From the Depths of Hell

Lots of action and a big battle in this one!

The third night arrived, and a storm was brewing off to the east, perhaps heralding the arrival of the Ghost Master. The five friends all met over at Spinner's End, having made various excuses to their parents about where they were going to be for the weekend. All the potions suggested by Snape in his essay on Defense and combating revenants had been brewed and Arista handed out a vial of each potion to everyone, to be drunk just before the Ghost Master's arrival at the Tower.

The Blackstaff had been coated with a vial of holy water obtained from St. Paul's Cathedral over in Whitechapel, it soaked up the liquid and gleamed wetly to the young Healer's magic sight. Kit had obtained the silver rapier from his family's basement and treated it also with another vial.

Drake had rummaged around in the attic and managed to find a short slender dagger which he said was called a misericord, because it was carried as a weapon of last resort by warriors, to deliver a mercy stroke to a fallen enemy or themselves. It was made of silver and the hilt was aged black leather stamped with the Lockwood crest—a rowan tree with a set of keys entwined in its branches and a dragon coiled about the base. "The rowan represents white magic, the keys are the means to unlock it, and the dragon guards it." Drake explained when Arista asked him what the crest stood for. "My family motto is To Guard and Keep Safe Magic Forever. An old family legend says that back in the days of Merlin and Arthur, a Lockwood was an apprentice to Merlin, and he entrusted my ancestor with the task of guarding several rare and valuable spellbooks that could cause great harm if they fell into the wrong hands. When he knew he was dying, he gave my ancestor a key to a secret chamber in a rowan tree and ordered him to keep the knowledge and magic contained in those books safe. And my ancestor did, for no one ever discovered the books last hiding place. The legend says the tree is guarded by a fearsome dragon that only a Lockwood can tame and the only keys that will unlock the chamber are the ones my family owns."

"D'you think there really are spellbooks hidden away somewhere?" Kit asked.

Drake shrugged. "Who knows? All I know is that the eldest son in each generation gets a set of silver and gold keys, but what they unlock is a mystery. A couple of my ancestors used to go on quests, trying to find the tree that the keys were supposed to unlock, but they never did. My father thinks it's just a story, though he keeps the keys in his vault anyhow, since they're a family heirloom. When he dies, they'll be passed down to me, since I'm the only son he's got. Not that I'm in any hurry to get them, God knows."

"But don't you ever wonder about the mystery the keys might unlock?" kit wanted to know. He loved puzzles.

"Right now I don't have time to wonder about a mystery vault that's been hidden for centuries, Kit. I'm more worried over what we're going to face tonight," Drake replied with a hint of exasperation. "Besides, my father has to die before I inherit those keys, and they're not worth his life, to my way of thinking. Far as I'm concerned, whatever the keys unlock can stay hidden for another hundred years." He began to coat the blade of the misericord with holy water.

"You're right. Time enough to wonder about that later, after we've sent what's-his-name crawling back to Voldy where he belongs." Kit tried a few experimental passes with his silver rapier. "Funny, though, how my ancestor and yours were friends too."

"It was fated in the stars, as Trelawney would say," drawled Lockwood with a wry grin.

"What about you, Trish?" Mel asked, noting that the blond girl was the only one without a real weapon.

"I can't use a weapon like the rest of you," she said. "So I've got this instead." She held up a long silver chain with a silver crucifix on it. "I bought this in St. Paul's. It's supposed to have been blessed by the Archbishop of Canterbury himself. I reckon that's protection enough against revenants."

"Okay, let's go over our checklist again," Arista said, pulling out a long strip of parchment. She began to read off the list of items they should all have, including the six kinds of potions, a blessed silver weapon, and a bag of salt, since Anne had told them that revenants were wary of salt, it had been long regarded as a bane of dark wizards.

"We're all set, Arista," said Drake, tucking the dagger in its sheath into his belt.

"Let's fly."

They all mounted their brooms and flew across the city to the Tower of London and their final meeting with Tower ghosts that hopefully would end in the breaking of the centuries old curse at last.

* * * * * *

They landed at the entrance to the Tower without mishap, and tucked their brooms inside a small storage cupboard just inside the gates. Mel shivered and looked sick, and kit walked over and put an arm about her comfortingly. She leaned into his embrace gratefully.

"You okay, Mel?" he murmured.

"No. I feel like I'm going to be sick."

"Please, not on me," he joked lightly. Then he hugged her and said, "Just do it the way you've been practicing, Seton. You'll be fine. You're a natural, remember?"

"I wish I could believe that."

"Nothing's impossible with magic, Mel," Arista quoted one of her favorite sayings, projecting a wave of confidence and reassurance at the other Ravenclaw.

"You're the ghostwalker, Mel. Now get in there and kick some necromancer's butt, okay?" Trish encouraged.

