Hi, my dear readers,
Just before the old year comes to an end, here the next update. I hope, you all had merrily and peaceful Christmas-days and could enjoy dear ones, good food and the one or other gift. Busy like this I can understand that only one of you found time to leave a comment (*sigh*), and this after Wendy finally learned that James is still alive.
This chapter will a little bit eerie and is filled with mystic, so 'beware'. But there will be more: Wendy acts on her 'pirate-streak' and does something, Peter and Hook would be proud of (*snicker*).
Have fun
Love
Yours Lwhyn / Starflight
Chapter 46 – Dark Arts
Closing the door, Brynna Lunette placed the three-armed candelabra on the table in her special room. Lighting the torches at the walls, she barely spared a glance toward the cauldron that once belonged Mother Ludlam, brewing the potion for the Ashfords' cure. At the hot stove by a wall, she bent over one of the two pots that held the mixture that would open the portal again, and her most precious concoction, the elixir vitae. Peering into the bubbling reddish fluid, a rare smile cracked her wrinkled cheeks.
"Perfect," she whispered after checking the clock on one of the shelves. It was after three in the morning, and the planets Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn were in the right positions! She placed five candleholders on the table, lighting the candles. She removed the ribbon and pins that held her waist-long, iron grey hair and finger-combed it. Soon it would be black again! Glancing finally at her wrinkled hands, the age spots, the dry skin, she chuckled. The wrinkles, the white hair, the arching back and neck, the heavy limbs – all that would be history quite soon!
She took a silver pentagram with two halfmoons and a moonstone from the left pocket of her black dress and placed it by the other. She had always kept it as protection, an ancient symbol from the Greeks, supposedly representing 'the good' since medieval times. But it also was the symbol of the 'Daughter of the Moon' – a circle of witches. Lunette stared down at it. It was a gift from another 'wise woman' after she took the vow and was welcomed into the Circle. But she now despised those 'wise women' as weak, wasting their potential because of boundaries of the frivolous ethics they adopted, welcoming aging and a peaceful death. Fools!
Sneering, Brynna got a hammer from one of the shelves and weighed it in her hand. She was about to take the final step into the 'real' power she craved. Taking a deep breath and returning to the table, she said loudly, "Mother of Nature, Goddess of the Moon, for years I was thine obedient servant. Yet thou hast denied me a longer life and given it to a ridiculous boy who only wastes it. Thy so-called wisdom, thy goodness, thy power – they're weak and nothing compared to the strength of the Horned King whom I choose to serve. He shares his knowledge and his power with those who prove worthy – something thou wouldst never do! I abjure thee forever! Might thou fade away with the people's dying belief in thee!"
With those words, she swung the hammer forcefully, shattering the pentagram; the pieces flew in all directions; the silver and the moonstone no match against the blow. A frightening wail seemed to rise up in the air, dispersing, and made Lunette laugh. Unknown to her, the clouds in the night sky grew thicker. "Thine own fault, weakling! Once thou didst bear great power, but fades with every follower that turns from thee!"
She threw the hammer into a corner and took another pentagram from her pocket made of blackened tin with a ring connecting all five points: a pentacle. It looked like the other, but would not be used the same. Placing it on the table with one point down, it became the symbol of the goat. Now the array of the points resembling a goat's skull for a reason, with the two points upwards - the horns, the two on the side - the ears, and the one down - the goat's beard; the Horned King, master of darkness, greed, lust, chaos, destruction and death. Also known as the 'devil,' accuser, deceiver, and Father of Lies and originator of all evil in the world.
Arranging the candles again, so that now each of them stood at one of the five points, Lunette took the knife she had used on Peter and placed the sharp side of the blade in her left hand. "Horned King, master of the night, I pledge thee loyalty for all time and seal my vow with my blood!" She slid the blade across her palm and watched drops of her blood fall on the pentacle. Outside thunder split the night, the sound rumbling into the cellars. Something like wind breathed through the room. Lunette spread her arms and threw her head back. "Horned King, I will be your obedient servant my whole life. My power will be thine. Grant me the potion's might. Make me young again, and I can serve thee for many decades!"
She hung the tin pendant around her neck, holding it with her bloody hand. She felt heat coming from the dark stone in the middle of the pendant; the candles burned brighter. A chill crept through the room, a chill that had nothing to do with the weather; a wavering, slithering chiaroscuro moved along the walls and over the shelves, in the air about her she heard a rasping sigh of satisfaction, then another thunderclap.
Lunette opened her eyes. For a long moment they were pitch black, then they returned to their cold watery color. She was still old on the outside, but inside she was filled with a new power – cold and hot in one, it crawled beneath her skin and scorched in her veins. She felt high, as if she'd eaten the wrong mushrooms.
Wine … the blood of earth. She didn't need it. Another 'wine' was ready for her.
Taking a silver goblet from a shelf, she plunged it into the potion with Peter's blood, filling the vessel with the reddish fluid. Raising it to her lips, she concentrated on the increasing energy deep inside her. "Blood of eternal youth turned into Water of Life – release your power. Take away my years! Give me back my youth!" she prayed to her false god. With both hands she pressed the goblet against her dry lips and consumed the potion.
