"The only thing I don't get is, where are all the monsters?" Salem's tail twitched with the memory of poisonous spiders and skeletal ghosts.
Sabrina paused, chewing her lower lip. Salem's got something there. The last few rooms we've been in have been free of any of the monsters we've faced before. What is it? A fluke? Or…does Thorne have something more sinister in mind? I hate mind games…
"There must be a more sinister explanation at hand…maybe one of Thorne's plots," Leota said darkly. "You can never tell what the filthy scoundrel is thinking."
Sabrina's eyes swept to each side of the Upstairs Hallway as the group cautiously, but quickly, made their way to the Foyer. Her nerves had been stretched to the near-breaking point as the small group had gone down the steps. Each creak of the aged boards had meant a subtle signal to the enemy.
"I wonder what he'll try to fight with," Sabrina pondered. "Do you think he'd use those fireballs he was conjuring in the Pantry?"
Leota shrugged. "Like I said, he's a hard one to predict. There's no telling what he may do."
"Oh, please," Salem disagreed. "Have you not seen the way he fights? Teleporting every which way and chucking either wussy fireworks or stupid bugs…that's no way to do it. Thorne's a pushover. Sabs can take him down, easy."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Sabrina smirked. Inside, however, she felt nowhere near as sure. I'm no action hero! All those fights before were simply to get him out of our hair, not to kill him! What if Thorne was going easy on me before? It would certainly be credible, given his view of me… The lower-class being incapable of anything… Sabrina's fists clenched. I'll show him…I'll show everybody! Sabrina Joan Spellman is good for something! For once, I'll be able to prove myself…
She paused before the staircase leading to the Downstairs Hallway. But I'm still nervous as hell.
"Nervous?" Salem murmured.
She smiled weakly. "How could you tell?"
"You're trembling."
The Spirit Detective flexed her fists. "Maybe just a little."
Salem rubbed against her back, mewing softly.
Leota cleared her throat slightly. "W-we should really keep going…" she trailed off.
"Right."
Her hands still shaking, the blond witch descended the staircase, arriving shortly thereafter in the Downstairs Hallway. Her heart pounding painfully, she made her way down the hall.
The hallway looked the same as before… But with darting eyes and sharpened senses, the detective cautiously made her way down the moss-green carpet. As she hurried by, marble busts swiveled to watch her, frowns deepening.
The Foyer door…just have to make it to the Foyer door…
It felt like eyes were watching her…eyes everywhere…even in… "There are eyes in the wallpaper," she whispered.
Salem darted a glance at the bluish-purple paper. Strangely enough, the swirling black design seemed to form faces with glaring eyes and sharp-teethed mouths. Whimpering, he huddled at the bottom of the backpack.
Biting her lip, Sabrina made her way to the door. Carefully, she pushed it open.
The Foyer was quiet and somber; the demonic clock still ticked softly, the sound echoing off the paneled walls. Feeling a sense of relief wash over her, Sabrina shut the door behind her, and entered into the Foyer proper.
She sighed. "I love this room," Sabrina murmured, looking around. "It's so beautiful…so safe."
"What, and the Séance Room isn't?" Leota mock-pouted.
Sabrina tipped her head back and laughed. She couldn't remember the last time she had laughed in this entire night. Her laughter abruptly died as she remembered just why they were in this room. She turned around, facing the second-story landing. Is it my imagination, or is that switch up there pulsing? The aura coming from it feels so cold…so bleak…
Reluctantly, Sabrina began to climb the staircase. There should be a somber funeral march playing right now. Why is there never mood music in real life?
The switch came closer and closer into view. It feels like I'm marching off to my demise. It really does.
Too soon for Sabrina's liking, the switch was in front of her, and the small group was pondering it, and the painting next to it. She gasped quickly at the thrum of power running through the air here.
"How did I miss this?" she murmured. "It's so strong…"
"Maybe it's something you can only pick up with your sixth sense?" Salem suggested.
The teenage witch shrugged. "Maybe. Either way, the energy here must be the barrier spell. But where is the passage?" She mumbled this last question, half to herself. As she turned around, surveying the entire area, trying to pinpoint the source of the powerful aura, Salem was curiously examining the painting.
"The painting's of Thorne!" Salem blurted. "Check it out!"
Sabrina blinked and did a double-take. Indeed, the crotchety old man in the portrait was none other than the mad wizard…sans his deep violet robes, of course. His pale, lined visage scowled at the audience, the toadlike features stretched into a grimace. Cold, flat eyes—remarkably like their real-life counterparts—glared angrily.
"I wonder what poor schmuck was brave enough to paint that," Leota wryly remarked.
Sabrina shrugged. "Don't know; don't care. My question is, where is this hidden panel you've been blabbering on about?"
Leota sighed. "Hold the ring up to the portrait."
The Spirit Detective blinked for a moment, then shrugged, and extended her right hand towards the portrait. The Seafarer's Ring glowed a brilliant blue-green for an instant. Somehow, Sabrina could feel a slow ebb and pull pulsing through her body, like the ocean's waves. For an instant, the tang of salt filled her nostrils.
The sensations died as soon as they had come, and the glow along with it. Slowly, by degrees, the large portrait began to swing forward, a portion of the wall coming with it.
Sabrina and Salem stared, fascinated, as the panel finally came to a halt at a ninety-degree angle. Before them was a doorway.
"And it was right in front of the us the entire time!" Sabrina yelped. She smacked her hand to her forehead.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Salem growled, facing Leota.
