A Ghostly Tutorial
Early the next morning, Trish and Arista went downstairs to Snape's lab in the basement and began to make the potions Arista had copied from the defensive magic spellbook. Luckily, they found all of the ingredients they needed in Severus's stores, and did not need to pay a visit to the apothecary the way Arista had feared. Both girls were skilled in brewing potions, consistently earning top marks in Snape's class, despite his perfectionist ways.
They divided up the list of potions between themselves, each of them making four kinds of potions. Arista took the Fireproof Potion, the Snakeswift, Euphoria Potion, and the Chill Banishing Draft. Trish worked on the Illuminating Paste, the double strength Pepper Up Potion, the Excelsior Potion, and the Fearless Potion.
Severus's lab was large enough for the two of them to work simultaneously on different drafts and not interfere with each other. They worked companionably for over four hours, only pausing to summon some breakfast sandwiches from the freezer, warming them with a quick charm, and devouring them inbetween drafts.
Some of the potions, like the Pepper Up Potion, were not difficult to brew, while others, such as the Fireproof and the Euphoria were quite advanced and called on all of their skills as potion makers. It was then that Snape's insistence on preciseness and discipline really paid off, enabling his two daughters to brew even the most difficult drafts correctly the first time, without wasting any of his precious ingredients.
"Dad would be real proud of you, Trish," complimented Arista after seeing the other girl's perfectly brewed Fearless Potion, which was a soft turquoise color with golden glints in it. "That Fearless Potion's NEWT level, I think. And you got it right the first try, without help."
Trish smiled delightedly. "Don't ask me how I did it, 'cause I was so nervous about screwing it up. I kept hearing Severus's voice in my head, can't you follow simple directions, Miss Greenbough? There's a reason why exact measurements are given in a recipe, now use the brains you were born with and read the text, not go mooning over some silly schoolboy!"
Arista chuckled. "I can just hear him saying that. And giving you one of his famous Snape glares on top of it." She pretended to scowl fiercely at her foster sister.
But all Trish did was laugh at her. "You need to work on that a bit more, Arista. That one barely made me shiver. Severus can stop a row between sworn enemies from ten feet away."
"Yeah, well, he's had fifteen years to practice," Arista reminded her. "He's got it down to an art form." She returned to stirring the Snakeswift Potion, which was a dark green swirled with black. "There! I think this is ready to decant."
She carefully poured the bubbling elixir into several small shatterproof glass bottles using a funnel and a twitch of her finger. Trish watched in envy, wishing she could do magic the way Arista did, without a wand. But Arista's early training had been in the American tradition, which preferred gestures to wands, and thus Arista didn't need her wand for most spells. It was only when casting certain Defense spells that she needed a wand, to focus her power more precisely.
At last all the potions had been made and the cauldrons scoured with a simple disinfecting charm. They were careful to leave the lab exactly as they had found it, for nothing roused the Potion Master's ire quicker than sloppiness in his laboratory. Neatness was a cardinal virtue in his book, a fact which both of them knew quite well. Both of them had been recipients of scoldings for leaving their bedroom a mess more than once.
"We'll have to get some holy water over at St. Paul's," Trish said. "Too bad we don't have some silver weapons lying around."
Arista was placing her cauldron back beside the rack of empty glass bottles right then. Suddenly, an odd flash of light from a shadowy corner of the lab caught her attention. She walked towards it, and discovered it was a black oak staff, shod at both ends with silver. Engraved on one end was a Celtic cross. "Hey, Trish, come see what I've found!" she cried excitedly, lifting the staff from the corner reverently. It was dusty with disuse, but Arista could tell it was perfectly balanced, and carved by a master.
"Wow!" Trish exclaimed. "That looks like exactly the weapon we need to fight those revenant creatures. Wonder where your dad got it?"
The staff was about five feet long, nearly as tall as Arista. "Who knows? But I'll bet he used it for the same purpose we're going to, to fight revenants."
"You think this Ghost Master can call them up like it said in the book?"