It tasted metallic of the boy's blood, sweet and harsh, and-
She felt the potion light a fire in her belly. In seconds the room began to spin around her, nerveless fingers dropped the empty goblet with a harsh clang. She steadied herself at the table. The burning in her stomach grew, spread though her limbs to her head, overtook her whole body with seething flames under her skin.
Brynna screamed in pain, lost her balance and fell against the table, then to the floor; cutting both her hands on the silvery splinters she'd left there. The bowl with the crystal ball crashed to the floor and splintered, the candelabra and the candleholders followed, still burning. Harsh laughter echoed in the room around her, as if enjoying her torture.
The heat increased in Lunette's body, while ten thousand tiny needles seemed to penetrate her everywhere. She screamed, tearing at her clothes. Hot – she was so hot! She needed something cool! She needed fresh air! She needed to get away from here!
She stumbled to her feet. She flung the door open and limped out of her 'laboratory.' Her pain and determination gave her the strength to climb the stairs, despite the pitch darkness around her. Shoving the door open that led to the entrance hall, she gasped as she finally became aware of the storm raging outside. Pressing her bloody hands against her throbbing temples she stumbled toward the entrance door. She had to get outside!
She screamed when she found the door locked. Fumbling in her pocket for the key ring, she somehow found the right one, and opened the door, dropping the keyring in the doorway. Gasping, she staggered out into the night, but only as far as the drive. Her knees buckled and she tumbled onto the pavement in a heap; trying to cling to sanity.
She couldn't hear anything! She couldn't see anything! She couldn't feel anything except for the fire inside her! Another scream escaped her, drowned by the next thunderclap, while the wind tore at her blackening hair and her gown …
… And aboard the Jolly Roger, Dark Owl moaned in his sleep loud enough to wake Nibs and a few of the pirates, as he saw an old woman lying on stones outside a large building and watched her through the eyes of an owl …
*** PP ***
Wendy, Hutchings, Bumblyn and Nissa watched from the darkness beneath the staircase as Lunette stumbled through the entrance hall and then out into the night. In the light of another flash they saw her falling from the top of the stair, where she writhed and squirmed.
"Remain here," Archie murmured, left the poor hiding place to follow her into the stormy night. The wind tore at the scholar's morning robe and hair. Hutchings pressed his lips into a firm line. Contrary to modern science which denied anything like magic, witchcraft existed. He knew of magic's effects – good and bad – and that the wicked storm was proof that dark arts had been employed.
He knelt beside the housekeeper, who gasped, screamed and trembled, and took her face in his hands. "Brynna, wha' 'ave ye done!?" he demanded. He got no answer, but the spasms which shook her grew more intense. He was beside himself. He knew the foolish old biddy had chosen the dark arts, but he'd been her acquaintance, her consultant for decades. And seeing her in this kind pain only made him frantic to help. "Brynna, tell me wha' t' do! I've no experience with y'r dark magic!"
He became aware that Wendy Darling had approached, holding the keyring.
She had followed the professor and now scowled down at Lunette. Wendy was a compassionate and caring person, but Dalton, his men and Lunette had squandered all sympathy in her. There was no pity in her for now, only alarm. "What's happening to her?" the girl asked while she pointed at the fallen housekeeper.
Hutchings looked down and gasped. In the light of the storm, he saw how Brynna's gray-white hair became darker and darker. It started at her head, where it was already black, and slid through the length of her locks like strokes from a careful painter, changing them back to the color of her youth.
"Dear Mary and Saint David!" the Welshman murmured, taking one of Lunette's hands in his own and lifting it in the bright light of another flash. The spots, the gnarled joints, the dry skin – all vanished, leaving a smooth, strong, youthful hand. "Ye fool of a woman," he growled. "Ye really did it! Such insanity – sellin' y'r soul to the devil t' chase the fleetin' youth agin."
"Professor!" Wendy's cry drew his attention to her outstretched left arm, pointing down the driveway. There, quite visible if not entirely corporeal, stood an old woman, clad in earth-tone tunic, a stola wrapped around her head and shoulders, a thick braid of white hair over her shoulder. Her wrinkled face was sad and angry as she peered at Lunette. "A-a-a ghost?" Wendy gasped. Her encounter with the ghosts in the Black Castle during her second stay in Neverland were … unpleasant.
The professor took a deep breath. "Nae, but I know her from drawin' I've seen. Mother Ludlam – her cave be near Waverly Abbey and …," he stopped. Mother Ludlam … The white witch with the magical cauldron she used to help. It was a large witch kettle sitting on a tri-legged frame. And down in Lunette's 'special room' was such a cauldron. Could it be that this…
A sudden screech interrupted Hutchings' memory. As he and Wendy turned to look at the tree, they saw an owl on the lowest branch. The night bird turned its head towards the image and made a noise they heard over the wind, and they watched the apparition smile sadly, then vanish. The owl turned its attention back to the three humans in the driveway. It watched them with large eyes, then glanced toward the manor and squeaked again. It sounded … like a warning?
A sudden patch of artificial light reached the driveway from the bedroom floor – a few of the manor's habitants had left their room. Hutchings realized that the owl had warned him and the girl, and so he pointed with his free hand. "Quick, go inside an' 'ide somewhere! They canna find ye 'ere," he said to Wendy.