"Because at the time, it wasn't a priority," Leota explained, trying to keep a grip on her fraying temper. "Besides, he added the switch after I died. I wasn't aware of the changes he'd made."
Leota's never told us how she died, Sabrina realized. I know that Thorne basically either blasted or hacked the other residents, and that he stabbed Elizabeth to death, but…how did she and Edward die? I wonder…
Meanwhile, the cat and psychic were having a stare-down. Eager to avert a miniature crisis before she fought for her life, Sabrina swiftly picked the two of them up, and marched into the room.
Here we go…
As soon as they had fully entered the room, and walked into the center, the door slammed shut behind them.
"Hey!" Sabrina yelped, running over to where the door had been. She quickly (but carefully!) dropped Salem and Leota to the ground, as she began to pound on the wall. "Open up!" The detective examined the wall, but failed to even find the door's seams.
"Crap!" she shouted, frustrated, and slammed her fist against the wall.
Okay, ow.
She drew back, cradling her throbbing fist, angered at both her enraged stupidity, and the door for locking them in. Snarling at the wall, Sabrina withdrew to the middle of the room, examining her surroundings.
The room the group currently inhabited was small and octagonal in shape. The walls stretched to perhaps fifteen feet in height, the lower half paneled in dark wood, and the upper half plastered with thinly striped wallpaper. Leering bronze gargoyles perched on a ledge at the top of the paneling circled the room, serving as candle sconces. Even more disturbing was that the candles they carried were lit.
It was infinitely more disturbing, she decided a moment later, that there was no door in the room. No way in, no way out.
I've seen this before…but where?
Before Sabrina's eyes flashed snatches of her dream: running down the Endless Hallway, the candelabrum, Elizabeth, the…
"Go now. Remember…you are the one who will open the door."
"The room from my dream!" Sabrina nearly shrieked. "This is the same room that Elizabeth showed me!"
"Wait…" Salem frowned, trying to remember. "You told us about this…"
"In the Mausoleum," Leota cut in. "And you said Elizabeth mentioned that you were 'the one,' as I recall?"
"Yes…" Sabrina trailed off, feeling slightly confused. "She said that I would open a door…"
"She must have meant the door into the Secret Room," Leota decided. "That's the most logical explanation."
"The Secret Room?" Sabrina asked, even more confused than before. "I thought you said that the room the Beacon used to be in was called the Inner Sanctum."
"Yes," the psychic explained, "but this room—the passageway to the Inner Sanctum—was called the Secret Room. Very few knew it existed; even fewer knew of its true purpose."
"Except for you, Liz, and Ed," Salem guessed.
"Yes," the psychic said for a second time, frowning at the impromptu nicknames the cat had assigned to her friends. "And Master George, as well, but he more or less handed the whole matter over to Edward near the end of his life."
Sabrina, however, was half-listening to Leota's explanations. Something didn't quite sound right. I suppose that finding the ring and breaking the barrier was what Elizabeth meant, but…it—it just doesn't feel like the right explanation. I wish I could have asked her what she was implying…
"Hey, Sabs!" Salem called suddenly. "Check out the paintings!"
Sabrina slowly raised her head. Indeed, four paintings adorned the upper walls; the first was a copy of Mary Gracey's portrait from the Portrait Gallery, although she didn't recognize the others.
Leota quickly began to explain who the portraits' subjects had been in real life. The woman dressed in black and clutching a flower was Sally Boufont, Edward's maternal grandmother. Rumor had it that she and her son-in-law George Gracey had had a strained relationship.
The second portrait displayed a gruff-looking man with a thick brown mustache and beard, dressed in a formal suit. Apparently, this man had once been George Gracey's cousin and Elma Belle's son, Walter Gracey. He was named the ambassador to Burma, Leota stated proudly, although he'd sadly perished in a terrorist attack on the embassy.
The third portrait was of a calm-looking man with a brown bowler hat jammed onto a head of curly brown hair. "Eddy Foster," Leota said curtly, "the gardener."
Sabrina blinked at the harsh tones in the woman's voice. "Not quite fond of old Eddy, huh?" she remarked offhandedly.
"No, not really," the older woman replied, stiffly. "I'll confess that I'm not rather fond of flattering womanizers."
"Aww," Salem teased, "someone had a crush on Leota. How cuuuuute."
"Shut up," Leota hissed.
"Make me."
"Why, you…"
Sabrina tuned out of their conversation, as she looked around the room. Okay, Sabrina, think. You're stuck in a room with no doors and no windows. Yet, there was a door letting you in ten minutes or so ago. The question is now, how are you going to get out?
Unfortunately, her meditations were rudely interrupted by Salem and Leota's bickering. Whirling around, she glared at the pair. "Do you mind?" she snapped. "I'm trying to think of a way out of here, and-"
A low, rumbling laugh filled the room. Sabrina's heart skipped a beat in shock. She desperately scanned the room, attempting to find the source of the laughter. Salem and Leota huddled close to her feet, in an attempt for protection.
"Foolish child," the bodiless voice rumbled, "I am quite shocked that you have decided to come thus far."
"Thorne," the Spirit Detective hissed, bright points of anger shining in her eyes.
"Although, I must confess, I am surprised that a half-breed whelp could find its way into the very heart of this mansion…things are not always as they seem, are they not?"
Sabrina made a snarling noise in the back of her throat, hands clenching. Salem's eyes darted around the room, searching for the source of Thorne's voice. Instead of finding the dark warlock, however, the cat found something more…disturbing.