"We'll be right behind you, beating the crap out of whoever else he brings along," Drake told her, meeting her eyes steadily. "So you just concentrate on breaking the curse and leave the rest to us."

"Yes, sir, General Lockwood, sir!" Mel said, and gave him a salute and a lopsided smile.

Then she led the way into the Tower.

As before, the security cameras and systems had suffered an unexpected breakdown, and the Yeoman guards were being tormented by the princes and Margaret Pole, who was re-enacting the last moments of her death on the scaffold, holding the guards watching spellbound and breathless with horror. The SR's climbed the stairs up to the White Tower swiftly, their chosen battleground for the coming fight.

In the Tower antechamber they were met by Anne Boleyn, Raleigh, Becket, and Edward.

"Where's Richard , Margaret, and Cat?" Mel asked, glancing around for them.

"Still distracting the guards," Anne replied. "They'll be along shortly. Now, are you all prepared?"

"We are, Queen Anne," Mel spoke up calmly, all traces of her earlier nervousness gone. "Tonight you'll go to your final rest, I promise, sure as my name's Melinda Sandra Seton."

Anne smiled down at her. "May God bless and keep you, Lady Seton, ghostwalker. Our hopes and prayers go with you, young lady." The clock in the bell tower chimed eleven o'clock. "He usually arrives at midnight or thereabouts. The witching hour, he calls it."

"He's gonna get bewitched, all right," Trish muttered, drawing her crucifix from under her shirt and winding it about her wrist.

"Will you be able to sense him before he comes up here?" Arista wanted to know. "We've got six potions to drink before then."

"That won't be a problem, Mistress Snape. We of the Tower can always feel him, he radiates an aura of evil that shrivels your bones, if we had bones left to shrivel, that is!" she gave a soft nervous laugh.

Just then, Richard, Cat, and Margaret all appeared in the room.

"Hurrah, you're here, Mel!" Richard whooped, flinging his ghostly arms about her in a spectral embrace. "Tonight we send the tyrant straight to the devil!"

"And get out of this prison for good and all," said Cat eagerly. "God's wounds, but I can't wait to shake the dust of this place from my shoes. No more running down hallways screaming for Henry to save me, the randy old goat!"

"Amen for that!" agreed Margaret. "I'll be so grateful when I don't have to re-enact that cursed death scene any more. Four hundred and fifty odd years was more than enough, by God's foot!"

"At last we can be with our parents and Uncle Richard again," said Edward wistfully. "I've missed them ever so much."

"As I'm sure they've missed you, lads," said Raleigh, reaching out to tousle Edward's hair. "Like I've missed my family."

Becket smiled serenely. "All of your loved ones shall be waiting for you at the gates of Heaven."

"Are you so sure I'll be allowed into Heaven, Thomas?" Raleigh asked with a wicked chuckle.

The Archbishop laughed. "Walter, if they'll let me in, they'll surely let you in, since your sins are so much less than mine!"

"I rather doubt that, my friend."

Becket waved a hand dismissively. "We've done our time in purgatory, Walter. The gates will be open for us, never fear."

"I wonder if Henry will be in Heaven?" murmured Anne.

"Well, if he is, you can punch him one right in the nose!" said Richard gleefully.

Anne laughed loudly. "Dickon, you incurable scamp! If he is there, I think I shall take your advice, he certainly has it coming."

"I'll say!" Catherine Howard cried. "You punch him and I'll kick him, Anne. Right where it'll hurt most." Then she bit her lip nervously. "Can we get kicked out of Heaven for brawling?"

They all looked at Becket.

"How would I know? I'm not God," he said. "Though I would say, He might understand, seeing as you two have over four centuries of pent up anger towards Henry to release. So long as you forgive your husband afterwards," he added with a stern frown.

"I shall be glad to do so afterwards," Anne snorted. "Provided he apologizes to us." Cat was nodding vigorously.

"Forgiveness should come without conditions, daughters," Becket reproved gently.

"Only if you're God," Anne shot back saucily, making the others laugh. Then she said briskly, "All teasing aside, are we all prepared to do what we must?" the other ghosts answered affirmatively. "Good. Then assume your places, please."

One by one, a ghost moved to stand behind each of the SR's. Anne moved to stand behind Arista, Raleigh behind Kit, Cat behind Drake, and Becket behind Trish.

The moment they felt the presence of Dirk Wrackspur, Arista, Mel, Drake, Kit, and Trish would swallow the potions and then allow the ghost standing behind them to envelop them, shielding their form from the Ghost Master's sight, gaining them the element of surprise.

Mel would be in phantom form, and thus would not need shielding. She just prayed it would be enough. She wished suddenly she were not the ghostwalker, or that she had some adults alongside her, preferably powerful wizards like Dumbledore and Snape. Then her mouth twisted in a wry grin, thinking of how they'd all catch hell from Severus if he ever found out what they were doing. "Detention for a year, all of you!" she could hear him bellow. "After I take care of this necromancer, that is." And he would too, of that Mel had not the slightest doubt.

