AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’ll go in first and corner the spirit in the living area. You check the rest of the house, and find that board.” He hesitated. “It’s possible that an imp or two has followed the main spirit through the doorway, so be careful.”
Imps were lesser demons—or sprites, as they were commonly known—and were generally more mischievous than dangerous. But they did have a tendency to throw things around, and in such a confined space that could certainly get perilous.
Ashworth took a deep breath and released it slowly; almost immediately, his magic centered around him and increased in potency. That surge of energy hit my skin in increasing waves, until it felt as if I were being bitten by hundreds of tiny gnats. I shivered and lightly rubbed my arms. It had been a long time since I’d felt such power—not since we’d left Canberra, in fact—and the biting sensation was one of the many things I hadn’t missed.
But somewhere deep inside me, in the darker recesses that gave me the prophetic dreams, stirred the notion it was something I’d once again have to get used to.
I hoped it was wrong. I really did.
And yet, for all that Ashworth’s magic bit, it very much explained why he was out here rather than living in the cozy—if often chilly—comfort of our capital, serving the needs of the council and the government. He might be a powerful witch, but his magic was little more than a flickering candle compared to the output of the high-ranking members of the royal lines. The few times I’d caught my father or mother unguarded magically, it had felt like I’d walked into the middle of an erupting volcano.
With his arms held up in front of his body, he walked into the house, murmuring an incantation as he did. While I couldn’t hear the words, the sweeping nature of his magic suggested the spell was one that would basically corner the spirit—and the sprites, if they happened to be near—in one small section of the house. Once that was done, he could then deal with it.
I put on the mask, blinking rapidly as the dual—and somewhat pungent—scents of cinnamon and patchouli hit my nose, and waited, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, until his magic reached a crescendo and the confining net was completed.
I took a deep breath, half coughed as the scents caught in my throat, and then silently began a repulsion spell. As the threads of magic began to form around my fingers, I warily stepped into the house. Despite the mask and the odorous cloth, the heavy scent of putrefaction still hit, and I gagged. Somehow, I held it together, even though my stomach felt as if it had lodged somewhere in my throat.
I spotted a light switch on the wall and flicked it on. Nothing happened. I frowned up at the light as I tried again. Still nothing. Either the globe had blown or the power in this place was off for some reason.
I crept forward, but with every step the darkness got deeper, until the sunshine was erased and everything around me was black. I quickly whispered a light spell and tossed it into the air. It rather resembled the will-o’-the-wisps—or ghost candles, as they were more commonly known—that inhabited the forests around Castle Rock, but where their light was a cool blue, this was a warmer gold. But, like the sunshine, it wasn’t doing a whole lot to beat back the darkness.
I continued to move forward. In the uneasy glow of the sphere, I could vaguely make out four doors. There were two to my left, one straight ahead, and another down the hall and to the right. That was where the pulse of Ashworth’s magic was originating, so at least I didn’t have to investigate it. Not until he’d dealt with the spirit, anyway.
I directed the sphere into the first doorway, and then followed it. Something skittered through the shadows between light and utter darkness, and dread stirred. There were sprites in this bedroom.
I resisted the urge to fling the repulsion spell their way, and looked around for the nearest light switch. It, too, was unresponsive. One broken globe might have been accidental, but two looked deliberate.
I started searching through the drawers and wardrobe, although anyone with any sort of sense certainly wouldn’t have kept a Ouija board in their bedroom. After finding nothing in any of those, I knelt down to check under the bed. Pain ran down my injured leg and I cursed softly—only to cut it off abruptly as movement caught my eye. A very large vase was flying at my head.
I immediately cast the repelling spell into the air, but not at either the vase or the sprites. Instead, I let it drape around my body like a protective curtain. The vase hit it and bounced away, and the spell faded into the darkness, remaining active even though it wasn’t visible.
A low chuckle came from the other side of the room—a sound that hadn’t come from a human throat. I dropped my light sphere to the floor, and quickly peered under the bed. No Ouija board; just more shadows that moved and flowed across the outer edge of the light.
I rose and limped out the room. The sprites would undoubtedly follow, but if they were annoying me, they were leaving Ashworth alone—a good thing, given he had a malevolent spirit to take care of.
The next room was another bedroom, but appeared to be used more as a storeroom. There were clothes piled up on the bed, an ironing board set up on the left side of the room, and a long row of cupboards lining the other. As I opened the first cupboard door, clothes rose from the bed and launched at me. The spell cloaking me shimmered brightly and threw rainbows of light across the darkness, catching the scaly tails of several sprites and making them squeal in pain.
If I’d had more time, I would have made more light spheres and chased the bastards with them. But it was mo
re important to find the board—until it was closed, it was very much the greater threat.
The sprites soon ran out of clothes, and started chucking other loose items at me, ranging from the various clocks that seemed to be sitting around to the iron, and even the goddamn ironing board. I growled in frustration, which was met by more laughter.
Then I was hit again—this time by something far larger. Something that didn’t fall away, but rather sent me sprawling sideways. Pain once again ran down my leg, but it was sharper this time, and accompanied by a warmth that suggested it was bleeding. I cursed them fluently, brushed my fingers against the floor to keep from falling over completely, and then swung around—only to dive sideways to avoid being hit by the mirror portion of the dresser. It crashed to the floor and shattered, and bits of wood and glass flew, thudding into my boots and slicing through my jeans.
I hit the bed and bounced back to my feet, but the room was becoming a maelstrom of flying furniture, and if I didn’t do something soon, I’d face the very real possibility of injury. But even as another spell sprung to my lips, I felt it—the stirring of magic. It wasn’t Ashworth’s; this was fresh, light, and even more powerful than he.
Wild magic.
Sweeping into the room, coming to my rescue without being called or asked.
And, just as it had in the cemetery, it entwined itself through my spell, both enhancing and empowering it, making it something far greater than I’d intended. As the nearby wardrobe began to shudder and shake, I quickly tied off the spell and flung it upwards. Light exploded through the room—through the house—and the sprites squealed as they were cast from the protection of the shadows and burned by the light.
In the other room, a deeper, more powerful but very inhuman voice joined in on the chorus of pain. A heartbeat later, Ashworth’s spell hit a second peak, and with surprising abruptness the deep sense of evil left the house. Only the sprites remained, and they were being burned into oblivion, their tortured screams filling the air and the scent of their cindering flesh overpowering even the smell of putridity.
Footsteps echoed, and then Ashworth appeared. “How the fuck did you just do that?”
I frowned. “It was a simple light spell—”