"Sabrina!" he yelped.
"Huh?" She blinked, momentarily distracted from Thorne's taunting.
"The ceiling! Look!"
Sabrina tilted her head back and gasped. The ceiling of the Secret Room was slowly, steadily rising upwards. Or…was the floor dropping downwards? Neither's a good option, Sabrina gulped as she watched the striped wallpaper loom high above her. The color drained from her face as sweat beaded on her forehead.
"Your cadaverous pallor betrays an aura of foreboding. Can it be that this room is actually stretching?" Thorne mocked, laughing at her distress.
Leota made a small, tremulous noise in the back of her throat. "The p-paintings…" she managed to choke out.
The teenage girl's gaze whipped to the nearest painting, which happened to be Mary Gracey's. The pink-clad woman was still clutching her parasol, but smiling vacantly at the viewer, her eyes wide and devoid of emotion. The portrait's frame was slowly stretching along with the wall, enlarging the canvas beneath it.
Sabrina's throat felt like cotton. That's not supposed to be like that. No, no, no, that's not how it goes!
Mary was perched, innocently, on a tightrope stretched across a river. As the rope frayed beneath her feet, she clutched her sunshade and smiled. The sun shone warm upon her slender figure, as she stood, mercifully oblivious of the alligator in the water beneath her, jaws open wide, yellow eyes glittering with anticipation…
"NO!" Sabrina howled. "That's not how it happened!"
Cold laughter was her only response as she spun to wildly face the other portraits. Walter Gracey stood in his striped underpants, pompously clutching at a piece of paper. The diplomat seemed perfectly ready to deliver a speech, on top of a barrel of dynamite, fuse slowly burning away…
Sally Boufont was perched jauntily upon a headstone, delicately sniffing a rose. 'Rest in peace, dear beloved George,' the headstone proclaimed, featuring a bust of George Gracey, a thick axe buried in his skull. Sally smiled satisfactorily, cold calculation gleaming in her eyes…
Eddy Foster was standing on the shoulders of an angry-looking man in a red suit with graying hair and a long, drooping mustache. The man in red was, in turn, seated upon the shoulders of a third man, absolute panic written on his face. The third man was buried to his waist in thick, cement-colored mud. The cause of his distress was evident; a small wooden sign next to him warned, 'Danger! Quicksand!'
Sabrina trembled, crying out. "That's not how they died! Stop it! Stop lying!" She shuddered violently, desperately fighting down the wild emotions spiraling out of control.
"Danny Patterson…the liveryman…and Asa Gilbert…the handyman…" Leota whispered. "I…I never thought…"
The room seemed to have stopped; the paintings moved no more, and the striped wallpaper stretched no further.
"And notice this," Thorne pointed out, "this chamber has no windows and no doors…which offers you this chilling challenge: to find a way out!"
The mad wizard erupted into laughter, as Sabrina whirled around, desperately praying that it was another one of his lies. No such luck. Damn.
"How do we get out?" Salem whimpered plaintively. Leota seemed to have been shocked into silence; a haunted look was drawn across her face.
"Of course, there's always…Edward's way…"
With a brilliant clap of thunder and flash of lightning, the room was plunged into darkness, and a scream was torn from Sabrina's throat.
Dangling from the rafters of the cupola above, the corpse of Edward Gracey hung quite still.
Sabrina collapsed to the floor, shock coursing through her system. Her eyes couldn't leave the skeleton hanging fifty feet above, dressed in an elaborate, tattered wedding suit of black and gray. The picture in the Portrait Gallery…it had a rope around its neck…he—he hanged himself?
"The deplorable fool…once he permitted my entrance into the Secret Room, he was of no other worth…"
"You killed him!" Sabrina screamed, anger burning in her eyes, tears streaming from her eyes. "You sick, twisted, heartless bastard! You used him and killed him! I'll never forgive you!"
"And why should forgiveness be my goal?" Thorne pointed out, clearly amused. "Glory can never be found in seeking redemption."
Leota closed her eyes during this exchange, remembering a day many years ago…
The young man walked as if in a trance, his black-and-gray formal suit smeared with blood. Coal-black hair flopped limply across a face haunted with despair. He seemed so dazed and despondent that one would assume him to be no more than a puppet being pulled toward the deeply etched carving on the wall before him.
It would have been a correct assumption.
The dark shadow that glided after him kept its gaze upon the wall. The carving resembled a Celtic knot, with intricate loops and whorls dancing around each other. Cold, cruel eyes bulged in anticipation, as a predatory smile stretched across a flat, toad-featured face.
The groom stopped, staring dumbly at the carving, Slowly, jerking slightly, his right arm raised, hand clenching into a fist. A metal ring that greatly resembled the carving sheathed the index finger. The ring slowly began to glow, one of the wooden threads in the carving responding likewise.
The glow spread along the entwining threads, dipping and looping throughout the pattern. It came to a rest in the corner opposite the first thread, leaving the pattern glowing a bright green. Slowly, a panel swung open from the wall.
Edward Gracey stiffly walked inside, the Master of Shadows following.
Madame Leota Toombs, psychic medium, had followed the two men from the hallway where they'd left the cooling body of the bride. Waiting until the two had gone in, she paused a second, gathering her courage, then dashed to the door and peeked in.
Atticus Thorne stood in the center of the Secret Room, as the passageway had been dubbed. His toadlike face was turned upwards, a serene smile on his face as he viewed the ceiling.