"Probably. Anne Boleyn and the two princes aren't the only ghosts in the Tower, only the most well known. Countless others have been executed or killed there, and I'll bet they're still angry about it. If this Ghost Master knows anything about summoning undead, he'll call on them once Mel tries to break the curse. This staff will give us an edge."
She swung it experimentally, it whispered through the air like a leaf on the breeze, perfectly balanced. She grinned in delight, assuming a fighting stance and jabbing and twirling with it, fighting her shadow. Colin had taught her how to handle staves as part of her self-defense training, saying it was a good thing to always be prepared, that not every situation needed to rely on magic as a solution. "Sometimes a good whack with a stick is just as effective as a Stunning Hex, and a whole lot harder to detect."
"Rub this with holy water and I've got a weapon that any revenant, no matter how angry, will run from," Arista said, lowering the staff until the tip rested upon the ground. She silently thanked her father for providing them with exactly what they'd needed.
"Let's call Mel and see what she's up to," suggested Trish.
"Okay. You do that while I call Drake and Kit and tell them to come over and we can discuss what we've learned." Arista said, then pulled out the disk component of her spellophone and opened it.
* * * * * *
Twenty minutes later, all five friends were gathered in the den of the Snape house, munching on chips and salsa and sandwiches while Trish and Arista filled the others in on what they'd learned about ghosts and how to combat them from Snape's library. They proudly displayed their completed potions inside their kits and Arista also showed them the black staff. The boys were particularly impressed by it, and took turns holding it for a bit, though neither of them knew how to wield it properly the way Arista did.
Mel was very interested in the section of Snape's essay that dealt with revenants, and asked Arista if she could read that part aloud again. Arista did, and then Mel said, "Looks like the ghosts and the professor are in agreement about one thing. I'm your secret weapon. Funny, I don't feel any different. I feel the same as always, just plain Mel Seton, who still trips over her own feet sometimes. And yet, I've got Anne Boleyn telling me I'm some powerfully talented witch that can stomp a dark wizard's arse into the dirt." She gave a soft chuckle of disbelief. "I wish I was as certain as she was."
"Maybe you'll feel differently once you practice some more with your power," Arista said wisely. "What did your parents says when you mentioned the existence of a ghostwalker?"
"They got real quiet all of a sudden," Mel told her. "Then my dad gave my mum one of those conspiracy looks—you know the kind parents give when they don't want to discuss something in front of their kids, even if it's important. Then my mum said that the ghostwalker talent was very rare and had been seen in Britain in centuries."
"I asked if she had ever known anybody with that talent and she said no, but she wouldn't look at me directly when she said it, and I could tell she was keeping something from me." Mel sighed. "I guess it's one of those family secrets nobody wants to talk about, like having a batty aunt locked in the attic or something."
"Or maybe they're afraid to talk about it," Kit reasoned. "Because maybe talking about it was dangerous once, like the queen said."
"Kit's right," Drake agreed. "Maybe they're just being cautious. If You-Know-Who ever learned about you, he might try and do something to you—like kidnap you or something. So maybe your parents figure it's safer if they don't discuss anything to do with ghostwalking."
"Hmm. I never thought about it that way before," Mel admitted, chewing her lower lip nervously. "But my helping the ghosts in the Tower is going to get Voldy's attention real fast, don't you think?"
Trish gaped at her. "Voldy?"
Mel grinned. "I get tired of saying You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, y'know? And I don't want to say his real name either, so I gave him a nickname."
"An insulting one," Drake laughed.
"Like, who cares, mate? Far as I'm concerned, Voldy can go and crucify himself," Kit snorted.
"I wish Voldy and all the Death Eaters would drop dead of a nasty and painful disease," Arista said.
They all agreed with the diminutive Healer's words.
"And while we're wishing, I wish the Ghost Master would contract the same disease so I didn't have to fight him," Mel added wistfully. "I don't know if I can do this."