"And you?"
"Dinna worry aboot me – run!"
Too shocked to question his advice, she had no other choice than to hasten back into the manor, where an unsettled Bumblyn and an even more nervous Nissa waited for her. "Quick, lady," the Brownie whispered. From upstairs Wendy could hear Dalton's voice, followed by others. With galloping heart, she dashed into the next hallway, hidden from the staircase, where she heard footsteps descending. Pressing herself into shadow, the girl waited, tense as a bowstring, Nissa and Bumblyn behind her.
"What's going on here?" Dalton's voice demanded as the electric light was switched on. "Who is out there?"
"Careful, Milord, let me go out first!" A Danish accent.
Peering from the shadows, Wendy saw the shadow of a man with a rifle, followed by others; and prayed that no one would think to enter this hall.
*** PP ***
Dalton Ashford and the others had been asleep when the storm woke them. Then they had heard the noises downstairs: a scream, then banging, possibly Bryanna Lunette. Everyone left their beds in haste, threw on robes over nightshirts and left their rooms They saw the front door open and someone outside. Getting his rifle, Anders made sure that there were no dangerous intruders. Warily, the Dane neared the open entrance door. Gun ready, he crossed the threshold and blinked as he saw Hutchings crouching beside another figure. The skies now opened, soaking the two figures. "Professor, what are you doing here?" he demanded, leaving the house.
Dalton and the others followed into the rain, examining the other lying on the drive. "Who is this?" he asked.
Hutchings shot him a glare. "Indeed? 'Ave a look, young man. I'm sure ye'll remember 'er!"
Carefully he turned the figure on her back and heard Ashford's sharp breath, "Brynna!"
"Aye, Brynna Lunette – as she usta look," Archibald growled. Another clap of thunder ripped the air; causing even the hunters to yelp. The rain increased.
Dalton knelt beside his old nanny; eyes full of wonder. The wrinkles were gone, the bags under her eyes had vanished, her grey brows were black again just like her long hair. Her décolletage was plump and smooth again, too. "My God!" he said, mouth going dry. "The potion from the boy's blood – it worked."
"To be sure. But ye don't know th' price she 'ad to pay fer it," Hutchings said over the sound of the storm. As Dalton looked at him, startled, rain dripping from his hair, Hutchings snorted, "Do ye really think that this 'ere is only the result of brewin' some potion? This be strong dark magic – and th' 'Orned King always demands payment for 'is 'services'."
"The Horned King?" Wickham asked, shivering from the wind and rain, robe useless in this weather.
"Satan, Lucifer, Beelzebub, Accuser, Deceiver – he's many names. Th' simplest is 'devil'," Archie answered, standing. All of the hunters were present except for Russell, still in his room, transforming. "Brynna Lunette made a deal with 'im. The thunderstorm, the wind, the shadows on the walls – what, d' y' think brot this on?"
"Bad weather?" Jackson suggested sarcastically.
"Fool! The 'Orned King was invited and got another servant – Brynna Lunette! And this 'ere," he made a broad gesture with both arms, "is the echo of 'is power." He looked at Dalton, who now crouched, holding her head against his shoulder, her eyes still closed. "She has moved toward certain doom. She took 'er fate inta 'er 'ands. Be cautious that ye dinna join 'er!" With those words he strode into the manor; angry that the woman gave into such deadly temptation. He couldn't see Wendy or either of the bogeys, but the maid was descending the stair in nightgown and morning robe; blond hair in a thick braid. Seeing the professor, she hastened toward him.
"Miss Darling made it back to her room," she told him quietly, then stopped at the threshold. Archie felt, despite his tension, the urge to smile; she'd used the chance to slip away while everyone was outdoors. Olivia watched the group outside, standing in what was now heavy rain. They parted to let the viscount through, carrying a young woman. She wore … one of Miss Lunette's dresses? Who …
Ashford saw the girl's wide eyes and hesitated a moment, thinking quickly. "This is Miss Lunette's daughter. She arrived earlier to visit her mother." He continued into the manor, "Brynna warned me that her daughter was a sleepwalker. Obviously she was right." The other men followed him inside.
Years later, Olivia was still unable to tell why, but she didn't believe a word he said. But she played along. "Shall I bring her some hot tea?"
Dalton gave her a dashing, insincere smile. "A very good idea, Olivia. I'll take her upstairs." Before ascending, he looked back. "By the way, that cold Brynna has been threatened with has finally driven her to bed. I think it would be better for you to avoid her rooms for a few days, so I'll get the tea when it's ready. Just so you don't catch that cold, as well."
She understood the message underneath the words: she wasn't to see Miss Lunette. Curtseying, she replied, "Yes, Milord." She watched him and the others climbing the stairs, Anders coming last at the door.
Frowning, Einar glanced at the lock. "Where is the key?" he asked the maid.
"I don't know, sir. Miss Lunette keeps it," Olivia answered casually.
"Well, then her daughter must have taken it with her to open the door, but now it's not here."