Abruptly, he turned toward the other wall, examining it.
Gathering her courage, Leota quietly stepped into the room, closing the panel behind her softly. As she laid herself on the ground, in the shadows of the dimly lit room, the chamber began to stretch, living up to its second name: the Stretching Room.
Thorne stepped back in amazement for a moment, watching the walls in front of him extend. Leota dared not breathe.
After an eternity, a panel slid open before Thorne, and he stepped out. Waiting a few minutes, Leota exhaled the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Carefully, she stood up, tilting her head towards the ceiling, wondering what Thorne found so fascinating.
The body of one of her dearest friends in the world hung silently from a noose attached to the rafters.
Leota nearly doubled over, retching, but clamped down on her sorrow immediately. Her hands balled into fists. Gathering her courage, the psychic strode through the open panel…
Leota opened her eyes, raising them to the ceiling. If I hadn't hesitated…if I had gone into the room when they did…Edward would have lived. I could have prevented him from being murdered. Edward seems to have forgiven me…or forgotten…but can I ever forgive myself?
Angry tears still flowed down the teenage witch's face.
"How sentimental…has your anger been freshly kindled with this knowledge? Then you may as well put it to use…"
A panel slid out from the wall across from them. Sabrina stood still.
I never really knew what evil was…The villain in a movie, the crooks on TV…Libby…but this, here, is evil. An utter disregard for life or sanctity…Pure, unadulterated ambition that lets nothing stand in its way… A loss of emotions… This is evil. It is my duty to purge this evil from the world. I will avenge the wrongful deaths of these people.
Sabrina bent down and scooped her companions back into the backpack. Slinging it onto her back, she took a deep breath, and walked through the door.
I wonder if I'll ever leave this room…
The Spirit Detective sucked in her breath once she entered the final room.
The Inner Sanctum loomed around her with all the subtlety of a Mayan temple. Walls of cold stone stretched into darkness high above (How far down did the Stretching Room take us? Sabrina pondered). Torches mounted every few feet helped to illuminate the dark chamber, but not by much. It was cold and dark: rather ironic for the original housing place of a weapon of light. The chamber lacked the lavish care and beauty that trademarked the rest of the Mansion. Then again, this was a room that was never meant to be seen.
The only ornamentation (if one could call it that) was a stone altar in the center of the room. Circular in shape, it rose some three feet above the ground. That must have been where the Beacon was kept!
She stepped forward, and the panel slid shut behind her.
'Past the point of no return—no backward glances: the games we've played till now are at an end…'
Slow, dark laughter drifted lazily from the shadows.
Thorne virtually glided from the darker corners of the room, robes of dark purple sweeping behind him. "I must thank you, Sabrina, as you have brought them to me."
What does he mean? It can't be…Salem and Leota? Oh no, I've brought them into danger…
The warlock laughed at the fear and bewilderment on her face. "I have little interest in your pathetic followers, child…what I desire is the Beacon."
"You'll never get it, Thorne!" Leota cried like a melodramatic heroine of old. "We stopped you a hundred and twenty years ago, and we'll stop you now!"
"Of course," Thorne sneered. "But you did pay the price in your own blood, Madame Toombs. You should do well to remember that."
"…Leota?" Sabrina asked, softly. "What is he talking about?"
Leota stared at the warlock icily. "I told you he killed everyone in the Mansion. I wasn't excluding myself."
Salem snarled, puffing slightly. "The bastard…" he hissed.
Oh God…he was the one who killed Leota…
Thorne smirked slowly. "You may have won, I suppose," he drawled doubtfully, "had you not completely lost your head near the end…"
"You are mistaken," Leota responded in a cold tone, "if you believe that a trail of death will lead you to the Beacon."
"But you are mistaken in believing that I am content to stop at death." Thorne's cold eyes seemed to slowly glow. "My ambition is to conquer the land of the living as well."
Sabrina's legs wobbled ever so slightly.
"Death will come to all, inevitably. But why let it wait? Why be bound to a fate of slow decay? Are we created in a state of fragility, waiting only for death to smash us into oblivion?" A look of something akin to rapture was beginning to slowly dawn upon his face. "Can we not transcend life itself? If the cycle can be broken…if fragile life can be replaced with powerful, inevitable death…"
"You're crazy," Sabrina whispered. Another power-crazed fool lusting after eternal life?
"Not insane, Miss Spellman," he corrected, "only rational. And much too eager to triumph where others hath failed. If the worlds of the living and dead are joined, a new world would be created…where those of supreme power would become gods over all…"
Sabrina laughed softly in scorn. "Let me guess…you see yourself as God of the Dead, am I right?"
He inhaled deeply, as if savoring the scent of the air. "Gods, indeed…long have I waited…to be worshiped as a god…"
His reverie snapped and broke, and determination overrode Thorne's facial expressions. "Once the worlds of the living and the dead are connected to the Netherworld, the cycle of life and death will be dissolved. The human race, weak and servile as they are, will be eradicated, along with those tainted with their filth. The servants of the Order will be amply rewarded with eternal life and power, and I…will become God-King over all."
Sabrina nearly felt like throwing up. His dream is sick and twisted…it's to destroy all sense of balance…to vanquish light and life…to destroy the worlds…
"Power beyond a man's wildest dreams…power over life and death itself…" he whispered, his eyes now focusing on the Beacon. "But to attain this, I must absorb more magical energy."