Arista took her friend's hand in her own, using her empathic talent to project feelings of support and confidence to her Housemate. "Yes you can, Mel. You're the ghostwalker, you can beat him without half-trying. It's what you were born to do, like I was born to Heal. Believe in yourself, Melinda Seton. I do." She knew from one of her father's lectures on fighting necromancers that confidence was paramount in a duel. "Go into a fight thinking you'll lose and you have signed your own death warrant," Severus had told her a few months ago. "Confidence is as important as skill sometimes. But overconfidence can get you killed, the two aren't the same. Remember that."
"Me too," Trish said, smiling at Mel.
Kit and Drake also added their own encouragement.
Mel gave them all a tentative smile. "Thanks, guys. I'll try." She scowled at her hands, she'd bitten her nails to the quick last night. "Why couldn't I have been born with the talent to make fantastic candy or summon pink bunnies or something like that? No, instead I get the talent to see dead people and command them. Figures!"
Kit snapped his fingers. "Hey, I just thought of something."
"Besides your stomach?" Drake asked slyly.
"Stuff it, Lockwood. I'm not always starving." Kit glared at the other boy. "Seriously, I thought that maybe you could summon up one of your ancestors, Mel, and ask them about the one who was a ghostwalker."
Mel looked thoughtful. "That's not a bad idea, Kit. But I don't know if my power works like that. Guess I'll just have to wait and ask Queen Anne tonight."
"Speaking of Anne, d'you think she and the other ghosts are revenants?" Trish queried. "I mean, they're not evil or anything, but they are bound by a curse the way revenants usually are."
Drake looked thoughtful. "Maybe they're a different kind of revenant, a benign one." He shook his head. "No, that's too confusing. The professor said revenants were vengeful dark spirits, and Anne Boleyn and the princes don't fit that criteria. So, no, I don't think they're revenants at all."
"I'll tell you what they are," Mel said suddenly, and they all looked at her. "Bloody pains-in-the-arses for getting me mixed up in this." She laughed at their disappointed expressions. "What, did you expect me to reveal some great secret to all of you? Sorry, but I'm fresh out of revelation juice." She eyed Arista's black staff. "Well, since we're all stuck in the same boat, maybe we should prepare a few weapons of our own. Anyone got a silver weapon lying around?"
Trish shook her head. "Nope. I don't think Severus is the type to go for edged weapons."
Kit nodded in agreement, then said quietly, "I might have something at home. There was an old fencing sword of my father's, it's hanging on a rack on the wall of my basement, I think it's silver and very dusty."
"Can you use it?" Drake asked.
"Yeah, actually I can. Dad made Nigel and me take fencing lessons for a year. Nigel hated it, but I loved it. That was the one thing I could beat him in. He couldn't touch me with a sword, I won all of our practices, which annoyed my perfect brother to no end. That was why he begged my dad to let us quit. And as usual, he got his way. But I still remember how to use a sword, so that's something."
"You won't get in trouble if you borrow it?" Trish asked.
"Nah. It's been down there for ages, I'll bet Dad's forgotten about it by now. Nobody will care if I snitch it." Kit said nonchalantly.
"Good. That's two weapons so far." Mel looked down at Drake, who was seated on the couch near Arista. "How about you, Drake?"
"My dad's not real big on having weapons, since he's a vet," Drake answered softly. "But a bunch of Lockwoods were soldiers way back when, so maybe I can go and look in the attic or something."
"We can worry about that later," Arista said. "Let's take a break and play with Scout and Libby, they could use the exercise." She pointed to the two magehounds, her own and Drake's, who were snoozing on the hearth from sheer boredom. Libby, short for Liberty, was only a year and still a puppy, was always ready for a game of fetch or tag. "Scout, Libby, want to play fetch?" she called.
Both dogs jerked awake and were on their feet so fast it was as if someone had lit a fire under their tails. All of the young wizards laughed and followed the dogs out to the backyard, where they played several games of tag and fetch and find the magic ball until it was suppertime.
