Chapter Thirty-One: Oh, Maleficent One!

  Wesley held his breath as he watched his father become a beast.

  Within seconds of his father’s hand touching the shadow being, he became fully enshrouded by it. Like a thick set of transparent armor. Except when his father began to move, he became obscured, as if staring through a crystalline glass.

  He looked more like a demon than a man.

  Then he leapt at the Nocturne, who’d been toying with Godfrey. He hit the man hard and flung him against the wall before following it up by grabbing him and pushing him into the stone. It was an odd thing to watch because his father’s hands were about a foot away from where he appeared to be holding the Nocturne.

  “You fool!” the Nocturne cried. “What have you done? Why–”

  His father slammed him back into the stone so hard the castle shook.

  “Wesely!” Esther cried once more.

  Not-Merlin had found himself a wand somehow, covered in dust and blood, and was shooting sparks from it like he’d done with Wesley’s outside his cave. The hall had slowly begun to fill with Templars, dressed in armor, their weapons gleaming. But they had obviously been given no direction and with Mercia dead, and most of the other council members either dead or hiding, they didn’t know who to attack.

  “Kill them all!” Belaric shouted, rising from behind a huge chunk of stone. “Destroy them!” He pointed a crooked finger. “Let–”

  Not-Merlin pointed his wand at Belaric and said, “Silence!” The old man’s mouth snapped shut mid-sentence. “Dance!”

  He broke out into some kind of messy two-step while Not-Merlin cackled.

  The Templars charged him, to which he only frowned. Then he raised his wand again, and dozens of little skulls poured out of it, bouncing off the stone floor and flying high above the confused men.

  Then the skulls opened their mouths and began to scream. It wasn’t terribly loud, nor was it that annoying, just simply creepy. An eerie sound like that of an otherworldly wail. But what happened next was far worse.

  They began to attack the men, biting and chewing with suddenly ferociously sharp teeth. The men began to scream.

  Wesley set Cece down on the ground, pointing his wand at Not-Merlin.

  His spell was then interrupted by the Nocturne, who flew over his head, just barely missing him, to land among the skulls and Templars.

  Wesley’s father followed his prey like a man possessed. Which was exactly what he was.

  As he passed them, he glanced at Not-Merlin, who cocked his head sideways and said, “Nice day for it.”

  Wesley’s father didn’t respond, only turning to find the Nocturne among the tortured massacre happening before them. When he did find the man, fighting about ten of the skulls nipping at his limbs, he leapt in after him and their fight ensued.

  For the life of him, he could not see a mark on either of them.

  “Interesting,” Not-Merlin said, and without pause, shot a spell at Wesley.

  It was a powerful, if not erratic, thing. But it died when it hit Wesley’s shield. Not-Merlin nodded, as if to a game well-played.

  “You are full of surprises,” he said, bowing slightly.

  As he did so, his body obscured the flick of his wand. Wesley’s shield exploded this time, and he was flung upward.

  A week prior and he probably would have been knocked unconscious, but because his body was now changed because of the werewolf cut, he managed to control himself enough to turn in midair and land on all fours among some rubble.

  When he rose, he found that Godfrey was engaging him, blocking spells with his blade. They were caught in a kind of stalemate, moving around each other. But where Godfrey was serious and intent, Not-Merlin was giggling while he shot spell after spell at the man.

  Esther, for her part, picked up a long spear that had been dropped by one of the guards, and was creeping behind Not-Merlin, her body taut and feline. She was a cat who’d spied her mouse.

  It was chaos.

  Wesley knew he needed to help his father, but he wasn’t certain the being wouldn’t just toss him like a rag doll into the wall.

  He had to take the Not-Merlin out before he could open a portal to Avalon or do anything else that would assist the Nocturne. On accident or otherwise.

  So, in a split-second decision, he ran at Not-Merlin, raising his wand, “Oriri!”

  The spell hit the man dead center in the chest and picked him off the ground, sending him high into the air. To Wesley’s dismay, he hit the ceiling instead of sailing through the huge hole and into the storm. The wand fell from Not-Merlin’s grasp as he struggled against the spell, wriggling like a fish out of water.

  Godfrey looked at Wesley, surprised and angry. “The Nocturne!” he shouted. “Kill him if you can!”

  Not very cordial, is it, Wesley? The Nocturne’s voice said, ringing in his ears.

  Wesley found them among the tumult. The Nocturne struck Wesley’s father twice in the chest, doubling him over, and then threw him bodily out a stained-glass window.

  His father did not scream or yell, just simply disappeared into the dark beyond.