Sabrina pulled it back. "No way. The Graceys lived and died for this treasure, and you will never take it!" She narrowed her eyes. "You'll only take the Beacon and use it for your own selfish purposes."
He laughed in scorn. "And what would you propose to do with it?" he sneered. "You asinine fool! You know nothing of the Beacon of Souls; its history and true power are mysteries to an insect like you."
The teenage witch bristled. "Druids created it," she snapped back, "and it's a weapon of light. To be used against heartless monsters of the dark like you."
"Allow me to instruct you further," Thorne replied mockingly. "The Beacon was created nearly fifty score years ago, by a Druid priestess called Siobhan the Pure. Her fellow countrymen were beginning to turn to the Dark Ways; thus, the Beacon was formed to combat the forces of Dark."
He paced slightly before the altar before turning to look her in the eyes. "But without a source of power, 'twas useless. The Dark Forces were gaining fast their power, and time was short. Siobhan and five of her clan," he announced in ringing tones, "sacrificed their souls into tangible form to power the Beacon."
Their souls? Sabrina shuddered, as she looked at the Beacon, and the twinkling gems set into it.
"It's true," Leota said quietly. "The Soul Gems are the crystallized essences of those Druids' souls. They gave their lives in the fight against the Dark Forces."
"Such a pity that your lesson came with such a heavy price," Thorne said, shaking his head in mock-sorrow.
"Why?" Sabrina narrowed her eyes.
Thorne gestured, pointing at the Beacon with his index finger. Sabrina dumbly watched a spiral of black sparks shoot towards the lantern, before she realized he had cast a spell.
The Beacon suddenly jerked out of her hand, and flew towards Thorne. Sabrina felt her own hand rise, finger involuntarily pointing, before she squelched the urge to cast a summoning spell. Thorne was more powerful than her; likely, her spells would have little consequence.
The power inside the Beacon's core flowed out in a stream of green ectoplasmic energy; phantom skulls swirled around Thorne like a miasma. "I must thank thee, Miss Spellman, for re-assembling the Beacon for me."
Her hands clenched as the ectoplasm began to absorb into Thorne's body. The Soul Gems began to glow, a slow stream of sparkles flowing from them into the energy cloud. He's stealing their energy and absorbing it into his own magic reserve.
"I also thank you, my minions, for serving me well these centuries past," he continued, the swirling haze brightening in color. The lurid green reflected off his face like a hell-glow. Sabrina pulled her arm nearly in front of her eyes, trying to shield them.
"The energy cloud!" Salem yelped from the backpack. "It's getting stronger!"
The supernatural wind whipped sharply by her face. "It is," she noted, "But how? Is more energy coming from the…"
Wild shrieking and screaming suddenly filled the air, ebbing and flowing like a macabre tide. The room was filled with wisps of white smoke shaped like humanoid figures, writhing in torment, illuminated by the green glow.
"What are they?" Sabrina screamed. They look like the souls of the damned…
"They're the souls of those Netherworld demons," Leota shouted over the screams and rushing of the wind. "He's consuming their very souls."
Sabrina's eyes bulged. "I know he's obsessed with gaining power," she shouted back, "but this seems a bit extreme, don't you think?" How horrible…he gives no mercy even to his own followers…
"Oh, maybe just a little," Leota called back sarcastically.
The light had drained out of the glowing crystal in the center of the Beacon. Thorne tossed it aside like a piece of trash once he had absorbed the soul-trapper's essence. The ancient lantern clanked noisily as it hit hard stone, and rolled to a stop a few feet away from Sabrina.
"Death will come over time…but I have not the patience to wait." His cold eyes narrowed, burning with a frozen fire. "Everything from the mountainous peaks to the forest songbirds will be consumed by worms, which will rule over all mortality."
The miasma of supernatural energy swelled, nearly blinding her with its intensity. She was crouching on the floor, covering her head with her arms and hands, and Thorne was screaming in a strange language—Latin, maybe.
She could hear bones snapping, and a strange bubbling sound. What's happening? What's Thorne doing?
Impulsively, she threw her arms off her face, half-expecting to see Thorne lying on the floor, Netherworld demons ripping him apart.
Instead, the dark warlock was convulsing, his flesh bubbling under the billowing robes. There was a brief crunching noise, and then he began to expand slowly, like a balloon.
What in the name of all that's sane and good is going on here?
Sabrina felt like throwing up as Thorne's body elongated, still swelling. The fabric of the robes tore, and she briefly averted her head as sickly greenish-white skin became exposed. The bones in his face bulged, the skin thinly covering them.
Sabrina trembled, still crouching on the floor. Now, she understood. He had invoked an ancient—and particularly dangerous—transformation spell.
The creature before her was barely recognizable, for having once been humanoid. Possibly twenty or thirty feet in length, it was the same sickly greenish-white that Thorne's skin had been.
"It looks like a larva," Salem blinked.
Taken aback for a moment, the teenage witch realized her cat was right. The Thorne-creature had the same moist look, his body divided in ridged sections. It had a head, though; bony and elongated, it vaguely resembled that of a dragon, with a high crest and sharp snout. Sharp, glittering eyes, the color of dull malachite, regarded the teenage witch hungrily—much like a starving truck driver eyes a lone Twinkie.
Without warning, three pairs of arms burst out of the creature's sides. Dripping a green substance that looked vaguely like slime or mucus, the appendages landed firmly on the floor, flexing quickly.
The teenage witch shuddered and pulled back. I don't want to end this case with being eaten alive! I've beat giant bloodthirsty spiders, so a gigantic worm-monster should be no problem! …right?