* * * * * *
That evening they all headed back to the Tower at eight o'clock, wanting to question the ghosts some more about the nature of the curse and the dark wizard they would be facing. As promised by Anne Boleyn, they had no trouble slipping inside the Tower unnoticed, for the Yeoman on duty were all busy chasing or being chased by the princes. Catherine Howard, who had a fascination with video cameras, had managed to make all the security cameras shut down for a long while, enough so the guards would be too busy fixing them to interfere with Anne's lessons.
All of them greeted Anne respectfully, the former queen, despite being a ghost, still radiated an aura of command that they responded to instinctively. "Greetings, young wizards," she said cordially. "This is my cousin, Catherine—or Cat, as she likes to be called—Howard."
Cat Howard, in life, had been a pretty vivacious eighteen-year-old, one who had enjoyed parties and dancing and fine things, but who had no head for politics at all. In death she was still a pretty woman, but her eyes were older and wiser than any eighteen-year-old's ever could be, a wisdom gained only in death.
"Hello," she smiled at them, she was wearing a misty blue gown with pearls about the sleeves and hem, her blond hair cascading down her back. "It's so nice to have someone else to talk with besides that cretin Wrackspur," her mouth tightened to a disapproving frown. "All he cares about is how much energy he can steal from us. You know what I need from you by now, Miss Howard, so just give it to me," she mimicked the deeper tones of the other wizard perfectly, her mouth twisting further into a sneer of disgust. "The arrogance of the man! Who does he think he is, to so treat a former Queen of England? I, who was once Henry's wife, the one he called his Rose Without a Thorn, to be so ill-used by a common conjurer!"
"As we are all so ill-used," remarked another voice, and the SR's jumped about a foot.
All except Mel, who had felt the presence of another ghost before he appeared. The newcomer was a rather tall man dressed in brown leather breeches and a white blouse that reminded Arista of a pirate's shirt. Over that was a crimson doublet and a small ruff with a gold stickpin was about his neck. He also had a jaunty cap perched on his dark hair, and his smiling mouth was framed by a small goatee. He swept the hat off immediately and bowed to them.
"Sir Walter Raleigh, at your service." He smiled rakishly at Trish, Mel, and Arista. "Former buccaneer and advisor in the service of good Queen Bess. And who do I have the pleasure of addressing this fine evening?"
Mel spoke up then, sensing that this was some kind of test. "I'm Mel Seton, ghostwalker, and these are my friends," she introduced them quickly, noting that the devilishly handsome Raleigh still carried a sword, knife, and pistol in his belt.
"Charmed, ladies," he grinned, sweeping them another bow. "And gentlemen as well. We have waited long for a ghostwalker to be born again."
Anne glanced around. "Are we all here? No, of course not, the princes are still terrorizing the yeoman and Margaret is busy re-enacting her death at the hands of that incompetent fool of a headsman at this time of night. And Thomas is probably busy trying to repair the wall, same way he's been doing for five hundred years at least." She turned to Mel. "Mistress Seton, would you be so kind as to call the rest of them here to me?"
As before, Mel called out the names of each of the ghosts, bidding them to come to her. Within a few moments, they were joined by the two mischievous princes, Edward and Richard, Thomas Becket, former Chancellor and Archbishop, and Margaret Pole, Countess of Salisbury, first cousin to the Plantagenet princes.
The princes wore huge grins on their faces, for they had enjoyed being allowed to drive the Yeoman that guarded the Tower to distraction. This time around, they greeted the ghostwalker and her friends a bit more casually.
Margaret, Countess of Salisbury, was a dignified matron of seventy, she wore a bottle green gown covered with rust red stains, stains that Arista correctly assumed were bloodstains from her execution. She curtseyed gravely to Mel and nodded her head to everyone else.
Thomas Becket smiled genially at everyone, his ghost was quite handsome, dressed in his Archbishop's vestments and miter, which he'd been slain in before the altar. The left side of his robe bore a huge slash in it and another bloodstain. He'd been stabbed to death by noblemen acting on Henry II's orders, and died a martyr's death.