She squared her shoulders and took two deep breaths, finding her center. Do what has to be done, Melinda Seton, and whine about it later, she told herself firmly.

The clock struck the half-hour.

Mel extended her senses outward, probing the interior of the Tower, sensing the restlessness of the Tower's undead denizens, those ghosts who were had abandoned their humanity for hate and despair and envy. She could feel them stirring, deep down in the bowels of the Tower dungeons, where scores had been tortured to death on the orders of one king or another, many unfairly accused.

She knew they sensed her presence and were wary of her, who was the link between the world of the dead and that of the living. Shadows, they're only shadows, and they can't hurt me, she whispered over and over in her mind. With the breaking of the curse, I'll send them back to sleep, never to wake again. An icy chill crawled down her backbone and she shivered, hugging herself. She was afraid, but not for herself. She was afraid for her friends, who had been dragged into this for her sake, and who refused to abandon her, no matter how dangerous it was. She loved them for their support, yet at the same despised herself for a coward, unable to tell them to leave her alone. Right, as if they would have gone anyway. Keep dreaming, girl! she thought derisively.

Across the room, she saw Kit grin at her encouragingly, and she thought that if she ever got out of here, she was going to kiss him right away, the way she ought've done last week. And ask him out on a date too, since it didn't seem like he was ever going to get up the nerve to ask her. Later, she reminded herself sternly. Focus on the task at hand, Seton, she scolded herself in a Snape-like tone.

Suddenly, Mel felt a shifting in the aura surrounding the tower. It had gotten darker and more malevolent. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stiffen.

"He's coming," hissed Edward.

Immediately, all of the SR's reached into pockets and satchels, pulled out their potions and gulped them down.

Swallowing so many potions at one time made Mel feel slightly ill, or maybe it was only knowing that she must soon face a terrible foe that was making her stomach churn. She could feel the Excelsior Potion snap a glowing shield around her body, the Fearless Potion made her doubts vanish, the Fireproof Potion made her impervious to heat for a time, and the Snakeswift hissed through her limbs, making them vibrate with lightning energy.

Opposite her she heard Kit groan, "Are you sure we should have drunk them all at once, Arista? 'Cause I think I'm going to be sick."

"You shouldn't be, since they're not working on an empty stomach." Arista replied. "You did eat something like I told you?"

"Uh, no. I forgot."

Mel could see Arista's eyes rolling all the way across the room. "Ambrosius, you dork," Arista muttered, sounding remarkably like her father with a student who couldn't remember to follow simple instructions. "Don't worry about it, you'll be fine in a bit."

"Easy for you to say," Kit grumbled.

Then there was no more time to worry about upset stomachs or anything else save the Ghost Master's arrival. The Tower ghosts quickly enveloped each of their wizard charges in a type of glamour spell, making it appear that there was no one in the room alive. Mel quickly blurred into phantom form, gasping involuntarily as the full weight of the Ghost Master's evil aura hit her.

She had never truly felt someone from the Dark path before, and the terrible darkness slammed into her like a sucker punch to the jaw. But she refused to give into it. That was what the Ghost Master wanted, after all, for his victims to be prostrate with fear.

Then the door to the antechamber opened and the man who called himself the Ghost Master stepped into the room. From his aura, Mel half-expected him to be sporting horns and a tail. Instead he looked distressingly ordinary, all save for his eyes.

Dirk Wrackspur was a medium-sized man of around twenty-seven or so, with long hair that was a silvery white. He was dressed all in white too, shirt, pants, cloak, and boots. White trimmed with gold at the cuffs and hem, like a fairy tale prince. He held a white hawthorn wand in one hand.

Only his eyes hinted at the darkness coiled within his soul.

They were a strange gold color, like a newly minted Galleon, and when Mel met them for the first time, she shivered despite the Fearless Potion.

For Wrackspur's eyes were devoid of warmth, of anything resembling human emotion. They were dead and cold, like the ghosts he summoned in his wake.

Beside Wrackspur was a huge black mastiff with burning red eyes. It bared its teeth and snarled, tongues of reddish spittle dripping from its massive jaws to fall upon the floor, hissing as it struck the stone.

The Ghost Master smiled and beckoned with a hand, and the revenants he'd summoned followed him into the room, crowding in behind him in a dark wave. Mel counted at least twenty of them, all of them filled with lust, envy, and hate.

Wrackspur's gaze lit on Anne and he said in a smooth oily voice, "Well met once more, Mistress Anne. I have returned as I promised, and now you will give me what I desire, yes?"

Anne drew herself up to her full height, her eyes flashing, and said haughtily, "No, knave. I have told you and told you, that was the last time you shall take from us without our consent. We are not puppets to be dance to your tune, Wrackspur! And you will address me as Your Grace, for I was once queen of this realm!"