The girl shrugged. "Perhaps she still has it with her. You should ask the viscount, sir. I must make tea for Miss Lunette's daughter." Olivia turned, passing the open door that led down to the cellars. And she had to ask, What sleepwalker was able to steal a key and unlock a door? And why was the door to the cellars open? In a flash of insight, she had the answer to the riddle: The strange young woman with the black hair wasn't Lunette's daughter but the housekeeper herself! Somehow she had grown young again – and the sudden thunderstorm was an effect of the charm! She walked quickly to the kitchen.
"Magic! … A witch?" she whispered. Olivia was certain that the housekeeper played with magic – the dark arts. Could it be that Lunette was really a witch -
"Yes, she is," a tiny rough voice whispered from alongside the stove in the kitchen. Startled she jumped back, hand to her mouth. Looking down, she saw a tiny being, a little taller than her knee, a female. Long pointed ears, brown skin, large eyes … Olivia's heart beat in her throat as she realized that this had to be a member of the Little People …
Wait! Little People?
Nissa chuckled, feeling the maid's shock. "Not to fear you must," she said softly. "Nissa is a friend – a friend of the young lady, the magister and you." She tossed log into the stove and used the poker to direct it to the hot coals. Nissa sighed. It felt good to once again be a helper in a household: To help decent people. And Olivia was decent and honest, that much Nissa knew. "Nissa later will speak with you, when the dorcha bhiorach gets the tea for the witch who is now young again."
Olivia was still too perplexed to gather her thoughts, but those words reminded her of her purpose there. "So … the young woman with the black hair is really … Miss Lunette?"
The little creature – a Brownie, she assumed – nodded gravely. "Aye, 'tis her. And more is going on here – things you should know about to help Milady, Peter and Nissa's Master Jamie."
*** PP ***PP ***
'Master Jamie' was deeply asleep when his door was flung open and banged against the wall. The intruder was immediately facing a very alert Hook, pistol from under his pillow pointed at him. "Stop where you are!" he snarled, heart pounding, body tense.
"Iron-Hand, I am Dark Owl!" the voice said, while the two fairies and a drowsy pixie took to the air; their light illuminating the copper face of the brave.
With an oath, Hook replaced the weapon under his pillow. "Bilge and bywater, boy, I almost shot you!" he snapped.
"Told ya t' knock first!" the Oriental shouted from a distance, on night watch, but the young Indian entered the cabin.
"Iron-Hand, Dark Owl saw the witch – and Brave Feather. And a ghost!"
Hook was immediately out of the bed. "You saw Wendy?" he asked, "and Ashford's witch?"
The young seer confirmed with a nod. "There was a large stone tepee and the old witch ran out of it, but fell. An old man followed her along with Brave Feather. There was a storm, and then the witch became young. Her silver hair turned black, her face was smooth. It is the same young woman Dark Owl saw before."
"What about Wendy?" Hook demanded.
"She stood with the old man. And there was someone else – an old woman but … her body wasn't truly there. I could see through her. She stood near the tree where my animal spirit sat and watched Brave Feather, the old man and the witch. Dark Owl felt … anger, but also sadness. Then she vanished. After that, Dark Owl saw lights in the tepee and the shadows of men coming. He warned Brave Feather that others were coming. She heard him and ran back into the stone tepee. Then the others came – the white man with the grey eyes was with them. He carried the witch inside, then Dark Owl awoke."
James placed the pistol on the bedside table and listened intensely now. He was glad that Kailen lit a few of the candles. "You warned her? Then what?"
He took a deep breath and Hook realized that the brave was shaken. "The witch … she used the darkest energy. The thunderstorm was not normal."
"Not normal?" The captain cocked his head. "You think the storm was of dark magic?" he asked in a flash of insight.
"The cloak the wendigo wears is thunder and darkness – just like the storm Dark Owl saw in his vision. The wendigo is the demon of greed – of never-ending hunger for human flesh and souls. And those who align themselves to him will be wrapped in his cloak until all light has left them. The witch chose the worst way to be young. And everyone who is near her will be in danger when the wendigo comes one night to collect payment due for his favor."
Hook knew a thing or two about the Indian demons. He had learned a few things from Great Big Little Panther, yet he doubted that the wendigo was responsible for the weather over Surrey – that was, if Dark Owl's vision was accurate. He couldn't know that the Horned King and the wendigo were of similar appearance. Yet he took the seer's warning very seriously. Until now, everything Dark Owl had seen in visions were confirmed. "I have to get Wendy away from there!" he murmured. Looking toward the outside, he saw that it was still dark. "In the morning, Master Nibs will take me to Surrey. Then I'll take a few of my men and get our storyteller and Peter out of Ashford's clutches – his witch be dammed!" He frowned. "Did you see Peter?"
The brave shook his head. "No, Little White Eagle had no part in Dark Owl's vision."
Hook sighed. "I don't know what to think of that."
Tinker Bell spoke up and Kailen translated, "With you we come." He stood to his full mini height. "The ghost … the Old Mother it had to be. The viscount's witch has the cauldron that was stolen was belonged to the Old Mother – if Dark Owl's dreams are true. My pixie-brothers may help when learning where the cauldron was take."
Hook held back the protest. Having some of these greenish pranksters as help could be an advantage. No one really paid attention to them, because most people didn't believe in the Good Neighbors anymore. They and the two fairies could spy for him and his men, and carry messages to Wendy and Peter. Yes, these three might be a help.
