CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
Dave's fingers were numb as he conjured a plasma bolt. It stayed in his hands, a dark blue ball of energy and light. Rachael watched his face carefully. There was no hint of emotion upon her own expression. Nothing to betray her feelings. How was Dave supposed to fight someone his sister when she didn't seem to have doubt herself?
"Make your move," she finally said.
He hesitated. "I…" He cut himself off. There was no way Rachael would let him back out of this, and he wouldn't allow himself to do so either. This really was the only way. But could he fire a plasma bolt at his own sister? He didn't like her, but there was a big difference between shooting a Morganian and shooting Rachael. She was the little girl who split cookies with him when there was only one left in the box. She was the one who dressed up as Dorothy for Halloween and let him be Toto. Years of memories flashed across his face.
Out of nowhere, something streaked the side of his face. Dave blinked. It only took a second to feel the searing pain on his cheek. The plasma bolt evaporated as his fingers flew up to his cheek to check whatever wound was inflicted. All he could feel was the warmth. It was like fire was biting at him. Dave winced and wondered how bad this looked. Levy's eyes were still large, but they somehow grew bigger when she flashed a glance at his face.
"Make your move, brother!" she screamed childishly, as if she were five.
Dave formed another plasma bolt. To his surprise, she waited. She stood silently like a statue. He didn't trust it.
The plasma bolt was released. It shot out at impossible speed and hit Rachael right in the chest. Dave watched incredulously. He couldn't believe Rachael didn't see that coming; why didn't she run away? She had enough time to dodge it.
Rachael, however, seemed unharmed by his attack. She twirled her fingers and small flames came out of the tips of her nails. A tiny fire spun like a burning tornado. Her hand eventually froze. The fire stayed. It had stopped spinning and was now a solid flame. Dave was briefly reminded of Horvath. He braced himself; to duck or to shield, he didn't know. But Rachael confused him again by dropping her hand and letting it stay at her side while the fire burned. Dave cursed mentally, realizing all he was accomplishing was watching her. He immediately conjured a shield. It rose in front of him. Rachael didn't seem to notice. She began to hum a familiar tune.
Dave's hands felt a little bit more lighter. He knew that song. It was the lullaby Mom had played for him when he was a baby. And she played it to him as he continued to have nightmares through his childish stages. It had been the same one his father had played when he was stuck in the box of sand and trapped inside of Dave's closet. The tune that rung out when he was half-conscious in the room Cyril had kept him in.
He made a large mistake. Rachael immediately threw up her hand. Something orange and red came at him. Dave held his breath and forced his shield to become stronger. It met with her attack and absorbed the flames, refusing to be destroyed. Dave exhaled. That had been a lucky shot.
Rachael still had her burning hand. Dave let his shield stay and used both hands to create twin plasma bolts. He didn't hesitate this time; he threw both at her as if he were shooting baseballs. Rachael dodged both of them easily. Dave cussed again. He should have memorized more spells! Or at least paid attention to Balthazar during training!
Seffner Wall! Dave looked up to see Rachael was trying to conjure more fire with her free hand. While she did that, Dave took the time to refresh his memory. He thought about all the nasty things he said, everything he should have told Becky, Becky herself, Balthazar and Veronica, Modessa, who had helped him… And he let go.
His mind as blank as clear air, Dave lifted up his fingers silently and slashed across the air. The walls weakly began to rise from the ground. He felt hope bloom in his chest as the Seffner Wall slowly constructed itself. He kept his mind clear, though. The walls were almost closing up…
But before they were complete, fire snapped at the walls. Rachael now held a long, thin wipe in her hand. It was full of embers, slowly streaking up and down. Dave watched miserably as the Seffner Wall fell. He got ahold of himself quite quickly; enough to construct another wall.
The walls raised themselves off the floor in a willowy way. Dave held his breath and prayed it'd work this time. Rachael was unaware of anything happening. She held the fiery wipe in a curled hand and ran the hand down; it scorched her skin and left brown-red marks over the white. Nausea rose in Dave's throat. He had no time to fret over that because the Seffner Wall was finally done. It had boxed her in perfectly. Dave dabbed at his sweaty forehead. He tentatively put a foot out as if to take a step. But when it touched the ground, Rachael began shrieking and hurling insults at him. Anger and fury danced in his mind, twin rages.
It's okay, he thought to himself. As long as she's in there, I don't have to worry.
Dave assumed an air of private assurance. He wanted his insane sister to know that he wasn't intimidated. There was a part of her that could see reality as it passed by in mere seconds, whereas the other half was stuck in a cold cell of emptiness. Dave didn't want Levy to know, however. She was frightened as if she were in hell, and he didn't need to add to that fear. Levy would start trembling if she saw his confidence; he knew she would've thought he was being too reckless.