"Queen indeed!" Wrackspur sneered. "For a mere thousand days, and most of them hated by the very people you ruled! You were naught but a failure, Anne Boleyn. Failed daughter, failed mother, failed wife. Only in death do you have some use, and that is for me to grow stronger." He took two steps forward, wand pointed menacingly at the misty figure of Henry VIII's second wife. "You will give me your energy, Boleyn slut, or else suffer my wrath!"

Anne laughed mockingly. "Think you so? On the contrary, 'tis you who shall suffer, Wrackspur. Suffer the wrath of a ghostwalker!"

That was Mel's cue, and she did not miss it. "Fight for me, Anne, Cat, Richard, Edward, Raleigh, Margaret, and Becket!" she shouted, putting the power of a ghostwalker into her voice, so they would be compelled to obey her and not the other wizard.

At that, the Tower ghosts separated from their wizard charges to attack the hoard of revenants.

Wrackspur gaped at her, seeing her for the first time. "You—a little schoolgirl—you are fabled ghostwalker?"

"That's right, buddy." Mel declared impudently. "And you're gonna regret the day you ever set foot here."

"We'll see about that!" he leveled his wand at her and shouted a spell she didn't recognize,

She felt a blast of icy wind envelop her, but the Fearless Potion enabled her to fight off the chill waves of dread, and she shook off the supernatural chill in moments. "That the best you've got? And here I thought you were good." Then she floated towards him, moving with the blinding speed of a black mamba.

He barely registered the fact that she was in front of him before she made the lower half of her body solid and kicked him in jaw with a roundhouse. He fell backwards with a snarled curse, hitting the floor with a thud.

"Fade! Attack!" he ordered.

The fell hound lunged towards her, but she melted into phantom form and he jumped through her and landed in the middle of the room, jaws clicking on empty air.

"Here, puppy, puppy!" Kit taunted, skewering a revenant that floated at him neatly. The silver rapier he wielded left a smoking hole in the specter and it howled in rage before it vanished, unable to withstand the combination of silver coated with holy water.

The fell hound gave a soft cry of hate and raced towards the young Gryffindor, its eyes blazing with the fires of hell.

Off to Kit's left, Raleigh fenced with a revenant that had four foot claws and fangs like a wolf's, his rapier and dagger swirling in the air in patterns only a master swordsman could follow. Though the revenant could not be truly harmed by the adventurer's sword, it screeched when Raleigh scored on it nevertheless.

Further away, Trish warded off three revenants with her crucifix, the cross glowing with a holy flame. Beside her was Thomas Becket, praying in Latin in a deep sonorous tone that had the revenants hissing and cringing away, hands coming up to cover their faces, unable to withstand the power of the priest's faith.

Trish spun in a circle, sprinkling salt in an arc about her, forming a barrier that the hungry ghosts could not cross.

The chill the revenants emanated was enough to freeze water, but thanks to Arista's Chill Banishing Draft, the SR's could shrug it off for a time. Mel, being a ghostwalker, was immune to the chill the undead radiated. She sprang at the Ghost Master, touching him with her spectral hands, trying to pinpoint where the curse was located in the spirit realm and how she could break it.

At her touch, Wrackspur screamed and shouted another spell, the infamous Spirit Wrack.

Yellow lightning exploded from his wand, slamming into Mel with a crackle.

It hurt, hurt a lot, but Mel was not a true ghost, and thus the spell did not have the same debilitating effect on her as it would have a true ghost.

She gritted her teeth and forced herself to concentrate through the pain. Have to focus. Got to find the origin of the curse. It's here, somewhere in this tower.
Pain stabbed her again, but she forced herself to ignore it, sending her magical senses outward, seeking the elusive thread of dark magic that Dirk Wrackspur had used to alter the curse.

While Mel struggled with the Ghost Master, Arista killed one revenant after another with the Blackstaff, the touch of the holy weapon sending the howling creatures back to the eternal night forever. The tip of the staff glowed with a luminescent silver light, burning when it struck.

The revenants, red eyes searing with hate and the hunger to slay the living, soon learned to be wary of the auburn-haired witch with the glowing staff, and they retreated to seek easier prey.

Five of them swarmed over Drake, but the Slytherin wizard slipped away, moving swifter than the revenants due to the Snakeswift Potion coursing through his veins. Then he spun around and stabbed the lead revenant, a monstrosity with bat wings and six-inch claws and a mouth that was all teeth, in the stomach with his silver dagger.

The revenant screeched, its unholy yell echoing off the walls, for Drake's dagger was also coated with holy water, and left a smoking hole in the spirit that did not heal.

Another specter reached for Drake, trying to drain his life essence with its foul touch, but the Excelsior Potion prevented the specter from gaining hold of the boy. Drake twisted away, unharmed.