"Agreed," he said. "Then we should try to get some sleep. We're going to need it." He clapped the brave on his shoulder. "Thank you for telling me everything, Dark Owl. I will need your help too, so please, prepare to come with us."
The young Indian nodded, then frowned. "Many will watch us. The palefaces wear different clothing than we do."
"There is no time for that now," Hook replied, then seeing a sleepy Nibs at the door, continued, "I'm sure our Master Nibs will think of another excuse for our appearance when we travel to Surrey in a few hours."
"You want what?" Nibs asked.
"You heard me. Go back to bed and be ready later, all of you. Good night!"
While the two fairies and the pixie returned to their makeshift beds, James knew that he wouldn't sleep. Not after all he'd just learned. 'If that witch really used black magic and released hell, then we have to get Wendy and our flying pest away from the manor immediately. And that hag! I've never harmed a woman, but I'm prepared to make an exception!'
Slipping into his red robe and pulling on a pair of socks, he lit some candles and chose one of the books Wendy had brought him, Moby Dick. Whaling was at least something more familiar to him than travelling around the world in under three months, or using a volcano to reach the planet's core. Looking for a distraction, he began to read, unaware that the coming day would be very different than what he'd planned.
*** PP ***PP ***
Dalton and Brynna were in her room, and Anders had closed the main door without locking it, also going upstairs. Hutchings took the rare opportunity to descend the unlocked door to the cellars, calculating that he would find the 'witch's kitchen' still open.
The way down was pitch. Hutchings found himself chilled in his damp clothes when he finally reached the bottom. A sliver of light through the open door to Lunette's 'special room' lit the way. Taking a deep breath, he crept toward it, and entered. He saw the destruction that had taken place here – the broken bowl and crystal ball, the overturned candelabra and candles, bits of silver smashed with a force, fragments of the moonstone, the hammer, the five candles on the floor, three still lit in the pentagram.
Approaching the table, Archie saw the Horned King's symbol, took it and turned it around so that it became a sign of protection again. "Begone!" he said loudly. "Ye're not welcome 'ere, Satan!" Then he took four of the five candles, and formed a simple cross with them on the table. Folding his hands, he began to pray, using the Name above every name. He could feel the air moving around him, and thought he heard a growl, but he ignored it and continued to pray. As he finished, the room was calm. Hutchings wasn't fooled. He knew that a sinister darkness still lurked.
Over there, he saw the cauldron which still held a potion. He took a closer look inside. It was made of hammered copper and seemed very old. Even older than the cauldron was the tripod that held it. And Archie was sure that he had seen it in one of the books of Surrey folklore. He suddenly gasped. It was really Mother Ludlam's cauldron! Somehow Lunette had gotten it and was using it for the Ashfords' cure. 'Ye'r not only became a full witch, ye're also a thief!' he thought, disgusted.
Turning, he looked into the two pots on the old stove. One held the reddish fluid and he rightly assumed was the rejuvenation potion Brynna from the boy's blood. His disgust turned to anger. He went to the shelves to get a goblet, then to the jar that held water, filled the goblet and consecrated it in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, transforming the fluid into holy water. Then he returned to the stove and emptied the goblet into the pot with the elixir vitae.
To his amazement, a cloud of smoke rose from the potion, crumbling around the pot as the mixture became thick and doughy, red changing to brown. The potion was curdling. "End of vanity!" he growled, then he turned towards the other pot in which a different potion brewed. He knew that one held the 'key' to the magical portal in Waverly Abbey.
He looked around for something he could collect it in. Should the boy need it to return to Neverland by using the portal, then the professor could provide him with the 'key.' Additionally, there was still the matter of the heavy dragon egg. Should nothing else work, Hutchings could use the portal for the egg (or the hatched dragonling) and himself. He didn't know what might happen next, but he would make sure that the young dragon would return to its parents, even if he had to give his life to get it back.
He had just found a few empty bottles with corks and turned toward the container of 'key-potion' when he heard someone descending the stair and approaching the door. He quickly abandoned the shelves and turned to the dragon egg that was still perched between the heated briquettes. Taking a few new briquettes with tongs that hung beside the fireplace, he placed them into the fire to heat them for the nest around the dragon egg. This would be his excuse for being here.
"Professor, what are you doing here?" The cool cultivated voice could only belong to Dalton.
"Milord, I thought I should be certain tha' the egg was bein' kept warm," he replied, putting the tongs aside and turning around. He met Ashford's eyes, which were piercing, but Archie's were unwavering.
Finally the viscount looked around the normally neat room. He grimaced when he saw the chaos. "What happened here?" he asked, picking at the pieces.
"Brynna's reaction ter th' results of 'er pledge o' loyalty to th' 'Orned King, I assume." Hutchings replied. He stepped to the table and glanced down, while Ashford stopped beside him.
"Is this your work?" he asked, pointing at the four candleholders and the pentagram.
"Aye!" Archibald confirmed. "Th' five on th' points of th' symbol of th 'Orned King. So I created a cross an' turned th' star back to its original meanin': Protection against evil. When I banned the shadows, th' atmosphere reacted, now everythin's quiet again down 'ere." He shook his head. "Brynna's played wi' powers she canna calculate. She knew tha', yet the temptation was too strong."