He carefully walked over to the prison his sister was in. He was stuck now. The duel wasn't over. Dave could sense it. The feeling was running all over his body and the adrenaline in his veins weren't gone completely. Dave wondered how powerful Rachael was. Damien had trained her himself, and made sure she was educated in the Morganian arts. Of course, Dave never knew a single thing about their private lessons. He didn't even know how capable she was of using magic. Dave swiftly glanced at Levy, who was still chained to the column. Rachael was capable of kidnapping. She was capable of following orders of a man who didn't have one problem with killing Becky. Heck, Rachael didn't mind killing Dave, her blood brother. How much did he know his sister? What wasn't Rachael capable of?
Levy attempted to say something, but the magic sealed her lips. Not a single word escaped. Dave hurried over to her. He could now hear Rachael trying to get out; she was throwing plasma bolts. They made gauzy sounds, like an attack bouncing off a force field. Dave kept looking over his back while he made his way to Levy.
"She won't be in there forever," Dave said to the blonde. She nodded.
Dave's fingers worked to unbind her. It was difficult for him. The only thing he knew how to untie were his shoelaces. The steel and iron was heavy, and didn't want to be separated from Levy's wrists. Dave couldn't even pry them apart.
"These better not be resistant to magic," he mumbled as his fingers conjured a plasma bolt. He carefully lowered them to the chains—
A horrible scream penetrated his eardrums. Dave felt the plasma bolt leap from his grasp and hit the column above Levy's head. They both flinched.
"Sorry," he said, clearly abashed. He quickly turned to see Rachael with her fire whip, throwing it against the Seffner Wall.
"She won't be able to do any damage," Dave assured Levy. By the dreaded look on her face, he knew she was worried.
Dave found it surprisingly easy to make another plasma bolt while Rachael continued to fire her own bolts or lash her whip against the prison. He found it simple to erase all his thoughts and let his mind relax. Dave melted the chains on her wrists slowly, sort of smug he could do so. Dave couldn't wait till Balthazar…
He had forgotten about them. Dave felt a little guilty, but decided he could accept any punishment as soon as this was all over. Maybe Balthazar would be pleased, if not astonished, when he discovered his apprentice had beaten Rachael. Dave paused as Levy's chains were being destroyed; he had this strange feeling in his stomach. Like he wished for something. Dave bit down on his lip. He really wanted his uncle to be here. Cyril should have been here. He could have been finished off as well. It would be easy to kill them at the same time rather than do it at different intervals. Dave gulped, banishing the thoughts from his head. They were too dark for mundane thoughts. He really needed to go back to therapy. He mentally snorted. Like he would go back to that embarrassing place.
Her melted chains hit the floor with a large, metallic thud. He stood up, wiping at his pants. Dave happily held out his hand. Levy just stayed. Her bottom lip began to tremble. Her white hands flew to her throat. The blood there had dried a long time ago, and the tiny wound was beginning to close up. Dave didn't think that comforted the blonde girl before him, though.
"Hey," he said softly, "it's okay."
She made a sort of sobbing noise. Dave dropped to his knees and gently rubbed her shoulder.
"Were you scared?" he asked. What a stupid question, Dave realized a beat too late. But Levy didn't notice. A few tears trickled out of her eyes.
"It's gonna be all right, Levy. Trust me," he promised. Dave wrapped his arms around her and sung a melodic tune in her ear. It was the lullaby Damien had played for him long ago. He was shocked when his lips began to take to this song. Dave wondered if he still liked the lullaby, even if he hated his father. He gave up and continued to comfort the girl.
"I didn't help," she sobbed. "I'm so stupid, Dave. I should have left. I made so much trouble for you."
"Yeah, you did. But they were the true causes of it," Dave admitted. He was stunned to hear her; maybe the spell wore off? "It's all right. I don't care what you did. I just want you to be safe."
Levy opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
"How incredibly disgusting," a voice said, a sneer evident. "You would think a boy from a respecting Morganian family would be more dignified, but no. He's on the floor, cuddling with a girl."
He knew this voice. He could tell who this was miles away.
"Cyril," Dave murmured.
They both got up and whirled around to face the pale man. He wasn't smiling or even wearing the cold sneer Dave thought he'd be. Instead, his face was arranged into a hard mask, emotionless and empty. His features were too straight and too pointed, Dave thought. Like Rachael was during our short fight.
The heirloom was tucked under his arm.
"I will be the first to congratulate you, David," said the man. "I didn't expect you to get your sister like that. I thought Rachael would overpower you, but…"
"Cyril," Levy whispered. He could barely hear her. "He's got your heirloom."
"The family heirloom; it's not mine," Dave said. He wasn't paying a lot of attention to her. He was staring at Cyril.