A low rumbling noise echoed through the room, and Sabrina half-turned to the ceiling to see if the room was stretching again. Not again… Then it hit her that the rumbling was the Thorne-creature's version of his low, icy chuckle.
"My feast has only just begun," Thorne taunted, his voice as distorted as his body.
Great—and we're the main course!
Sabrina quickly snatched the Beacon, and attempted to fire it. I've got to do this as quickly as possib…wait a minute. What the hell?
The familiar pulse of energy was gone. It was like trying to connect with a block of wood; it hung, lifeless, in her hands. The warm Soul Energy that she could feel, pulsing in her hands, coursing through her body, had been drained, and the Beacon was…useless.
"Why aren't you firing?" Salem hissed. "Shoot him before he makes kitty kibble out of us!"
"Fool," Thorne laughed with contempt. "The Beacon is useless without its core. Once drained of its source of souls, 'tis like firing a cannon with no ammunition."
Its core?
Sabrina quickly examined the Beacon, studying the crystal soul-trapper in its center.
That's the same size as…
To say that she had a brilliant idea was an understatement. The girl whipped the backpack around, and began rooting through it.
"Sabrina, what are you…?" The psychic never got a chance to finish her sentence, as the teenage witch plucked her crystal ball out of the bag.
"Sorry about this, Leota!" Sabrina called, as she dropped her backpack on the floor, and flipped open the metal cage holding the soul-catcher in place.
"What are you doing?" Leota screeched, as Sabrina pulled the now-useless soul crystal out of the Beacon, and dropped it into the backpack.
Sabrina made no reply as she jammed Leota's crystal ball into the Beacon. The psychic gave a cry of protest as the Spirit Detective fastened the metal clasps around the crystal, holding it firmly in place. She held it up, quickly appraising her impromptu handiwork.
"Now, that's what I call ingenuity," Salem remarked.
A slow shrieking pierced the air. Sabrina's head whipped around, searching for the source of the cry. Is that…the souls he consumed?
"Can you hear that?" Thorne taunted. "Their suffering brings me greater strength. As the vital Soul Energy leaves them, they begin to fade…until their souls eventually decay and perish. And there once I have digested them, there are 999 more delicious morsels left to feast upon."
The faces of the ghosts she'd seen whirled through her head. The terrified man in the Séance Room…Madame Tangerine in the Dining Room…The gardener in the Winter Garden… He would continue to exist in fear. She would never have another birthday with her friends. He would never see his roses bloom. Because of him.
Edward, Elizabeth, and Leota had been brutally murdered at his hands. Edward and Elizabeth would never be able to get married, and live happily ever after. Their 'ever after' was a lifetime and beyond of sorrow, despair, and terror.
It was up to her to make these things right. It was up to her to deliver justice to those who flagrantly disobeyed the ancient laws.
She was a Spirit Detective. And it was time for her to go to work.
The Thorne-creature sneered at her determined face. "No matter how many souls I feed upon, though…there's always room…FOR AT LEAST ONE MORE!"
With that, he swung forward, jaws open wide to devour her on the spot. Saliva dripped from a strangely toothy mouth to spatter upon the floor. Sabrina skipped backward, flying through the air. Now off-target, Thorne crashed into the stone floor below.
Growling, he rose out of the small crater, angered at being deprived of his prey. Sabrina, however, didn't waste a moment as she began to fire from the newly restored Beacon.
The blasts of light shimmered strangely, as if every color of the rainbow was wrapped around each other and dunked in silvery-white dew. The strange light burned at Thorne's flesh, leaving tender-looking reddish marks on the slimy pale-green skin.
Bellowing in pain, it reared up, eyes flashing. Inevitably, the worm dropped to the ground, causing the stone floor to shudder beneath her feet. Angered by his prey's unexpected strength, the Thorne-worm loomed over the girl like a small mountain. Sabrina cautiously leaned back. Why does he…or it, rather…look ready to explode?
The beast's abdomen began to glow a coal-like red, pulsing like the broken heart of a murdered bride. The Spirit Detective paused, momentarily confused. Did I strike a critical hit already?
With a rushing sound like an airplane in takeoff, Thorne began belching fireballs in Sabrina's general vicinity. The experience reminded her much too unpleasantly of the Trophy Room…and this time, no chivalrous piece of armor was dashing to her rescue.
The teenage witch shrieked and leaped back. "Oww! Hot, hot!" And these boots are most likely flammable!
"Stop jumping and fire!" Salem shrieked from somewhere behind her. Unseen by his half-human counterpart, Salem's golden eyes were nearly bulging out of his head, tail thrashing from side to side.
"I will! Now shut up!" the girl snapped back, before running to her right. Gotta get out of his line of fire, or I'll be toast…literally!
Figuring that if she targeted the area fueling his fire-breath, Thorne would be unable to cremate her, Sabrina opened fire upon his belly. The desired effect—he rolled over due to the unexpected force of the blows, new burns appearing—was almost immediately achieved, much to the girl's delight.
Frustrated, the worm continued to spit fire at the girl—or, rather, tried to. With a swiftness that surprised even herself, Sabrina ran around the stone chamber, firing at the worm as she went. It was vaguely reminiscent of her fight against the first banshee she saw…except that this wasn't a ghost.
Her last shot caught the beast between the eyes. Jackpot! Angry red welts left by the new power core had sprung upon the Thorne-worm's skin like the chicken pox. It focused eyes smoldering with anger on her as it shivered and shook.