Dalton stared at him, realizing one thing: "You weren't here with her when this happened, but … where were you exactly?" His eyes narrowed. "Why are you out of bed even before this … this misery began?"
The older man gave him a tired smile. It really was good that he already invented an excuse, so it came easily over his lips. "I was 'ungry and 'ad gone into th' kitchen fer a snack."
A crease appeared between the viscount's brows. "Nothing on the sideboard in the hallway?" The older man shook his head. "That seems very unlikely. When guests are in the house, there are always snacks and drinks ready even during the night. It's been common courtesy for more than fifteen years."
"Nae be angry with th' maid, Milord. Ye sent all y'r servants away an' th' girl only 'as two 'ands she already uses 'em from early mornin' 'til late evenin' t' keep the lives of seven men an' one young lady comfortable. An' 'til now there was no need for those nighttime snacks, But since Brynna decided t' keep me unconscious, I thought it better t' get me own meals wit'out y'r lady's special seasoning. That's the reason f'r me sneakin' into th' kitchen. Th' girl is no' t' be blamed."
Crossing his arms, Dalton made a sour face, looking around at the broken bowl and the smashed crystal ball – a waste. Such crystal balls were handy from time to time. Then he grimaced as he thought of the professor's words. Hutchings might be naïve, but no fool, so Ashford was not obliged to deny the sleeping drops. Instead he said, "I'm sorry that you feel Brynna tried to poison you, but-"
"No, nah poison me, only keep me asleep – especially w' strangers visitin' th' manor, like th' Darlin's. It seems ye don' want 'em to know certain things. Things I might give away, so ye agreed t' keep me out o' th' way." He took one of the candles. "And I hope y'r not considerin' more drastic methods fer keepin' me silent when this 'ole 'orrific episode is over. I still have a job at the university and students waitin' for me shortly after th' 'olidays. An' as I already tol' Brynna, I took measures in case I don' return in time, so be warned. If somethin' happens t' me, ye'll 'ave th' police in th' manor faster than y' can phone yer father for help."
With those words, he plopped a few of the glowing new briquettes around the egg and left; leaving an irritated viscount in the witch's kitchen.
*** PP *** PP ***
Wendy returned to her room and quickly hid the keys beneath the heap of pillows on her bed, then toweled her hair with her robe. Then she started to braid it, concealing her quick jaunt out into the storm.
"Use that I must," Bumblyn said, pointing at the robe.
"For?" Wendy asked, listening for approaching steps outside the door.
"Drying rain drops that Miss left b'hind," the Hobgoblin whispered.
"Oh!" In her haste to get back to the room unseen, the girl had forgotten this detail. She gave him a scarf from the wardrobe. "Here, it's smaller."
Bumblyn nodded, sneaking a look into the hallway, and slipped out. Wendy threw her dressing gown over the back of the chair near the fireplace, then quickly finished braiding her rain-damp hair in case someone checked on her. Her thoughts circled around one topic: James Hook.
James was alive – the dragon scale she gave him caught the bullet and saved his life! She thanked the Lord and all angels in heaven that the man she loved was still among the living. And living he must remain!
The bogey appeared, grinning. "All dry," he whispered. They closed the door, hung the scarf in the wardrobe, and then she switched off her lamp. She knew that Dalton or someone else would look in on her after the tumult downstairs, so she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep, listening to the heavy rain clattering against her window and the still lasting thunders. She felt Bumblyn climbing onto the bed on the other side and hiding beneath the blanket and comforter, his back against hers.
She had lain there for several minutes before she heard the door being tested and then opened. Breathing deeply and evenly, she listened as someone entered the room, lit the lamp on the nightstand and watched her, only to switch off the lamp and leave after a minute. "It was the dorcha bhiorach," Bumblyn murmured as the door was closed again, crawling out from under the blanket.
"I know," Wendy murmured and sat up. "I could smell him. We'll let him wonder about the unlocked door. I think his main concern is Lunette just now. And this will allow us to leave later." She fingered the keys under the pillows and smiled.
"Why not now?" he asked.
"Because Dalton's car is quite large and … well, I don't dare drive such a thing through a thunderstorm at night." She lay down again. "As soon as the weather calms a bit, we're leaving. Cross your fingers that the key to the motorcar is among these."
*** PP *** PP ***
The thunderstorm ceased only slowly its raging. After Hutchings had prayed to ban the evil, the storm had lessened, but there was still lightning, wind, thunders and rain.
It was almost five o'clock in the morning when Nissa slipped into the guestroom and spoke with Bumblyn, who shook Wendy awake. "Asleep all are," the Brownie whispered. "All save the magister. Dozing he does in his room, but too stirred for slumber he is."
Wendy went to the window. More rain. Occasional lightning. She made a face, but this wouldn't stop her. She had to get back to London before James tried to 'rescue' her, or he really could get killed this time. The thought came to her that when she was in Neverland the first time, it had been Hook who had been ruthless and murderous. Now a man of the aristocracy had become the villain, and the pirate was the hero! She knew James Hook would never be a saint – she didn't want that, for she loved him just like he was. But he had principles Dalton Ashford would never know. Good form and honor were two of them, compassion and empathy were two more, all so important to her.
