Chapter Ten:
Launchpad was carrying a bowl of candy to the front door when three things happened at once: the clock struck five-thirty, a roll of thunder broke loudly, and Morgana appeared in the middle of the living room. He yelled and the bowl went flying.
Morgana watched calmly as a rain of "Fun-Size" candy bars landed on the carpet before her, then smiled apologetically at Launchpad. "Sorry. I probably should have called first."
"Yeah, usin' the front door might help, too," Launchpad mumbled as he stooped to pick up the candy from the floor. Then he sighed and indicated the candy. "Want some?"
"No thanks. I filled up before coming here." She winked, and he realized she was teasing him. He grinned in return.
"More for me, then." Turning to the stairs, he yelled up to Drake. "Hey, DW! Morgana's here, and you said to wake you up when she came!" He turned back to Morgana and explained, "He's takin' a nap."
"I am not!" Drake snapped, stumbling down the staircase while trying to put his costume on. "I mean, was not! I mean - I was doing... important... crime-related stuff!"
"Of course you were, darling," Morgana said sweetly, and gave him a peck on the cheek.
He beamed up at her before fixing his mask. "So, Morg, what did you find? Anything of interest?"
"More than enough," she answered, all trace of humour gone. She glided to the couch and sat down, Darkwing following her. Launchpad, meanwhile, parked himself by the front door so he could handle trick-or-treaters while he listened; the supply of candy bars dwindled steadily, mostly due to him.
Morgana pulled a large book out of nowhere and opened it to the middle. "The information available on Malachai isn't very extensive, but it's enough to tell that he's both a very powerful, and very dangerous, spirit." She pointed at the first page. "Roben's Spirit Guide identifies him as a 'Soul-Draining' spirit. Traditionally, spirits of this type were called upon for vengeance, and set upon criminals of the worst kind - murderers, sadists, that sort of thing. The spirit was summoned by priests and set upon the guilty one, who was then drained of his energy and life-force.
"Even when under tight control, these spirits are very dangerous. They require at least two people to perform the ritual: one to act as an Anchor and the other as a Director. The Director is actively involved, and the Anchor is protection, using their own magic to shield the Director from being drained themselves.
"Obviously, when Malachai was summoned - whoever did it, Stella or someone else - he was called forth improperly. No one was left to say the closing spell, the one that sends the spirit back to its original plane and seals the rift. Malachai was left with ties in this world and his own, and without direction as to which souls to take."
Launchpad jumped when the doorbell rang. "Uh, 'scuse me a sec," he said sheepishly, and answered the door.
Darkwing, meanwhile, took all this in. "So - what does this mean, Morgana? That this ghost is free to come and go all the time, anywhere it wants? In that case, why is this only happening now?"
"Well," Morgana said, pulling another book out of nowhere, "according to my sources on summonings and banishments, even a botched summoning spell has its own rules. Depending on what spell the summoner used, any number of limitations could be set on Malachai." She held off for a moment and looked back at Launchpad, who was seeing off the small group of rain-soaked trick-or-treaters. When his attention was back on her, she continued. "For one thing, it's very likely that Malachai's influence is limited to Beth's house - probably localized in the area where he was first called forth."
"It's not very localized now," Launchpad said with a shiver, remembering the past few days.
"Clearly," Morgana agreed.
Darkwing looked thoughtful. "No," he said. "It was localized - at first, anyway." He looked up at Launchpad. "Remember, LP? The sewing room. Something happened in there - that's where it all started."
Morgana nodded. "Malachai's power is obviously growing as it gets closer to the time of year the spell was performed. There was probably a temporal encasement built in to the spell, so that his power was uncontrolled for the first while, then diminished through the rest of the year.
"Stella's part in all this is hard to be sure of, but it seems as if, after her soul was drained, she was bound to the plane in the same way that Malachai was. She's very likely still acting as an anchor, and suffering a spiritual detainment in the place of her corporeal dissipation."
"Her what?" said Darkwing and Launchpad in unison.
"Her death."
There was another well-timed burst of thunder and lightning.
Uncomfortably, Morgana said, "Perhaps we should get started. I know it's a bit early yet, but -"
"No, you're right. Better to go now, while Gos is out. Much as she'll let me have it later, right now I don't think..."
"Without a doubt," Morgana agreed. "We should go while Gosalyn is still trick-or-treating. As soon as Beth gets here -" She interrupted herself, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Where is Beth?"
Launchpad shot to his feet, and the unfortunate candy bars spilled onto the rug for the second time that night.
Darkwing pounded on the door but got no answer. "BETH! BETH, ARE YOU THERE?!" The rain was merciless, and another flash of lightning put them in brief illumination before leaving everything darker than before. "Launchpad, help me out here," he ordered. His sidekick set the baseball bat he'd armed himself with against the side of the house and joined him. They both rained blows at the door, looking like overzealous trick-or-treaters, while behind them Morgana held her hands to her temples and concentrated.
"The presence of the spirits is overwhelming," she said, her brow furrowed. "Even from here I can sense them - there are three, not just two. Malachai is the only malevolent one, but his evil may influence the other two to terrible acts." She opened her eyes and said determinedly, "We have to get inside."