"You're right. It doesn't deserve to be," Cyril snapped suddenly. "But you're a part of the clock's power, since it's for the Stutler sorcerers."
"What power?" Dave asked numbly. Up to this point, he had been feeling giddy and satisfied. Now he was completely frozen.
"The heirloom was something we all wanted. Sometimes, Morganians will travel in large covens, so to speak, or tight, small ones. A clan, if you will. These Morganians fight for dominance over certain regions, as some spots have major power sources," Cyril said matter-of-factly. He seemed unnerving. "Our sorcerers have wanted sources of power for quite some time. So a bunch of Stutlers gathered to one spot to create this clock. With the blood of four Stutlers who carry magic, the clock can be turned on and used to grab control over an area. However, we can't actually do anything to the civilians, if there are any. The clock gives power to those who have it, but protect the humans. I don't understand it, really. They're useless."
Four Stutlers. Exactly four. Rachael, Cyril…
"You said four," Levy whispered, as if reading his thoughts. "But there are only two. What about—"
"Damien," he cut her off. "Damien is alive and out of the box. He hasn't given his sample of blood, but will do so in time."
"Still not enough!" Rachael screamed from the inside of her own cage. "Still not enough for us!"
Cyril walked over to her and kicked the invisible wall. He snorted. "Seffner Wall? You picked that up from me, I see. I didn't think you would be able to make one."
"I got rid of Morgana," Dave said quietly, his voice as soft and light as feathers. "I beat my sister and constructed the Wall by myself. What don't you expect me to do, Uncle?"
"Magic's getting to your head," Cyril retorted, avoiding the question. "After I take your blood sample, I suppose I'll have to keep you somewhere remote and distant so the people will never lay eyes on you again." He paused. "Perhaps I could lock you inside a tower; I hear those are difficult to get out of."
"I'm not going anywhere," Dave said, pronouncing every word with steel. "And no way in hell am I letting you take my blood."
"Disrespectful," Cyril said with large eyes. "Very disrespectful."
"I'm sorry," Dave said with genuine honesty. "No way in hell am I letting you take my blood, Uncle. That any better?"
"Miserable brat," Cyril sighed. Something dark and eerie grew in his palm, like pure darkness swallowing someone whole. It only stayed in his hand, though. Cyril smashed his hand into the invisible Seffner Wall. Dave flinched as he heard the barrier shatter. Rachael stumbled out. Dave chocked as soon as he saw her. He had heard the attacks to break herself out, but he actually didn't think she would be physically hurt. Bile rose in his throat. Multiple scorch marks, bluish-purple bruises, and faint scars were evident on her bare skin. Her coat sleeves had been burned off and some of her pant leg had been destroyed. The evidence of her magic backfiring was all over her naked parts. He felt the urge to throw up, but held back.
"Uncle!" she shrieked. She jabbed a finger at Dave's spot. "Him! Kill him! Kill him!"
"Give me your blood first," Cyril ordered. "We need the clock to function."
Rachael threw off her tattered coat. He searched through a pocket and handed her a small knife. It was not large in size, but it was incredibly sharp. The teeth of the knife glistened under the brilliant lights of the chandelier.
Rachael slashed her palm. Dave frowned deeply; he didn't get it. Why would she do something like that? It had to hurt. Blood seeped through the cut. Rachael looked as if she was oblivious to the pouring amount of liquid. Did Dave imagine Cyril's tongue flicking out of the corner of his mouth? He didn't think so. Rachael dropped the blood into the vial. Cyril then opened the back of the clock. Dave could catch a few glittering lights inside. Was this the magic working the heirloom? He wasn't sure.
Cyril threw the contents on the vial inside. He then turned to face Dave, holding out the vial.
"Your choice: your blood willingly or forced," he said.
Dave didn't waste a minute. "No."
A spasm of anger rippled across his pale face. It twisted his eyes and mouth. He was grimacing in fury like the ugly, distorted face of an ancient Greek monster. Dave winced.
Without any warning, he snapped his fingers and transported them to an unknown place. Dave saw the dark sky and the pinprick of tiny stars. He could hear cars screeching and horns honking. Dave looked down to see a marble-gray floor and the thick stone structure that was a large square surrounded them. He realized they were on the roof of the temple. Dave was dizzy immediately.
"Last chance, nephew. Give me your blood. I only need a little—won't even hurt."
Dave did not believe him. He wouldn't have anyways.
"I said no."
"So be it then," he said quietly. He suddenly grabbed hold of Rachael's burnt arm. It tightened on one of the bruised spots, and she cried out in pain. Cyril dragged her to the side of the roof, and within a blink of an eye, he pushed her off the ledge. There was no scream. No sickening thud to indicate she'd hit the pavement below. Dave didn't even think she was dead.