Arista, seeing him trying to fend off more than one opponent, raced across the room towards him, knocking aside revenants with the Blackstaff like ninepins. She spun the staff in a spiral strike that took out two of the revenants attacking Lockwood, then jabbed another coming up from behind her with a reverse thrust. She was quick and deadly, allowing all those endless hours of training with Colin to take over her conscious mind, turning her into a whirlwind of deadly force. Panting, she halted beside Drake, staff held in a defensive block.

Fade bayed and sprang at Kit, who fended the hound off with his rapier, recalling moves out of desperation he hadn't even remembered he knew. The silver sword cut neat slashes in the dog's black hide, making the big animal draw away, yelping at the sting of the blessed metal.

Catching sight of the skirmish out of the corner of his eye, Drake grinned and called, "Nice one, Kit! Teach that mangy mutt a lesson!" Then he spun around to thrust at another specter.

Sensing the tide of battle was turning, and not in his favor, Wrackspur decided to summon up help. "Accio Inferi!" he yelled.

There was a brilliant flash of light, and the SR's were temporarily blinded.

When they could see again, blinking tears from their eyes, twelve Inferi were now in the room. Unlike their spectral counterparts, Inferi were partially solid, bound partially to their corporal body, and they could inflict real damage.

"Damn! He's called up the cavalry, Drake!" Arista swore, backing swiftly towards where Kit was standing. "We're in trouble now."

"Like we weren't before?" Drake quipped, his face pale and scared beneath his shock of dark hair. "Mel better hurry!" They had almost reached Kit. "Ambrosius! Got our back?"

"On it, Drake!" Kit snapped, slashing a revenant to ribbons in three moves. Then he moved to set his back against Arista's and Drake's, forming a triangle of silver and black oak. "Who said they could crash this little party?" he demanded, as the Inferi came for them, the stench of the grave washing over them in a sickening wave.

Mel was aware of her friends' peril on the periphery of her mind, but most of her mind was focused on locating the curse, and she raced through the misty gray realm of the spirit world on silent feet. She knew the Ghost Master was growing desperate, but this was the one place he could not follow.

Beneath her feet was a phantom replica of the Tower, she raced up a flight of hundreds of steps effortlessly arriving at the top of the Bloody Tower. A door barred with iron blocked her way, but she phased right through it, only to be confronted with a maze of more corridors. Aww, bloody hell! Now what? I hate mazes. She concentrated, trying to feel the curse and was rewarded with a trickle of dark energy coming from the left hand side.

She glided swiftly down that path.

* * * * * *

Wrackspur was now on his feet, furious and looking to punish someone. His gold eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the three teenagers huddled in a triangle, armed with holy weapons. "Those won't save you from me, kiddies! How about a taste of hellfire?" he laughed, then pointed his wand and shouted, "Inferio!"

Fire shot from his wand in a destructive swath, rolling over Kit, Drake, and Arista.

Wrackspur tilted his head, waiting for the screams of agony. But there were none.

The fire died impossibly fast, and to his outrage, the three teenagers were unharmed, the Fireproof Potion outlining them in a golden glow. He swore softly, and gestured for the revenants to move in.

"Leave them alone, you devil's bastard!" shrieked little Richard, swooping down on the Ghost Master to pummel the man about the head with insubstantial fists.

Wrackspur put up a hand to ward off the ghost boy's blows, even though they didn't do any harm. "You DARE attack your master?" he howled.

"You're no master of mine!" Richard shouted back.

"Am I not?" Wrackspur snarled, a crazed gleam coming into his eyes. He stabbed the tip of his wand into Richard's arm and began to draw the ghost child's energy into it. His wand glowed a sickly green, and Richard screeched, trying to get away.

"Get away from my brother, spawn of Satan!" Edward cried, coming down to defend his brother. His little hands tried to grab the Ghost Master's wand, but they slipped right through it.

Wrackspur snickered and continued to draw energy from Richard. "Who's the Master now, impudent brat?"

Richard whimpered as his essence was stolen from him, tears pouring down his cheeks.

But the Ghost Master had made a grave mistake.

In the spirit Tower, Mel had been unsure exactly where to go, the black aura of the curse muted by the Inferi and the other revenants. But now, as the Ghost Master called on the curse to drain Richard, it flared up like a firework, all dark purple and saturated with centuries of evil. Mel soared up to the ceiling of the Bloody Tower, slipping through the corridors at the speed of thought.

There, at the top of the tower!

She phased through the door and came face to face with the dark pulsing ball of the centuries old curse.

A ribbon of dark purple energy snaked from it and wound off through the opposite wall, and Mel sensed that this was the Ghost Master's connection.

The ghostwalker set her jaw and drew a silver paring knife from her pocket, though in this realm it was not solid, but a streak of light. Then she knelt and began to cut at the strand of dark purple energy.