"Now that we are all here and assured that we will not be interrupted anytime soon," Anne began, looking towards the princes and Cat Howard as she said this, the three of them gave her brief nods of assurance, "I call this meeting to begin. You may be seated, young wizards," she gestured to the chairs that were scattered about the antechamber of the White Tower.
It was a sort of waiting room where people could sit while they waited for a tour guide. Mel and company quickly sat down.
"You all have heard Mistress Seton's call, and therefore know she is a ghostwalker, the first born in over five hundred years, and the key to breaking the curse we've endured once and for all."
Raleigh and the two princes applauded, and Cat and Margaret smiled hopefully.
"That will be as the Lord wills, Anne," Becket said only.
"Indeed, Thomas," the former queen returned, respectfully. "And the Lord has seen fit to send us Mistress Seton. Who will need instruction on how to use her powers before Wrackspur returns, him and his fell hound."
"Fell hound?" Arista repeated. "What's that?"
"A wicked demon in a hound's form, young mistress," answered Raleigh.
"Wrackspur's familiar," Cat added, grimacing. "A black mastiff with glowing hellfire eyes."
"'Tis said the fell hounds used to lead the Wild Hunt on All Hallow's Eve," put in Edward. "Least so our nurse used to tell us."
"Can a fell hound be commanded by a ghostwalker?" asked Mel.
Margaret shook her head. "No, for the hound is no phantom, but a living creature, if one can say such of it."
"Great, just great!" Kit muttered to Drake. "Now we've got some demon dog to deal with as well as the blasted necromancer. Can this get any worse?"
"Always, Ambrosius, so don't say that too loud," Drake returned, frowning at the other boy. Kit lapsed back in his chair, a scowl on his face. Drake ignored him and turned to look at Anne. "Your Majesty, can a fell hound be killed? It's not, uh, immortal or something?"
"No, Master Lockwood. The fell hound is not immortal, and can be slain, but only by one with a blessed weapon who knows how to wield it properly. They are not the easiest creatures to kill, so I would tell you to be careful. The bite of a fell hound is poisonous, it carries some kind of venom in its fangs."
"Like a snake?" Drake clarified.
"Yes, exactly so."
"But silver weapons and holy water will destroy it?" Arista queried.
All of the ghosts nodded.
"This curse you spoke of, Queen Anne, how and when did it start?" Mel asked. "If I'm to break it, I need to know details."
"I'm aware of that, Mistress Seton. As I told you yesterday, the curse over the Tower is ancient, it began before my time, as a result of all the blood and death in this place. The imprint of so many souls dying tragically or unfairly leaves its mark in the spirit realm as well as in the physical world. It is like a great bloodstain, dark with despair and fear.
"Yet there is more to the curse than that. The curse is ultimately one of deceit and betrayal. All of us here died untimely, betrayed by someone we trusted, deceived by those we thought we our friends and allies. Some, like Cat, Walter, and I, died by the headsman's axe, a merciful death. Others, like poor Margaret, were not even granted that much. Hers was a most grisly end." The Countess had been hacked to death by an inexperienced executioner. "Edward and Richard were betrayed and murdered by the Duke of Buckingham, as they said. I, as you know, was arrested on false charges of adultery and condemned by my husband, King Henry. The same is true of Cat Howard."
"Not quite, Anne," Cat interjected. "In my case, the charges were true."
"How so?" scoffed Anne. "A few kisses and hugs in a corner is not adultery, Cat, and well you know it! You and Thomas Culpepper never went beyond that, did you?"
Cat shook her head. "No, but we thought of it. We knew what we did was wrong, that we committed treason against our sovereign."
"A tyrannical old lecher, if there ever was one!" Anne spat. "How many girls did he invite to his bed after your marriage, I wonder? Five? Fifteen?"
"About that, probably." Cat sighed. "But that was a king's prerogative."
"Say rather a man's prerogative!" Anne sniffed. "Why should a woman be condemned for the same sin as a man? Is that justice?"