Balthazar jumped, he thought. He had survived. Maybe Rachael did too.
But deep inside, he truly knew what happened to her. He didn't need any kind of proof to tell him Rachael had made contact with the ground.
"Why did you do that?" Levy asked, horrified. She raised a pale hand and covered her open mouth. It was set in shock.
"She was in the way. I wanted her to be more behaved; but she goes on to embarrass me and doesn't even bother to kill the girl," Cyril said, his voice sinking in volume. Dave noticed dark veins standing out on his frightfully white skin; weird, he had never seen them before.
"Am I in the way, Uncle?" Dave asked, sweetness staining his voice like honey.
"After I get your blood, yes, you will be."
"That's too bad," Dave said. He gave a sideways glance at Levy. "Will you tell Becky something for me?"
"What?" she asked warily, almost reluctantly. He ignored the unwillingness in her voice.
"If I don't get through this, like my fat head thought I would, will you tell them all I'm sorry? And tell Becky I love her?"
"Sappy, David," Cyril interjected. "But don't worry about messages; you can write letters to your friends in the cell you'll be in."
"I'll pass it along," Levy promised. She pat his hand once and then returned to her original position.
"Thanks. And sorry about…what happened at that mountain."
She nodded. Then, she was quiet; but only for a minute. Levy's lips parted. "Dave—"
She was thrown backwards by a magical force. Dave stumbled after her. Thankfully, Levy crashed into the short stone wall. It was better than falling. Dave whipped around. He formed a plasma bolt almost instantly, and shot it at his uncle's face.
It continued in a familiar pattern. Dave dodged, attacked, was shot at by Cyril, and he dodged once more.
It was the same pattern he and Rachael had followed.
What sort of events led up to this? Becky wondered. How could this have happened to Dave? More importantly, how could this have happened to him now?
Balthazar, Veronica, and herself had all hurried to get to the temple. They received a message from Modesty that Dave was planning to go there, and he was probably almost at his destination. They would have used magical transportation to get there, but it took a certain amount of energy. Veronica and Balthazar both needed that energy, so they got there by lesser means. Becky was expecting to see Dave running to the door, and hoped they'd be able to tackle him. However, it was not Dave they saw.
It was a man in plain, black clothes. He was tall and slender. When Becky had gotten a closer range, she realized that he looked oddly familiar to her.
It was his brown eyes that got Becky's attention. They were the same shape as Dave's, and had the same warmth. But the color was all off. It was lighter than Dave's beautiful, dark brown.
"Sir?" Becky asked. She wasn't sure if this was someone connected to Dave or if this man worked here.
"I've been waiting for you," he said. His voice was flat. "And for Balthazar."
She froze. "So you're one of them?" she asked apprehensively. Did he understand her question? That she was wondering if he were a Merlinian?
Balthazar had caught up to her. He wasn't gasping or wheezing like she had been a few minutes ago. Yet, his chest heaved up and down to rapidly, Becky couldn't pinpoint when the rise occurred. Veronica joined them shortly after. She pressed herself between the stranger and Balthazar.
"We need access to this temple. Are you an employee?" she asked in a somewhat demanding tone.
"No," the man answered. "I've been waiting for the two of you. I did not know a third would be joining us."
"Please answer my question," Becky said. "Are you a Morganian? Or, like them, a Merlinian?" She didn't care, really, if he were a Merlinian. She just wanted him out of the way so they could get into the temple. If he were indeed a Morganian, she wanted him finished.
"I'm not going to reply. I apologize, but there is something of greater importance at the moment. Or have you forgotten?"
So he knew! He knew about their goal! "I haven't forgotten anything!" Becky snapped at him. "Move, please. We need to get in immediately."
"Well, so do I. But perhaps this might stop you for a moment."
Veronica took Becky's hand and led her around the stranger. The man didn't bother to restrain them. Balthazar followed their lead. They started to pull on the doors. Then they jabbed to check for any locks or forms of resistance. Becky was tempted to kick them down, if she could, but something icy touched her shoulder. She could feel the coolness even with a thick jacket on.
Becky whipped around to see it was the man. Balthazar continued to work on the door while Veronica shoved his hand off her shoulder. In the farther distance, Becky could see a blur of moving figures.
"What do you think you're doing?" Veronica inquired.
"They won't open; the doors have been magically sealed shut," he said, avoiding the question. "And if you want to get inside, then you should listen to me."
"Why is that?" Balthazar asked, turning his head halfway. His hands were glowing while they held the handles of the doors.
Modesty, Modessa, and Rue eventually appeared.
"My name is Damien Stutler. My son is in there." His unfathomable eyes skirted up to the top of the temple. "And I believe he might be in a lot of trouble."