At the first touch of the knife, the strand withered and turned black, sparks shooting up from it.

Mel sawed harder.

The strand was halfway severed.

The knife in her hand was worn to a sliver.

She continued to cut, wrinkling her nose at the stench of brimstone that accompanied her severing of the Ghost Master's bond.

But at last the strand was broken and it vanished.

She could hear the Ghost Master's scream of horror echo through the spirit world as his twisted binding was undone.

Then she turned to the shadowy ball of the curse, which had shrunk now that it was not being manipulated. "Truth, hope, and courage conquers lies, despair, and cowardice!" she cried. "The power of a ghostwalker bridges the living and the dead and I bid you be GONE! The curse is broken!" She tossed the tiny sliver of her paring knife into the clot of shadow and with it the full force of her power.

The curse disintegrated, the shadow swallowed by the white heat of her power.

Rainbowed light danced through the room and the shadows that had clung to the Tower were banished forever.

Mel threw back her head and laughed. "Take that, Ghost Master!"

* * * * * *

With the breaking of the curse, Wrackspur's power over the undead was broken as well. The revenants and the Inferi realized this a split second before the Tower ghosts, and they turned away from the SR's and converged upon the Ghost Master with a vengeance.

"Back! Keep back from me, I command you!" he babbled desperately, his wand shooting little blue sparks as he attempted to defend himself.

The Inferi were not amused.

Then he turned and fled from the White Tower, the Inferi in hot pursuit, along with half of the revenants.

The other half, drawn by the pulsing hearts of the living, remained, drooling hungrily at the four wizards.

"Uh, Mel! This bunch didn't get the message!" Kit yelled as one flew at him, hissing.

Mel reappeared in the room in a cloud of rainbow sparkles.

"STOP!" she bellowed.

The revenants froze.

"The curse is broken and so is your suffering. Now rest in peace! You're free!"

The revenants gave a collective sigh. Then one and all, they bowed to the ghostwalker and vanished, freed at long last of their imprisonment.

Arista lowered her staff, looked at Mel and said, "That's telling them, Mel!"

Something black sprang out of the shadows behind the door at her.

Drake saw it move, impossibly quick, and he shoved Arista out of the way, knocking her on the ground, the Snakeswift enabling him to react a split second faster than the fell hound.

The full weight of the beast slammed down on him, crushing him into the floor. He managed to get his arm with his misericord up in time to protect his throat, but that was all.

Fade's jaws closed on his arm, biting down hard.

The Excelsior blunted the full force of the fell hound's bite, preventing Drake's arm from being severed.

But it could not prevent the hound's wickedly sharp teeth from breaking the skin.

Fade's fangs with their deadly venom closed on the dagger and part of Drake's arm, and despite the terrible burning from the silver weapon, the fell hound would not release his grip.

Drake screamed, trying to throw the clinging beast off him.

"What? Lockwood!" Kit yelled, stabbing the dog in the side.

But Fade was lost in bloodlust and barely felt the rapier pierce his hide.

Arista rolled to her feet, Drake's agony reverberating through her like liquid fire.

"DRAKE! NO!" she screamed, and then she blasted the fell hound with the full force of her empathic gift, hitting the demon dog with all the rage and hatred she possessed.

It slammed into Fade like a tornado, stunning the big beast so that it released Drake and sagged sideways across him.

Furious, Arista lifted the Blackstaff and brought it down on the fell hound's head. "Get OFF him! Get OFF!" she howled, kicking the dazed hound away from the stricken wizard, who lay still on the floor, his right arm a bloody mess.

White fury consumed her, and she brought the staff down again and again, the silver tip glowing as it struck the fell hound's cursed flesh.

Fade died soon after, but it was only after Trish dared to grab Arista's shoulder that she stopped pummeling the dead hound.

"Arista! Enough! It's dead!"

Trish's voice, sharp with fear, penetrated the hazy red mist surrounding Arista, and the empath came back to herself with a start. She blinked, staring down at the hound's body with a grimace of distaste. Then she turned away, the Blackstaff falling from her hands.

"Drake," she whispered, still feeling his pain through the soulbond.

She knelt down beside him, her hands etched with white healing fire. She set a hand on his arm, her healing gift already analyzing the damage. The initial wound was bad, but nothing she couldn't mend easily, it was only torn muscle and tendons.

The poison, though . . .that was not so easily defeated.

She could tell in two heartbeats that the venom would need antidotes from her father's stores, things which she did not possess here. The best she could do was to halt the spread of the poison through Lockwood's body for now, until she could get back to Spinner's End. That and block the worst of the pain from him.

She touched his mind gently, sending him into a sleep so deep it was nearly a coma. Sleep, Drake. Sleep and dream.
That done, she slipped blocks of white fire into place, preventing the creeping red tendrils of venom from advancing any further through his bloodstream. Then she withdrew, the white fire dying.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Kit asked worriedly. "I tried to get the damn thing off him, I really did."