"That's it," said Darkwing, "this door's coming down." He backed up a step, then shoved it heavily with his shoulder. Launchpad followed suit. The door didn't even budge.
"Give me a moment, Dark, and I think I can-"
"No time!" Darkwing cut her off and backed up a few feet into Beth's front lawn. Getting a running start with all his weight behind it, he made a dash for the door.
Launchpad stepped out of the way just in time, and as Morgana uttered an echoing command of "Nepo rood!", Darkwing shot past her and through the now-open door. Launchpad winced at the crash.
"...See? I... got it...!" Darkwing called out to them. Morgana rolled her eyes, and Launchpad shrugged in return before picking up his baseball bat and joining them both inside the dark house.
No sooner had they all passed the threshold then the door slammed shut behind them. Darkwing jumped. Launchpad dropped the bat, scrambled to pick it up, then clung to it for dear life. "I hate it when they do that," he said quietly.
Morgana, on the other hand, cocked her head and smiled. "Oh, she has the same security system I do!"
"I don't think that was Beth's normal burglar protection, Morg," Darkwing said softly, looking around carefully.
The house was almost completely black, and the once-familiar living room in which they now stood had been transformed into a strange new world. The space seemed vast, but horribly confining, inspiring a sense of claustrophobia after a few moments within its walls.
Launchpad clutched his baseball bat and hefted it onto his shoulder. He hated to think of Beth alone in this place; heck, he hated to think of himself in this place. He couldn't see anything dangerous, but it just felt ... wrong. Completely wrong.
In a whisper, Morgana said, "The spirit's force is centralized in one spot. Upstairs."
"The sewing room," Darkwing said. Morgana had clearly confirmed what he already knew.
"Good job, DW!" Launchpad whispered encouragingly. At least he could still do that, if nothing else.
Morgana nodded solemnly. "That's where we'll have to go."
Stella began her chanting as Richie found the middle of the room and set Beth down gently. She seemed only half-conscious, and didn't have the strength to stay upright on her own, so he crossed her arms for her and lay them on her stomach.
"Sorry 'bout this, kid. But forty years is forty years, and somethin's gotta give. After a while you'll do anything to get out... you'll see, you'll understand soon enough." She looked at him, and he felt uncomfortable. Taking off his glasses, he scratched his nose a bit and looked away from her. "I really am sorry 'bout this."
Behind him, Stella's spell had already called forth the pentagram and the candles. Malachai's own power was working, too: the walls had pushed themselves back, and the floor was changing. He'd seen this before; it was Malachai's preferred decor, and yet another thing he'd be glad to get away from.
Richie knew his role this time; when Malachai showed up, he was the one to do the talking, to direct the spirit's attention to Beth and to negotiate the trade-off.
Frankly, he really just wanted to run again.
Darkwing produced a flashlight and snapped the beam on, then swept it in a full circuit around the room. Nothing appeared out of place, although the shadows seemed to jump unpleasantly. "Here goes nothing," he said to himself, and swung the light up towards the stairs. The beam seemed to weaken as it stretched upwards. "Ready, team?"
"Ready," came Morgana's strong answer, followed by a weak mumble of assent from Launchpad. Their progress was halted before it began, however, as the stairwell seemed to change shape, leering forward and curving as if it followed the beam of light itself.
"Just... a trick of the light," Darkwing said, but his certainty seemed faltering. He took a step forward and yelped as his foot shot out from under him. He dropped the flashlight, and the bright circle skittered away from them.
"Dark!" cried Morgana. She suddenly found she had to kneel - the walls and ceiling were definitely closer than they'd been a moment ago, and now sloped down on them.
Launchpad cringed. "What's goin' on!?"
"The house is being physically transformed!" Morgana answered. She cast a quick spell and the flashlight jumped back to her hand. After searching with it for a moment she found Darkwing - but only briefly. Strangely, he was moving. She searched for him again and this time paced the light on him.
His motion wasn't his own. At first, she thought he was being dragged by an unseen force. But then he looped back around towards them, and she saw him trying to stand up. He struggled with his balance, and gave them a look. "It's like a funhouse," he said to the light she was shining at him. "The floor's moving."
"The walls are closer, too," Morgana answered. Turning to Launchpad, she cautioned him, "Be careful as you go. This is probably only the beginning."
She levitated herself over the floor, towards the staircase. Launchpad picked his way carefully behind her, and Darkwing made a shaky advance to the stairs. He set one foot on the first step, but froze as the stairs began to shake. Darkwing stepped back tentatively, just in time to avoid the fangs that came out of nowhere as the staircase became a giant mouth that snapped shut.
"Ooookay. We're obviously taking the elevator tonight, then." He looked over his shoulder. "Morg, could you...?"
Morgana spread her arms wide. "My pleasure."
The threesome shot straight up, and reached the balcony in seconds. Getting back onto solid ground, however, was less simple as the banister uprooted itself from the floor and began wrapping itself around them.
"No way!" Launchpad yelled, and swung the bat full-force. It splintered a few of the slats that were closest, and the rest of the banister fell back and landed on the floor below them.