  Then, the Nocturne turned, raised his naked hand, and made a fist. The weight that hit Wesley felt like a two-ton brick. The invisible force slammed him to the ground. He tried to roll over or even turn his head, but it was like he was trapped by a giant blanket.

  The night became quiet.

  Though there were the groans of the injured and the cries of the dying, all fighting had ceased. Invisible hands flipped Wesley onto his back, where he was able to watch Not-Merlin struggle against the ceiling.

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  The Nocturne came into view, his glowing eyes amused. “Now, now, Wesley, you mustn't struggle. It isn't good manners. Don’t you know you’re beat?”

  Wesley couldn’t speak, so he settled on a glare.

  “Valiant efforts. You almost got Merlin out of here, too. Just bad luck, I think.” His eyes twinkled. “Or fate.”

  He moved on to Esther, who’d been held just a couple meters away. “Your father almost killed me,” he told her. “Came about as close as anyone has besides Lord Barstow.” He paused, considering her. “But I didn’t kill him.”

  The Nocturne walked away from her to stand beneath Not-Merlin. “Time to come down, my friend,” he called.

  Slowly, like a balloon losing air, Not-Merlin descended to the ground. When at last he regained his feet, he was not smiling. He blew past the Nocturne and stopped over Wesley. Looking around, he snatched the wand from his grip.

  “That was not fun,” he said angrily. “I think you–”

  “Enough,” the Nocturne said. “We’ve little time, my friend. I’ve freed you from your cage. Now, take us to Avalon.”

  Not-Merlin blinked hard twice, annoyed. Turning, he said, “Why would I do that? I like it here. I like it–”

  The Nocturne snapped his fingers and Not-Merlin was slammed down to his knees. He looked around, not in pain, but simply in confusion as to what had happened. He tried to rise but couldn’t and frowned.

  “Do I have your attention?” the Nocturne asked.

  “For now,” Not-Merlin replied, studying his new captor.

  “Do you not wish to return to Avalon?”

  Not-Merlin wrinkled his nose. “My brother is in Avalon. I don’t much like him, you see. Bit of a pest.”

  A vein bulged in the Nocturne’s neck. “I’ll help you kill him.”

  “Kill him?” Not-Merlin mused. “I don’t think so. Then I’d have to kill you.”

  The Nocturne’s dark face frowned tightly at the surprising bit of loyalty. “Then what is it you want?”

  Not-Merlin bobbed his head, considering. “This world, perhaps. ”

  “Then you leave me with no choice.” The Nocturne conjured a vial out of thin air. It was a dark substance, bubbling and glowing ever so slightly, as if illuminated from the inside. “I read somewhere that this is the only thing that can kill a being like you.”

  Not-Merlin’s face darkened. “Did you read that? Or did a little birdie tell you?”

  The Nocturne shrugged. “Would you like to reconsider?”

  “I can see your doom in the edges of your eyes…” Not-Merlin said quietly, his voice suddenly haunted. “It calls to me with a wicked voice. I have seen your death now. And I know what kills you.”

  The Nocturne froze, taken aback by the statement. Then he took a step forward, “You will not allow yourself to die. Someone as self-preserving as you. The only cure is back in your homeland. Shall we go together?”

  Not-Merlin seemed to consider it. “Perhaps I will take you. Then you can distract my brother while I destroy his little kingdom. That would be entertaining.”

  The Nocturne stepped up to Not-Merlin and went to pull his head back.

  But he found his hand caught by Not-Merlin’s. A mild bit of shock registered in the Nocturne’s glowing eyes.

  “Impressive,” he said mildly. “But you’ll need to do better than that.”

  The Nocturne slammed his forearm onto Not-Merlin’s shoulder, literally cracking the stone beneath the man.

  Not-Merlin let out a low groan of pain and keeled over.

  The Nocturne bent and poured the bubbling liquid into the man’s mouth. It whistled lightly as it touched skin.

  Not-Merlin writhed for only a few seconds before crying out, “You bastard!”

  “That’s better,” the Nocturne said. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  Wesley felt his toe twitch. Which was odd because the rest of his body couldn’t move. Then his finger twitched. He knew what it was. The Nocturne was distracted, his concentration waning because he was within finger breadths of his goal.

  They were all but fodder to him now.

  Then an idea came to Wesley that was crazy. It was stupid. But it might just work. It wasn’t just that the spell on him was losing its juice, it's that Wesley was slowly soaking up some of the energy. He could imbue things with power. Such was his innate gift. So, the question was, could he imbue a spell that was acting on him.

  His guess was yes.

  And he had nothing to lose.