Arista looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. "It's not your fault, Kit. But I need to get him home, I can't fight the poison here. He needs antidotes from my dad's lab."

She stood up, rubbing her head, which had begun to throb ferociously.

Behind her, she could see the Tower ghosts clustered about Mel, thanking the ghostwalker for freeing them from the curse.

"We owe you more than we can ever repay, Mistress Seton," Anne was saying. "You are a true daughter of Britain." She swept Mel a curtsy that touched the floor. "You have my eternal gratitude." Then she was gone.

"Free!" Cat laughed joyously, spinning in a circle. "We are free at last!" She too curtseyed to Mel. "Now at last I can rest." Beaming, she faded away.

Margaret Pole embraced her, smiling. "Fare you well, child, you and all your friends." She waved to them all, then vanished.

Becket smiled and bowed to her. "May God's grace be upon you and yours, my lady." Then he too vanished.

Raleigh gave her a rakish smile and an elegant bow. "Well, milady, I can't say it wasn't interesting. But I think I'm ready for Heaven. I just hope Heaven is ready for me!" He gave her a saucy wink and disappeared.

The princes were the last to leave. They threw their arms about Mel and hugged her, grinning. "Goodbye, Mel! We'll miss you. Thank you for setting us free! Now we can be with our parents again," said Edward.

"And Uncle Richard and Aunt Ann too!" his brother reminded him. He waved at the other wizards. "Thanks Arista, Kit, Trish, and Drake!" He bowed to them, then he grabbed Edward's hand and the two faded to mist and were gone, walking to their final reward at long last.

The bells in the tower struck one-thirty.

The SR's exchanged glances of mutual exhaustion and worry. Then Kit bent and picked up Drake's comatose form. "C'mon, let's get out of here before some Muggle comes to investigate."

The quickly hurried down the stairs and out of the Tower, mounting their brooms and soaring away into the night.

The Tower of London sat serenely in the moonlight behind them, the darkness that had once inhabited it gone forever. It was now merely a historical museum, no longer the most haunted building in Britain, thanks to the return of a ghostwalker and her friends.

* * * * * *

While Arista and Trish worked frantically down in Severus's lab brewing an antidote made from phoenix tears in hopes that it could counteract the poison, Mel watched Drake, who was lying on the couch, moaning softly. Sweat beaded his brow, and she gently blotted it away with a towel Kit handed her.

"He doesn't look so good," Kit said, frowning down at his friend worriedly.

"Arista will make him better," Mel said quietly.

"I hope so," he sighed. "But this fell hound venom's bad."

"Quit being so negative, Ambrosius," Mel ordered.

"I'm not, I'm just stating a fact."

"Well, take your facts and go and fix yourself something to eat, I can hear your stomach growling from here."

He flashed her a sheepish grin. "Yeah, kicking revenants' ghostly arses always makes me hungry. Be right back. You want anything?"

She shrugged. "You can make me a sandwich, if you want."

Kit went into the kitchen to rummage around in the refrigerator, which was usually kept well stocked. A small wooden sign next to it read Welcome to my kitchen—you'll eat it and like it. He smiled at that, it was a typical Snape saying. That's for damn sure, Professor. You cook better than my mum. He opened the fridge and pulled out the fixings for a large roast beef, ham, cheese, lettuce, and tomato sub sandwich.

He made enough for Arista and Trish as well, reasoning they'd probably be hungry too once they finished brewing up antidotes. He left theirs on the kitchen table, and took his and Mel's back into the den along with two bottles of butterbeer.

Drake was the same as when he'd left, flushed with fever and tossing slightly. Mel had dampened the towel and laid it across his forehead. "Bloody demon dog," Kit muttered angrily. "I ought've killed it when I had the chance. Then this would've never happened."

"No sense in blaming yourself, Kit. Fact is, we're lucky more of us didn't get hurt, the way things were going. It could've been a lot worse."

Kit shrugged, then handed her one of the sandwiches, seating himself on the floor by her feet and biting into his own. "I really hope Arista can heal him. You think maybe we should've taken him to St. Mungo's?"

Mel shook her head. "Arista's as good a Healer as any they've got there. She'll fix him up, wait and see."

"She sure tore into that demon dog something fierce. I've never seen her lose it like that before. The way she just attacked the damn thing . . .did you see the look in her eyes? It was damn scary. I mean, I always knew she had the Snape temper, but not like that."

"I know. But it doesn't surprise me, considering she's in love with Lockwood."

Kit choked. "She's what?"

Mel pounded him on the back. "Oh, come on, Kit! Are you blind? Don't tell me you never saw that coming. She's been in love with him since she came back from America with him last summer, and maybe even before that."

