upon itself, the very embers slowly fading and hardening.
Sabrina licked her lips, as a thrumming filled her head. Cold… She involuntarily shivered, rubbing her arms. Her heart began pounding painfully against her ribcage. Where is he? I know he's here. Don't tell me he's going for a theatrical entrance…
A small ball of fire erupted from the carpet below the fireplace. The waves of fire peeled away to reveal Atticus Thorne, his arms folded and a smirk drawn across his face.
His smirk deepened, twisting the toadlike face into an even uglier mask of supercilious disdain. He shook his head, bog-green eyes never leaving the Spirit Detective. "Tsk, tsk, Sabrina," he chided in a patronizing tone.
"You are quite the headstrong little chit, aren't you? One could even say to the point of recklessness."
Sabrina's lip curled up as her eyes narrowed to slits.
"After all, you gallantly came to the rescue of the few pathetic shades here, declaring your intent to be their knight in shining armor. Completely ignoring your utter lack of expertise and power, of course. And off you trotted, with your," his gaze lingering scornfully on Salem for a moment, " 'noble steed,' and…'wise guardian'."
Leota clenched her teeth while Salem began to swell and hiss.
He tilted his head up, assuming a theatrical air. "And now, you have nearly reached the deepest dungeons of the enchanted castle, where you will combat the wicked wizard—which would be myself, of course."
His eyes rolled down from where he had struck a mock-theatrical pose. "This begs the question, of course, of what your course of action will be."
"Easy," Sabrina hissed, swinging the Beacon into a more comfortable position. "Shutting you up."
Thorne gave another mock-sigh, bringing his hands together. "Utterly headstrong, foolish, quixotic, and useless." He rolled his eyes. "What is the Witches' Council coming to?"
"To this!" Sabrina screamed, rushing towards him. She launched a quick volley of Charge Shots, before jumping onto the couch.
"Don't get your feet on the couch!" Leota shrieked.
"Who are you, my aunt?" Sabrina snapped, as Thorne teleported away. Sneaky bastard…
"Behind you!" Salem bellowed, diving under the couch.
Sabrina whipped around, firing Power Shots as she did so. While Thorne was able to duck some, he couldn't escape the full onslaught. Snarling, he teleported again.
While she figured that she couldn't expect a fair battle against the ancient warlock, Sabrina soon found that Thorne was a fairly bad battle strategist. In fact, he had one fatal flaw: he was repetitious. For, not only is variety the spice of life, but it also prevents your opponents from figuring out what you will attack with, and where. Keeping this in mind, she found that firing her newly-upgraded Power Shots at thirty-degree angles worked miracles on the dark warlock.
"Hah!" she shouted, flinging a smartly placed Power Shot at him.
Thorne stepped back, choking slightly, as the bolt of energy connected with the tender flesh below his shoulder. Gripping the wounded area, he flung a barrier of fire around himself, teleporting away.
"Foolish child… don't think that we are done here."
She stood, panting, in the middle of Parlor, waiting for him to teleport back again.
"I think he's gone," Salem ventured.
As if to corroborate the cat's statement, the fire sprang back to life, crackling merrily. Leota sighed. "Thank God in Heaven that's done." She shot the Spirit Detective an annoyed look. "I'll have you know that you're not allowed to put your feet on the sofa."
Sabrina rolled her eyes. "Well, then I-"
"Hello, dear!"
The girl, cat, and psychic stared at each other. "Did you…" Sabrina whispered, her voice dropping away. The three then quickly turned around.
Sitting on the couch behind them, demurely holding a cup of tea, was the ghost of an old woman. I'm willing to bet that's Grandma, herself.
The elderly woman beamed at them from her seat. She could have been anyone's grandmother, clad in a long, floral dress and knitted shawl. Her hair was pulled behind into a soft bun, and a pair of spectacles were perched low on her nose.
"Grandma Bootsie!" Leota declared. "It's wonderful to see you again!"
"Who's that?" Grandma blinked, leaning forward. "Why, if it isn't little Leota! Hello, dearie!"
Leota flushed slightly. "Hello," she managed. Salem snickered faintly.