Breathlessly, she stepped back, anticipating it to crash upon the floor, dead, or partly dead.
Instead, the worm shrunk.
Flesh shriveled, bones either sunk back into the body or began growing, and the worm collapsed upon itself. With a sudden flash of purple fabric and black fire, the dark wizard stood before her in his humanoid form, body liberally dotted with fierce-looking burns. His eyes focused upon her, narrowed with hatred.
"No more games," he wheezed, appearing faintly angry at his lack of breath. "The consequences are now final…and fatal."
Before she had time to sneer or form a cutting remark, he flung a fistful of dark fire at her. The fire didn't ignite her dress, but felt like it seeped through to the flesh below, burning her skin. Sabrina momentarily panicked, flailing desperately as she attempted to extinguish a fire that felt real, but didn't appear to be real at all.
Thorne softly laughed at her distress, conjuring more hellflames.
In desperate retaliation, she opened fire, spraying him with bursts of power from the Beacon. The two briefly tossed shots at each other, like desperate gangsters with a vendetta.
It must have occurred to Thorne as well as Sabrina that combat of this sort was neither very constructive, nor damage-intensive.
The wizard stopped, royal purple robes swirling about his feet. Black flames roiled along the robe's hem, crackling in and out of existence. He narrowed his eyes as he briefly studied the teenage girl opposite him.
"In all actuality, I may claim a sense of respect. I've never…been pushed to do…this before…" So saying, he backtracked to the altar, standing before it. "But I would have you prove your worth, you wretch of tainted blood."
"Prove my worth?" Sabrina spat. "I think I've proved myself ten times over tonight. I don't know what you're thinking, but I'm not going to run and hide."
Flames danced in his eyes. "Good."
He threw his head back, and his arms up, giving a strange, guttural cry. The flames on his robe spread outward, sizzling across the floor like fire on a trail of wine. The hellflames spread to encircle half the room: a circle perhaps a hundred feet wide.
Beautiful. I'm trapped.
Salem gave a shrill cry as the stone floor began to shake and leap, stones buckling and quivering. The Spirit Detective nearly lost her footing, the heels on her boots tripping over the splintering floor.
With a roar like a dragon, the altar and the stones surrounding it collapsed. Sabrina's eyes widened at the hole forming in the center of the room. Where does it go? Is there someplace underneath the Mansion that he's trying to open up? What is he trying to do?
Like a macabre fountain, a jet of fire suddenly erupted from the hole where the altar once stood. Thorne stood before it, arms spread wide as he summoned the flames of Hell. Piteous wailing drifted from the hole, sending shivers down her spine.
"Oh my God," she murmured. "He opened a portal to…"
She trailed off as faces leered from the flames, which dropped down into the hole. Afraid to go closer, Sabrina edged back. Thorne began to laugh with triumph at his success.
"You said that you had proved yourself, Miss Spellman? Not quite. You still must stand before judgment…your final judgment. Come, stand and be judged. Judged by the flames of Hell!"
He whipped a handful of flames at her again, and she staggered back.
Ugh…I can't see! Where is he? I can't even hear him…
Something crashed into her back, and she was sent sprawling. Sabrina rolled dangerously close to the portal, barely able to scramble up in time. Feebly, she sprayed the air around her with shots from the Beacon, but she was only met with Thorne's cold, dark laughter.
Sabrina squinted into the semi-darkness. Where did he go?
Something heavy smashed into her, like a ton of bricks. She flew across the room, colliding with the wall, the breath crushed out of her lungs. There was a strange popping noise, and pain exploded in her left shoulder. Her legs trembled once, and gave out under her, sending the Spirit Detective sliding to the floor.
"Pitiful."
She coughed as something dark drew closer. Sabrina tried to focus, but bright white points of pain and anger were sparking in her eyes like fireworks, and her head was throbbing in a strange way.
"An insect such as you should be exterminated."
A sharp toe of a shoe caught her between the ribs and sent her sprawling. She rolled again and again upon her dislocated shoulder, the bones grinding together.
"Perhaps I'll take it upon myself."
Sabrina lay on her side, staring into the luridly glowing pit. Is this what it's like to die? I guess I'll find out soon…
Edward's haunted eyes flashed before her face. Elizabeth's mournfully beating heart. The gentle faces of Emily and Daniel. Leota…
Could she just lay there and die, without even attempting to save her friends?
Would she fail in this mission she was entrusted with?
Should she simply admit that Thorne and everybody else were right: she was a lower being, a half-breed sullied with tainted blood, a girl-child of no account who would never amount to much?
No.
I will fight.
"Get up," Thorne snarled.
She struggled faintly, attempting to sit up. Impatient, he grabbed her by a hank of hair, and yanked her up to a half-kneeling position. His cold eyes glittered as he surveyed her haggard, ashen, pain-drawn face. A thin trail of blood slowly trickled from a cut on her forehead.
"You remind me of Madame Toombs before she died…"
The gypsy woman knelt on the stone floor, clutching a cut on her side. She gasped in pain as more blood stubbornly flowed through her fingers. Her mission had been a bittersweet mix of failure and success.
She had hidden the Beacon safely. But she had let her dearest friend in the world—and her heart's brother—die horribly.
The man loomed before her. "Tell me where you have hidden the Beacon, gypsy woman," he growled, eyes glowing dull jade in the faint light, "and I may yet spare your life."
Leota Toombs jerked her head upward to glare at the dark warlock. "No."