Darkwing charged ahead. "Great job, LP! Stick together, everyone, and we'll - uh-oh." This last came as the hallway tightened itself around them, and began spinning. "Not the funhouse effect again," he said through gritted teeth. The hall had become a twisting cylinder, without top or bottom - but at the end was the sewing room, and they had to press onwards. "Okay, we did this once, we can do it again!" With mutual agreement, they began a careful path down the transformed hall.
Wind whipped Stella's hair about her face, flapped the sleeves of her robe in all directions, and threatened to drown out her voice as she held her chant. The candles' flames, mysteriously, remained upright and untouched.
"Malachai, bringer of destruction, I call you forth!" She narrowed her eyes, her focus absolute, and felt energy throughout her illusory body. "Malachai, father of chaos, I call you forth!"
Across the room, Richie watched her with admiration. "You still got it, babes," he said softly. Forty years hadn't changed her abilities at all - in fact, they had strengthened them. How many times they'd spoken, in their single nights together over the years, of doing this! The plan had begun to form at the third anniversary - or was it the fourth? During her usual accusations to him - that it was his fault for running out, that his cowardice had left them to this - he'd shot back that she'd been the one to miscast the spell. Malachai hadn't been held properly, so what was he supposed to do? If he had it to do over again, he said, he'd do it right.
From there, the plan had started to shape itself. While alive, he'd been naive enough to pick a spirit at random to raise, without researching its personality; now, however, their positions led them to understand what Malachai was and what he needed. A trade, then: a new soul offered, new energy for Malachai to eat or whatever he did with it, and they could leave. They had nothing to lose this time, and so had no reason to fear. And Richie swore that it was nerves that had botched last time. This time he would get it right.
He looked around the room, wholly unrecognizable now from what it had been. It was a pit, hewn of rock. There were flaming torches in the walls, dirt floors, and an open space in the middle of the now-giant pentagram Stella was using in the summoning spell. That was where Malachai would enter, from the depths of whatever dimension he normally spent his days in. Not that he needed permission to come to this world - tonight of all nights he could come and go as he pleased. But the summoning told him that tonight, for the first time in forty years, there was something worth checking out.
Stella looked beautiful and powerful and dangerous as she yelled over the wind that touched nothing but herself. Beth, incapacitated at Richie's feet, curled herself into a little ball. Richie thought of doing the same.
The spinning tube halted abruptly, as if it had realized that it wasn't detaining the people traversing it. Only Morgana avoided tripping, levitating as she was; Darkwing and Launchpad both fell to their right.
Pulling himself to his feet, Darkwing said, "Looks like we showed this spook-house who's boss!" A crack beneath him was all that preceded the decaying arm that burst through the curved floor and grabbed at his leg. He shouted and whacked at it with his hand, and it broke. Anxiously, he pulled a frozen Launchpad forwards and took Morgana's hand. "Let's just get out of here, huh? Sound good?"
"Good to me," Launchpad said breathlessly.
There was a whooshing noise behind them, and Morgana turned to see objects flying at them through the air - books, lamps, even small tables. She rolled her eyes. "We're definitely getting close, and we're most certainly a threat or else he wouldn't be trying so hard!" she yelled over the increasing winds.
"Gee, how reassuring," Darkwing shot back. He kept pulling them both toward the door at the end of the tunnel. On either side of them, hands forced their way through the thinning walls of the passageway, grabbing at them as they ran. Launchpad began to slow, and Darkwing had to tug harder to get him to keep pace.
"Ow! Somethin' got me!" he shouted, sounding very close to panic. Darkwing grit his teeth and yanked, throwing himself at the doorway. Beneath them, the floor began to crumble, falling away in pieces bit by bit.
All three hit the door at the same time, and burst through it in a heap that ended with Darkwing, naturally, on the bottom. In front of them was a startled man in dark glasses, who stared at them with a baffled expression before running to a willowy figure in white. After a moment Darkwing recognized her as Stella D'Oro, looking much healthier than she had the last time he'd seen her.
He was surprised a moment later to see Morgana rush past him. It figured that she wouldn't be laid up for long, although it still felt like he was at the bottom of an entire football team. "Launchpad, get UP!" he grumbled, elbowing every way he possibly could.
Sheepishly, Launchpad scrambled to his feet. "Sorry, DW." His attention was focused in the middle of the room, and Darkwing didn't have to glance more than briefly to know that was where Beth was.
He snapped back to face Morgana, who had reached the two ghosts and now grabbed the hands of the woman. "Stop, before it's too late!"
"It is too late," said Stella, her hair swinging about her face as though she was standing in the lessening remnants of a gale-force wind. "You don't understand," she said, not without compassion. "We had to call Malachai-"
A sudden deep rumbling interrupted them all. Morgana looked crestfallen, and Stella very nearly echoed that expression. Only Richie looked hopeful at the arrival this noise predicted - and that hope was heavily weighted with terror.
In the gaping hole within the summoning pentagram, a mass began to take shape as dark wisps, somewhat like smoke, gathered together and started to knot themselves into a ball. It quickly became evident that the spirit was huge - easily bigger than any other being in the room.