"What about Dalton or Lunette?" Wendy asked, slipping into skirt, blouse, jacket and coat.
"The dorcha bhiorach sleeps beside the witch's bed, she still unaware," Nissa added, then grinned broadly. "The luck of the Brownies that the master sleeps in the witch's room. Otherwise Nissa wouldn't have gotten this." She opened her gnarled fingers revealing a key – a motorcar key.
Wendy gasped. "Is this…" she began, and the little one nodded, satisfied.
"Aye, use this to make the horseless coach run, the key of the Fulsom-boy or the dorcha bhiorach."
Taking the key, Wendy placed a kiss on the Brownie's wrinkled cheek. "Thank you, Nissa. Without this key I could get nowhere."
"The key to freedom, one could say," Bumblyn chuckled and winked at the Brownie, who winked back. She went to the door, slipped out and returned a few moments later with two books. "This Nissa could get away from his room, too."
One glance was enough to tell Wendy what she had brought. "My diaries!" she whispered and would have cheered, but kept silent, eyes shining, receiving them. "Thank you!" she said quietly and with so much relief that the two house sprites had to smile. "I feel so bad, leaving you behind, Nissa. Come with Bumblyn and me," Wendy continued, retrieving the satchel her mother had left, and slipped the two books into it.
"Lived here Nissa has for over two centuries – and the young lady and Master Jamie's return is what she waits for. And she's to watch out for the magister and the dragonling. Needed here I am, so go, both of you." Bravely she straightened to her full tiny height.
The girl had shaken out her dry hair and now bound it in a pony tail and sighed, "We will return to defeat the villain, rescue the professor, the dragonling and you, and then we'll take you with us back to Neverland," the storyteller told her. "That is, if we find Peter before then." She returned to the bed, took the ring with the keys from under the pillows and arranged the cushions beneath the comforter so that her absence would not immediately be recognized. "What about the front door? Is it still open?"
"Barricade it the man from the North did. You use the door to the gardens in the kitchen," Nissa told her.
"Good idea," she whispered and wound a veil around her head, fixing her hat with it. Slinging the satchel over one shoulder, her boots in her left hand and a candle in her right, she left in stocking feet, Bumblyn following her.
Creeping down the hallway, Wendy looked up, only to sigh soundlessly, recognizing the professor, with a coat over his damp robe. "Yer leavin'," he whispered when he reached her. "Do take care. The weather's still bad." He pulled a wallet from his coat pocket. "'Ere, ye're goin' to need this," he said, handing it to her.
Wendy's eyes widened. "Professor, I can't take your money!"
He shook his head and smiled, "Motorcars need petrol an' we don' know how much is in th' tank." From his other pocket he pulled out a flashlight. "And ye need also one o' these t' open th' gates and start th' machine." He shoved the wallet into Wendy's satchel and then gestured to the stair. "Quick now. Th' others'll awaken soon an' we don' want t' be meetin' them."
She shook her head, handed Nissa the candle and descended the stair the second time that night; scholar, Brownie and Hobgoblin on her heels. Moments later they were in the warm kitchen, where Wendy slipped on her ankle boots, Hutchings unlocked the door that led to the gardens, garage and stables, and they all exited. Damp wind welcomed them. Then Wendy saw the lorry was parked beside the garage. Questioningly, she looked up at Hutchings.
"Ashford rented it so tha' we could all drive to Waverly Abbey," he murmured.
"Dalton could use it to follow me. And he could easily guess my destination."
"We can prevent tha'," he told her, smirking. He walked to the lorry and removed the crank lever, handing it to Nissa. "Now they canna start th' lorry," he chuckled. Wendy snorted, choking back a laugh. He winked at her. "Th' more complicated th' machine, th' easier 'tis t' shut it doon." The flashlight was used, the lock opened, the doors opened without a squeak - the Ashfords' servants were very dutiful, keeping the hinges oiled
"Loose th' 'and brake, an' we'll push it doon th' drive where I'll open the gates," Hutchings whispered. "If we start it up 'ere, everyone in th' manor'll know what we're up to."
Wendy nodded. "Thank you, Professor," she murmured, grateful he was thinking ahead, and placing Bumblyn into the driver seat. The little Hobgoblin's eyes grew wide. "Bumblyn, when I say right or left, pull on that side of the steering wheel, alright?" she said quietly.
He looked quite alarmed, but nodded jerkily. "Bumblyn shall…" He gulped, tail wrapped about his waist and ears down. "The wheel is so-o-o big."
"You'll do fine," Wendy reassured him. "Remember how you fought the harpy in James' cabin that time?"
Bumblyn moaned. He didn't want to think of that awful battle, yet he bent and gripped the wheel with both hands. His fingers were barely long enough to surround the broad steering wheel.
"Righ'. On three," Hutchings murmured, and the two of them put hands on the rear of the car. "One, two, three!" Together they forced the vehicle out of the garage and Wendy jogged back to the driver's seat to engage the hand brake once outside. Hutchings closed the doors of the garage again, Wendy took the lorry's crank lever from Nissa. "I'll take this with me. Dalton can sort out on his own how to tell the rental office that he needs a new crank."