Grandma took a sip from her cup, and then turned to Sabrina. "I just wanted to thank you so much, dear, for ridding this room of that nasty, nasty man." She shuddered, before swirling the contents of her cup. "I should think he must have been a horrid child."
Sabrina grinned. "I guess so."
"So, as a thank-you gift, I—oh goodness me, I can't believe I was so thoughtless. Would you like a cup of tea, dear?"
Sabrina glanced at the tea set on the coffee table. The teacup, as well as the teapot Grandma Bootsie was gesturing to, was as insubstantial as the grandmother herself. "No, thanks."
"Are you sure?" Grandma inquired solicitously. "It's very good for you."
"I'm sure." Sabrina nervously rubbed the back of her neck. There's something I'm forgetting about this lady…
"Well, anywho," the grandmother continued, "I'd like to give you a little thank-you gift…now where did I put it?"
Sabrina used the time while the elderly woman searched for the present to pull out the Death Certificate. "I actually have something for you, myself," she stated.
"Eh? Speak up, dearie, I'm a little deaf."
"I have something for you," Sabrina repeated, louder.
"Hmm? Oh…oh, my goodness…my Death Certificate! Wherever did you find it, dear?" Not waiting for her answer (or expecting it, either), she reached out and gingerly took it. Grandma Bootsie blinked at the picture.
"Oh, goodness…rat poison? Who would have thought?" She chuckled merrily. "That'll teach me to put in the cream without wearing my glasses."
Sabrina's eyebrow twitched. Yup. Suuuure taught her a lesson, didn't it?
"Er…oh, now what was I saying before? My thoughts just come and go now, you know." She chuckled merrily, before assuming a thoughtful expression. The elderly woman then snapped her fingers.
"Yes, of course! That's it! That pretty jewel for you, dear—that's what it was!" Beaming, she stretched her hand out and gestured. With a rush of red sparkles, the Soul Gem materialized. The gem was red, a brilliant scarlet hue that twinkled deeper crimson and even an off orange shade as the light danced off its facets.
"Is this…?" Sabrina trailed off, looking at Leota.
The psychic gave her a warm smile. "The final Soul Gem. Congratulations, hon. You've assembled all the pieces of an ancient weapon."
Sabrina looked at the Beacon carefully. The Beacon was a tarnished, slightly dented lantern that had once been a golden color. Slots had been created around the base for the Soul Gems that powered it. Once wedged in all the way, only the flat top of the gem could be seen, looking like a piece of stained glass adorning the lantern.
It never fails to amaze me how this dingy old lantern can destroy evil spirits. It doesn't even look sturdy enough for camping, let alone combat.
Grandma Bootsie, however, was still chattering on. "So nice for you dearie, so nice…now, are you sure you don't want to have a seat and a cup of tea?"
Rat poison! Argh!
"No, thank you, we really must be going," Sabrina replied in a firmer tone.
"Well, if you're sure," the elderly woman said, doubtfully.
"DENY. HER. TEA," Salem hissed.
"Yes. Quite. But thank you, anyway."
"Well, then be sure to stop on by later and see Grandma later, dearies!" Elma Belle Gracey, known informally as Grandma Bootsie, merrily waved goodbye to the small group, and leaned back in her chair, sipping from her poisoned cup of tea.
Sabrina sighed as the group headed toward the door. "If that's what growing old entails, I'm not sure I want to."
"What—battiness or love of tea?" Salem blinked.
"Both."
Okay guys, here's where I need to make one thing clear: these last few chapters of "Tribute" (not including the Epilogue, though) are going to get much darker. There will be more horror and more blood than there have been before.
Why?
Because Gracey Manor's bloody past is soon to be revealed.
These last few chapters won't horribly over-the-top violent or gory, but I felt that everyone should have fair warning.
Yes, Thorne has become much more than a pompous nuisance; this man really is evil. [For YYH fans, he's a lot like Toguro Ani—you know someone's evil when they start killing little birdies.]
As for why's she's "Grandma Bootsie," that's very simple. That's one of my own grandmothers. Except she likes quilting more than tea…
Next chapter: In the mood for art, the group heads for the Portrait Gallery. Besides a lesson in art, they learn a little more about the Gracey family members…and attempt to solve the portraits' secret…