"No, but it happened long ago, Anne," Cat soothed. "I forgave him a long time ago for what he did to me."
"I don't know if I ever can," the other woman sighed. "And there you have the root of the problem. The curse feeds off of all of the negative energy within the Tower. Margaret was betrayed by Henry as well, condemned to die to prevent any Plantagenet supporters from using her or her heirs as a claim to the throne, though what threat a seventy-year-old woman represented, I know not."
"Fear drives men to do unspeakable things," Margaret said softly. Henry Tudor feared that his father's lies would come to light eventually, and that his claim upon the throne would be declared false, since Harry Tudor usurped the crown from King Richard, and later married his niece, Elizabeth, to cement his hold on the throne. It's an old story."
"Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive," Raleigh quoted. "Such is the bane of all mankind, I think."
"Sir Walter is right." Anne continued, regaining her composure. "He was executed by James I, to appease a cowardly Spanish ambassador, on trumped of charges of treason. Another instance where justice failed."
"Justice always fails, dear lady, when handled by fools," Raleigh said bitterly. "James was a fool beyond compare."
"And Archbishop Thomas Becket was, as you probably know, murdered on the orders of his once dear friend, Henry II, because he refused to put the kings wishes before that of the church."
"Actually, there was a bit more to it than just that, Anne," Becket added. "But that is one of the major things we fought over. And I do not think that Henry ever meant his words to be acted upon by his nobles. He was angry when he said them, and I think he regretted most terribly what he said later. He did do penance for it, as I recall."
"Didn't do you much good, now did it, Thomas?" Anne said snidely. Then she shook her head. "Forgive me, that was unkind. Because of the nature of our deaths, the Tower curse has bound us here for eternity. We are doomed to relive the hour and manner of our deaths and to walk forever as ghosts, never to rest. But recently, Dirk Wrackspur has added a new condition to the curse. He has altered it so that he can drain us of our energy, but by doing so he has also made it possible for the curse to be broken."
"How do I do it then, Your Majesty?"
"You must confront him in a duel arcane and win, Mistress Seton."
"I don't have to kill him, then?"
"No, just break the spell he's using to siphon off our energy. Once that's done, we will be free." Anne replied.
"But it will not be easy. The connection's in the spirit realm, not this one," Raleigh said.
"And in order to find it you have to become a ghost, like us," chimed in Richard.
Mel looked dubious, but then she said gamely, "And just how do I do that, since I'm not dead yet?"
"That is what we are here to teach you," Anne said. "Attend me closely now, Mistress. As a ghostwalker, you are a link between the living and the dead. You are one of the few people who can speak to all ghosts and see them, even when they don't wish to be seen. You can also summon us at will, and command us if you have need, and we are bound to obey. Last, but not least, you can assume a phantom form, thus strengthening your ties to the spirit realm. While in that form, you cannot be harmed, at least not physically. Some magic will still affect you, but when you are in phantom form, you are essentially a ghost and cannot die."
"But if somebody sticks a sword through your gut and you change over to human form, you'll be killed just the same," put in Edward.
"Correct, Edward," Anne said calmly. "An important thing to remember when you're phasing back and forth."
"How long can I be in phantom form?"
"For as long as your concentration holds, young one. But as you grow more accustomed, your concentration should increase." Anne cleared her throat, then glided forward to stand before Mel. "The key to phantom form is to relax and then let yourself fade, child. Now I want you to breathe deeply, in and out, twenty times. Are you feeling relaxed and calm? Good. Now reach out and touch my hand."
"How? You're a ghost?"
"Just do it," Anne ordered, holding out one white hand.
Tentatively, Mel placed her hand in Anne's. But instead of going through the ghost, her hand clasped Anne's own! It was icy cold to the touch, but a feeling of peace filled her, and she did not let go. A tingling sensation spread up her arm and then she vanished from sight.
Trish and Kit yelled in astonishment. Drake blinked and peered hard at the spot where Mel had been scant seconds before. Arista merely grinned, for she could still feel Mel's presence, even though she couldn't yet see her.