"Well, sure, I knew she liked him," he sputtered, blushing slightly. "And he's always had a thing for her, even though he's too shy to ever admit it. But real love . . .it's that serious?"

Mel chuckled. "Trust me, you don't flip out like that unless you really love a guy and are scared to death he's gonna die."

"Yeah?" Kit arched an eyebrow. "Does that mean you'd flip out like that if I was gonna die, Mel?"

"Well, Kit, that would depend."

"On what?"

"On whether I really loved you, you big twit," she answered, hiding a smile.

His hazel eyes gleamed. "Better make up your mind, Seton."

"Why? You in a hurry to find someone else, Ambrosius?"

"Maybe." His tone was pure challenge.

"You'd never get anyone else as good," she stated softly.

"Think so?"

"I know so," she replied, then she kissed him.

His arms came round her and he pulled her off the couch and onto his lap. Only then did he lift his head and say. "Guess you know what you're talking about, Mel." Then he kissed her back.

When they parted, both of them were breathless. "Took you long enough, Kit."

"But I was worth the wait," he drawled, smirking.

"Maybe," she shot back.

"Name one guy that kisses better than me."

"I can't," she admitted softly. "Because you're the first one."

"First and last, Melinda Seton."

"Really? You think I'm gonna fall into your arms over one kiss, Ambrosius?"

"Don't look now, but you just did," he pointed out, laughing.

She socked him lightly in the shoulder. "I don't know why I put up with you, you smug twit."

He gave her one of his most engaging grins. "'Cause you love me?"

She smiled back at him. "You're right, for once. I do love you."

"As much as Arista loves Drake?"

"Well . . .I don't know about that," she teased, biting into her sandwich. "Maybe as much as I love this sandwich."

He rolled his eyes.

"Maybe as much as I love shopping."

"That's a start." He leaned his head back on her knee and resumed eating his sandwich.

"Okay. If some dark wizard nearly killed you, I'd go totally nuts on his arse and kick him all the way to hell. Is that what you wanted to hear, mister?"

He smiled slowly. "Actually, yeah. That's exactly what I wanted to hear." His hand crept up and clasped hers.

That was how Arista and Trish found them when they returned from the lab with the newly brewed antidote made from phoenix tears, dittany, and holy water.

* * * * * *

After Arista had administered the antidote, Drake seemed to rally, his color returned to normal, his fever broke, and he slid into a normal sleep, his breathing even and deep. By then it was three in the morning and everyone except Arista was practically asleep on their feet.

"Why don't you guys all go to sleep? I'm going to stay up a bit longer to make sure Drake's okay," she told them.

"The antidote worked, right?" Kit asked, amid a jaw-cracking yawn. "He's going to be all right now?"

"He should be. The phoenix tears neutralized the venom pretty quickly, as near as my healing sense can tell. All he needs now is rest, lots of it, and plenty of liquids when he wakes up." She gazed down at the sleeping Lockwood tenderly, brushing a strand of dark hair away from his face.

"You sure you're going to be all right?" Trish asked, darting a concerned look at her foster sister.

"Positive," Arista answered, giving Trish a false smile. The truth was, she was exhausted, but she knew she would not be able to rest unless she was near Drake. "Go, get to bed, all of you," she waved them off, settling herself in the recliner.

"Yes, Mother," Kit teased, then obeyed, springing up the stairs two at a time. He would sleep on the cushioned sleeping bag on the floor of the girls' bedroom, gallantly allowing Mel to sleep in Arista's bed.

After her friends had departed, Arista rose and placed a hand on Drake's forehead, running an unnecessary check on him with her healing touch. He was still deeply asleep, but the prognosis was good. With plenty of rest and liquids he would make a full recovery.

But it had been a near thing. No one but Arista knew how close she had come to losing Drake that night. If I had been a second slower in getting to him, or in brewing up that phoenix tear cure . . .she shivered suddenly. I couldn't bear to live in a world without you, Drake. You are the other half of me.
She bent and kissed him gently. "I love you, Drake. As my dad always said about my mom, you're the very best thing in my life."

Almost as if he had heard her, Drake smiled in his sleep.

Arista returned to the recliner, content to watch over her sleeping boyfriend. Comfrey appeared and jumped up on the couch, settling herself on Drake's feet, purring softly. The girl smiled at the gray cat. "You're keeping watch too, huh?" The gray cat winked at her and her purr deepened in answer.

The soft click of toenails on the hardwood floor announced Scout's arrival.

The great golden hound came into the den, paused to sniff Drake gently, then stretched out in front of the recliner, relaxed and alert at the same time.

Arista reached down and tickled her dog's ear, drawing comfort from her animals. "Okay. We'll all keep watch together," she murmured.

So they did, until Arista fell asleep somewhere around four-thirty, unable to keep awake any longer.

Hope you all liked the battle. Next up, Arista goes to hunt Wrackspur alone, with Scout to track!