Nissa grinned, remembering her many pranks as a young Brownie.
"Stay hidden, won't you?" Wendy murmured, touching Nissa's crinkled cheek.
"Aye," the Brownie nodded, then she whispered, "They na see me yet. When the Wendy-lady is speaking with Master Jamie about Nissa, no fear. He won't remember me. Removing myself from his memories I did, when I warned him of Ashford's henchmen waiting for him here. Not leaving without me he wanted, so I … I made him forget me." She dropped her eyes.
"Oh Nissa," Wendy whispered, quickly pressing a kiss on the Brownie's forehead. "I will tell him everything and even if he doesn't remember you, he will be grateful for what you did – not only now but then, two hundred years ago." She straightened. "Cross your fingers and say your prayers that I will make it to London." Then she tossed the extra crank on the floor by the driver's seat and helped Hutchings push the heavy motorcar down the driveway, after releasing the hand brake. She braked again before they bumped the wrought iron. The rain had started again, and Hutchings was wet to the skin when he took the key from Wendy, as well as the flashlight, finding the one that fit, and unlocked the gate.
Unlike today, where the turn of a key and the internal starter can get us going, in 1909, it was more complicated. Handbrake on, gears in neutral, Wendy showed Bumblyn the choke that was near the right front fender, telling him, "When I'm say 'now', pull this thing out, okay?"
The little Hobgoblin gulped and nodded. Going to the front, she called, "Now!" while taking the crank in both hands. She turned it one full rotation clockwise the moment Bumblyn pulled the choke, then she ran back and turned key in the ignition. Grumbling smoothly, the motor sprang to life. "Hop in the other seat," she told her tiny friend. "You did well, Bumblyn!"
The Hobgoblin gave her a brave smile. This was far too big and foreign for him, but had he another choice? He had to follow his human friend and if it meant to sit in this noisy, stinking, unnatural thing, so be it. And hadn't he already ridden in the lorry?
"Drive carefully, Miss Darlin'," Hutchings said. "Th' road is unpaved an' certainly slip'ry."
"Indeed, Professor, and thank you for all your help! Call us when the dragonling is about to hatch. George Darling, Bloomsbury, London. Whoever answers the call, tell them 'the bird is flying' and we'll know what it means. Then we come and get you both out." She smiled at him and sat back in the driver seat. "Keep the flashlight," she said. "I can use the vehicle's lights."
He waved. "Thank ye. Please give m' sincere apologizes t' Capt'n 'Ook. I nivver would'a taken part in this operation if I'da known th' truth earlier."
"Honestly, Professor," she chuckled over the sound of the motor, "James is rather careless on his own often enough, so he certainly can't blame others when they act the same way." She winked at the professor, then she released the hand brake, engaged the first gear and carefully stepped on the gas pedal, simultaneously releasing the clutch. Miraculously, the Austin Landaulette moved forward without jerking. Cautiously, Wendy steered it through the gates and down the private road, while behind her Hutching locked the gates and threw the keys over them on the small drive-road where they landed in a puddle. Only when she reached the main road did she dare to switch on the motorcar's headlamps. Turning the heavy steering wheel left, she was relieved to find she could move the heavy motorcar with some effort, but correctly.
Taking a deep breath, she drove the large, unfamiliar machine along the road through the woods down the hill, experimenting with the gears as she had seen her father do. After the thunderstorm, the unpaved road was slick. Wendy fixed her concentration on the strange road, while rain still splattered the windscreen, headlights illuminating the way only poorly. But she had a job to do – reach London – and nothing would stop her now!
TBC…
Yes, Wendy escaped on her own by stealing Dalton's motorcar. Ha, if this isn't a 'pirate-thing', *grin*. Right, to drive with not so much practice is certainly a risk, especially when you consider the weather and the muddy roads, but Wendy Darling isn't to stop if she has a task to fulfil, and in this case it is to get to London before James tries something 'foolish' like coming to the manor. Her escape will have a big effect on the manor's current inhabitants, as you can certainly imagine.
Lunette applied herself to the dark arts, and – just as Hutchings pointed out – this always will come with a price. Just wait! And Oliva met Nissa – a team on it own now. And, to make the mystical part complete, Tinker Bell flew to Kensington Gardens to get help from the fairy-court.
In the next chapter you'll learn how Wendy will get to London, Tinker Bell arrives at the fairy-court, George Darling learns of Wendy's call, Smee faces another 'horror-trip' (he will be driven back to the ship by Mary), Peter is forced into the orphanage's daily routine and Victoria finds the article about a certain pirate-captain in The Times, what makes her realizing one important thing: Wendy's stories are true, and Vicky simply knows that her friend needs help, so she acts on it.
I hope, you liked the new chapter. I know, in the beginning it was a little bit eerie, but it had to be like this. Hutching's attempt to delete the most threats in the witch kitchen, Dalton and him confronting each other, Wendy's escape… There was a lot going on. Like always, I look forward to get some feedback, so please – please! – leave some comments.
Now I wish you all fun at New Year's Eve, and for later a Happy New Year.
Love
Yours Lywhn / Starflight