Then she could see Mel, she was still gripping Anne's hand, and like the ghost's her form was misty and transparent, but unmistakably Mel.
The ghostwalker gazed down at herself. "Bloody hell! I can see through myself!" came her astonished cry. She wriggled a hand, it went right through the chair she had been sitting on.
"What's it feel like, Mel?" Kit called.
"Umm . . .it feels . . .weird. Sort of icy. But I'm not cold, not really."
"Stand up and walk about, child," Anne encouraged, stepping back from her.
Mel took a step forward. Then another. "I'm walking, but I can't feel the floor," she said.
"Of course not," chuckled Richard. "You're a ghost now, Mel! And now you can fly, like this!" He held out his hands and was floating through the air. "Try it, it's easy!"
"Maybe for you it is, kid," Mel muttered. She practiced walking about. "Can you guys still see me?"
"Yes, only you've gone all white and misty," Trish said helpfully.
"Kind of like glass," Arista added.
Richard and Edward zipped about her, laughing and waving. "Try this, Mel! Fly through the wall."
The two ghostly brothers slipped in and out of the wall, smirking. One would shove a hand through, or a foot, or part of his face, looking like some bizarre frozen artwork.
Richard poked all of himself through the wall save for his hands and yelled, "Look, Ma, no hands!"
Kit snickered at the little boy's wit.
Not to be out done, Edward vanished and reappeared with only his head sticking out of the wall. "Well, I ain't got no body!" he shrieked and then looked at his brother and cracked up.
The adult specters merely shook their heads in amused tolerance at the brothers' antics, plainly they were used to them.
Cat Howard glided up to Mel and took her hand. "Watch me. You need to sort of float, gently, like this, see?" she demonstrated. "You move more with your mind than with your legs now, Mel."
Mel concentrated and suddenly found herself hovering some three feet off the floor. "Yikes!" she cried. "How do I get down?" Then she lost her concentration and became solid again. Cat's hand slipped through hers and she landed on the floor on her bottom with a thump.
Kit stared at her in concern. "You okay, Mel?"
"Fine," Mel hissed, coming to her feet. "I used to fall all the time, remember?" She scowled at herself. "Good thing Marsh wasn't here to see that, she'd laugh herself sick."
"Don't be discouraged, child. Try again," urged Margaret, giving her a grandmotherly smile.
"I will, ma'am. Just give me a second." Mel said, then concentrated again. This time she became a phantom much quicker, and was visible to her friends almost instantly. "Let's try that again," she said to Cat, and the young queen giggled and took her hand.
"You are a plucky thing, aren't you, Lady Seton?" she said, tossing her hair about so it fanned across her like a cloak.
While Mel practiced gliding with Catherine Howard, Raleigh came over and peered down at the black staff in Arista's hands with interest. "A powerful holy weapon that is, young Arista. Where did you obtain it?"
"It's my father's. I found it in his lab," she admitted. "I thought it might be useful if we had to fight revenants."
Raleigh nodded in approval. "Oh, most assuredly it shall. The Blackstaff has sent many a tortured spirit to their final rest."
"What did you call it? The Blackstaff?"
"Yes. It was first made during the Crusades, by a holy monk named Tiernan Rowe. He carved it and blessed it and gave it to a Templar Knight who had taken vows never to use an edged weapon. It was said he used it to protect Richard the Lionheart in a mighty battle against Saladin, and when he died, a part of his spirit was transferred into the staff. It was passed in turn to his younger brother, who used it during his tenure as a shire reeve, that is a lawman, and drove out the ghost that haunted Hill Abbey in Yorkshire."
"Really? Then how did my dad come by it?"
"Your family name, Snape, is quite common in Yorkshire. There is a town there with that name," said Raleigh.
"I know. I've read about it. But my grandfather, Tobias Snape, was a Muggle, he didn't have magic like us. So how did he inherit a magic staff?"