  It was like riding a bike at this point. A bike whose wheels were off center and square shaped instead of round. In essence, it was still not easy, but he knew the general idea. It was a transfer of power through his body.

  Still staring at the ceiling, ignoring the Nocturne and his new victim from the corner of his eye, Wesley drew on his power. He felt it flow through the ley lines of his body, through his muscles, and through the very fibers of being.

  It was a game of tug-o-war within himself.

  A full minute of struggle before he felt the dam begin to break. He was worried the change in the spell would alert the Nocturne, but the man didn’t move. He was still watching his poison take effect.

  So, Wesley poured it on. It was like gasoline on a fire. His fingertips became warm. His eyes shaded an odd color of deep maroon.

  Then, in a moment of utter gut wrenching pressure, Wesley found himself on his feet, flung up by an unseen hand.

  The Nocturne, on the other hand, had been pressed hard to the ground with such force he’d turned several bits of stone rubble to dust.

  Wesley made sure he wasn’t able to rise before he turned to Esther and the others, lifting the spell off them.

  The vampire wasted no time, she took her spear and strode toward the Nocturne. She whipped it around and drove it hard at the Nocturne’s chest.

  He caught it.

  The bloody damn Nocturne caught the shaft of the spear and held it there, mere centimeters from his skin.

  “Help me!” she yelled, her whole body straining to sink the spear.

  Wesley ran over and grabbed hold, pushing it down further, till the tip just barely entered his skin.

  It didn’t go down any further.

  Godfrey and the big knight rose too, shaking off the Nocturne’s spell but were too slow. The shaft of the spear began to slip from their grips as he pushed them away. And when he got his second hand on the shaft, he snapped it like a piece of kindling and climbed to his feet.

  “Very clever, Wesley,” the Nocturne said. “You have proved yourself most impressively. I think I’ll keep you.” His eyes snapped to Esther. “Not you. Sorry.”

  They went hand to hand. Esther lasted ten seconds before he got his hands on her and tossed her like a child over his shoulder.

  The Nocturne grinned at him. “It's all coming together.”

  Wesley felt his shoulders slump. For him, it was all unraveling in an incredible fashion. Then…he blinked, looking over the Nocturne’s shoulder, to where Esther had landed.

  His mouth fell open.

  The Nocturne was about to say something, but at Wesley’s expression, he turned too.

  A portal had opened, and beyond it, a land of purest, almost mystical green pastures and trees.

  The Nocturne, like Wesley, was struck into silence.

  Esther had land, and lay unmoving, in the portal, in a clump of grass. Not-Merlin was limping towards it.

  He didn’t make it. The Nocturne launched himself forward and caught the man, holding him still.

  “Wesley, if you please,” he said, nodding towards the portal. “I need to be sure our friend here doesn’t have any traps set for me.”

  “I–” Wesley started.

  The Nocturne raised his hand and a bolt of red lightning exploded a hair’s breadth from Esther’s head.

  “Now.”

  Wesley did as he was told. A cold, almost frigid air brushed over him as he stepped through the portal. Power like he’d never felt washed over him. It was as though he breathed magick in with each breath. The colors seemed clearer. The scents were more crisp.

  He half expected to be gored by some magical beast, but no such thing happened. It really was just a field. In the far distance, he could see a castle on a high ridge. Snow-capped mountains above it. Somewhere, too, was a dragon’s roar.

  The Nocturne began forward, pushing Not-Merlin ahead. “You’ve much to show me–”

  Then came another yell. Godfrey and his knight were charging the Nocturne. It was over before it began.

  Their charge ended as binding spells made them both stumble and fall through the portal.

  “Yes,” the Nocturne purred. “I will need loyal knights in my new realm. Thank you for being the first volunteers.” His eyes met Wesley’s. “Besides you.”

  He kicked out one of Not-Merlin’s knees, sending the man to crash beside the Templars.

  “Finally, years of toil.” His eyes glowed. “It is mine.”

  “No,” came an ethereal voice from inside the castle.

  A spear tip erupted from the Nocturne’s chest, spraying dark blood. Wesley’s father, still enshrouded by the dark being, came into view. Blood poured from his nose and one of his eyes was closed shut, but still, he was alive. And he was holding a spear.

  “I’m not done with you yet.”

  Then he pulled the Nocturne back through the portal. The man grabbed at the spear tip, unable to get his hands on it.

  “No!” he shouted, his voice garbled with frustrated fear, but he was helpless to stop it. “No!”

  The portal began to close, the two figures blurring beyond it…and Not-Merlin’s cackle echoed gleefully in the glade.