"I foresee a short future for you, Madame Leota…"
Leota laughed harshly, wincing with pain. "And I thought I was the psychic here."
He drew closer, something in his hand glittering dull and gray.
"If you think that killing me is the worst thing that you can do," Leota smirked, the corners of her lips lifting, "then you are more mistaken than you could ever believe."
The blade descended swiftly.
Atticus Thorne casually examined the corpse of Leota Toombs, nudging her head with the tip of the weapon. He watched, amused, as it rolled across the floor, spreading the pool of blood leaking from the neck of the corpse.
"Mistaken? Am I?"
Sabrina felt like vomiting, but she choked, keeping the bile and stomach contents down. I may not be able to stop him. He may just kill me like he murdered Leota…but I have to stop him.
She eyed the portal, innocently glowing with the fires of Hell.
Even if that means taking him with me.
Thorne smirked as he stared at her. Something inside Sabrina snapped, and she spat in his face. With a snarl, he threw her to the side, as he clawed at his face.
"Impertinent, filthy, whore-born bitch!" he snarled. "If you have frustrated me and my efforts once, you have frustrated them a thousand times. TBut not any longer!"
He reached down with a clawlike hand and grabbed Sabrina by the front of her dress. Hoisting her up, he dangled her above the portal.
"Damn you," he whispered, eyes glowing murderously. "Damn you to hell!"
"I...d-don't think," Sabrina choked, "that I-I-I'm the one…who'll be…b-burning in hell…"
The faces of the victims cascaded around her in an endless spiral, forlorn faces crying for justice and revenge. Something burned inside her, fueled by their torment and their cry for redress.
She lifted her hand slowly, feeling the magic pulsing inside her seek for an outlet. Something else burned, hot in her veins, crying to be acknowledged, to be used. Her bad arm ached as she desperately pulled her hand up higher and higher. With a force and strength born from her seething emotions, she plunged her hand to Thorne's face.
The energy seared at his face, burning the skin. He screamed in pain, throwing her to the side as he clutched at the charred, peeling skin.
Coughing more violently now, she pushed herself off the floor. This is for the countless victims you tortured in your quest for ultimate power…for the utter disregard of those you share this world with. It is too late for you to see that no one person can have power absolute…greater men than you have corrupted themselves blindly to attain it…and so have you.
Sabrina pulled at the power core, trying to draw as much energy as possible out of it. Please, let this work…please…The teenage witch began channeling her own magic into the mass of energy, blindly praying that it would be enough.
She swayed on her feet, feeling strangely dizzy; the world swam in and out of focus with vaguely kaleidoscopic colors. No…I-I have to do this…
With a deep breath, she pulled at the energy, lacing it up her arm, and then launched the mass at Thorne. "So far as I'm concerned, the only one going to Hell here is you!"
The wizard looked up from his hunched position next to the portal, hands gripping his face. His dull green eyes bulged as the shimmering mass energy hurtled toward him like a rocket. The fingers tightened on blackened, cracked skin until blood ran.
With a scream, he was knocked backwards, falling into the portal. Sabrina had been too afraid to look into the depths of the abyss: she would not have seen that it was a craggy stone passageway, like the entrance to a cave, lit with an unholy, flickering glow.
A surge of flame burst from the entrance just as the wizard stumbled backwards into it. Skinny, stunted arms stretched out of the geyser of fire and brimstone, clawing and clutching at the voluminous robes. Pointed faces leered through the fiery curtain, soulless eyes burning. Thorne screamed again, desperately struggling to regain his footing, but the demonic arms were simply too strong. The wizard was pulled, headlong, into the abyss, tumbling in midair with the demons, who began to strip the charred flesh off his bones.
For a moment, a chorus of plaintive, piteous wailing drifted from the lake of fire below. The screaming of Atticus Thorne, once Grand Master of the Order of Shadows, joined it, as the tunnel's glow flared brightly. The ground shuddered, the stones rippling once more, upward, creating a crater in the floor, the portal in the center. The glow died, and the tunnel collapsed upon itself, leaving only a heap of broken rock.
Salem cowered near the wall, amber eyes near bulging out of his head. My God… He paused for a moment, carefully assessing the risk of danger. The portal might still be unstable, but that was of little importance to him right now…
"Sabrina?" he called hesitantly, padding towards the crater. "Sabrina? Are you all right?" He paused and waited.
Silence.
No…she didn't fall in…did she?
A sudden rattle of falling stone caught his attention. A thin, white hand appeared amongst the rubble, and then another. Slowly, very slowly, a black-clad figure hoisted itself out of the crater, lethargically shaking off pieces of rubble.
Sabrina Spellman stood, unsteadily, before the crater, the Beacon of Souls clenched in her left hand. The skirt of her black dress was torn, with the petticoats showing through, and dust and cinders smeared the fabric. Her braids had partially unraveled, and scuffmarks littered her boots.
Her pale face was drawn and worn, exhaustion making her figure sag. Lines of blood ran from a shallow cut over her left temple. Sabrina's right shoulder was held lower than the other, as though she was favoring an injury.
But she was there. She had survived.
"Sabrina!" Salem cried happily, leaping forward.
Pain was pressing in on every side; it hurt to breathe. Black spots were dancing in and out of her vision, and her head throbbed horribly.
But Salem was safe. And Leota…
Her eyes rolled back into her head, and Sabrina Spellman collapsed lifelessly onto the cold stone floor of the Inner Sanctum.