"The Blackstaff does not have to be wielded by a wizard. Perhaps it was handed down as an heirloom or something. It is very old and probably some ancestor has cast a preserving enchantment on it, but that is not where its true power lies. The blessings it has been given by its creator and the Templar knight who first wielded it have endowed it with holy properties, making it the ideal weapon to ward off evil spirits."
"My father wrote an essay on how to fight and protect yourself against revenants. He mentioned a staff as a weapon, not this staff, per say, but maybe that's what he had in mind."
Raleigh chuckled. "Wizards love secrets, milady, as I'm sure you know, being one yourself. Do you know how to use a staff, young lady?"
Arista nodded. "Yes, sir. Colin, my teacher back in America, taught me how to use martial arts and some weapons."
"Would you like to try it out?" Raleigh asked, his eyes sparkling with eagerness. "My sword against your staff?"
"Sure, but what if I hit you with it? Won't it hurt you?"
"Only a little," he laughed. "I'm not a revenant, so I don't think the staff will hurt me much. Certainly no worse than what my old arms tutor used to give me for not paying attention during his lesson." He drew his sword, backing up until he was about four feet from Arista. "Come then, Mistress Snape, show me thy mettle!"
Arista advanced, holding the staff in two hands before her crosswise.
Raleigh darted forward, poking at her with his rapier.
She swung the staff up to block and the ghostly sword connected with the black wood with a soft ping.
"Ah, as I thought! It blocks my assault!" Raleigh cried in delight. "En guarde, Mistress!"
Arista soon discovered that Raleigh was a superb swordsman, and far from threatening him with harm from the Blackstaff, it was she who was threatened, or would have been, had he been a living opponent. Still, it was fun to fence with him, and Arista knew she could really use the practice, it had been a long time since she had used a staff.
Kit and Drake watched the fencing match enviously, wishing they had swords to fence with against Raleigh or even Becket, who had been quite a good swordsman in his day, before he became Archbishop of Canterbury.
Meanwhile, Mel was learning how to hover and move through solid objects, instructed by Cat, Anne, and the two princes. As Anne had said, using her power as a ghostwalker was almost instinctive, the only thing she had to remember was to focus her mind on holding herself in phantom form.
Trish spoke to Becket, asking his advice about prayer circles and whether or not they would be effective against revenants that lived in the Tower. Becket answered gravely that yes, they might be, if the one casting them had sufficient faith in God. "Faith is power, child. Walk with the Lord, and evil shall not touch you."
Before they knew it, the bells on the Tower clock had chimed twice, and it was ten o'clock. They had been talking and practicing with the Tower ghosts for two hours. They quickly bid the ghosts good night and left, unseen, as they had come in, thanks to Cat Howard and Edward and Richard.
The two boys left soon after they'd reached Diagon Alley, for both of them had curfews at ten thirty. The girls waved at them, then Mel said, "I told my parents I was spending the night at your house, Arista."
Together, the three teenagers soared back to the little house on Spinner's End, tired, yet filled with a sense of accomplishment. Mel demonstrated her newfound power to slip through solid objects until it drove Trish and Arista crazy and they begged her to quit it.
Mel did, chuckling wickedly. "Oh, and just think, I can scare the blue blazes out of Marsh next term!" Brittany Marsh was their nemesis, a stuck-up Slytherin a year older than they were who delighted in tormenting younger students. They had declared war on each other since Arista had first attended Hogwarts during their fourth year.
Trish smirked. "Serve her right too. Mel, did you tell your parents about this?"
"You mean that I'm a ghostwalker? No, not yet. I will after this thing with the Tower is done, though. I just hope they don't die of shock, though! I'd rather not have to use my power to talk to them after they're dead, know what I mean?"
Arista yawned. "I don't know about you, but I'm beat. Let's go to bed. You can practice sticking your face in and out of the fridge door tomorrow, Mel."
"Spoilsport," her friend laughed, then used her phantom form to float up through the ceiling to Arista and Trish's bedroom above the kitchen.