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Ghul Lykos broke in, “What’s the Midnight Tower?”
“That’s my question,” Daemona said.
Esmerelda looked perplexed. “That’s where the Grey Empress lives, of course.”
Ghul Lykos shook his head. “That’s not our concern right now. We should go. I need to find Princess Sykaryn, not lament over the past.”
Daemona agreed. “Miniver, stay here with her.”
“I’m coming with you. I won’t be separated again,” said Esmerelda, her tone as sharp as a sword stroke.
Ivy relented, “Come on then, but you need to be ready to run if I say so. Did you learn any offensive spells while training to become a witch?”
“I learned how to curdle milk.”
“That’ll do it,” chuckled Ghul Lykos.
“Well I watched them do a purple lighting blast. I think I could try and do it too,” Esmerelda said.
“Just don’t experiment on any of us,” joked Ghul Lykos.
“Miniver. How about you?” asked Daemona.
Miniver nodded and picked up a crossbow. “Reckon, I’m coming along too then, won’t do to be left here all alone.”
“Well, I’m staying,” said Malkieth, still in the doorway.
“Good,” muttered Daemona, over her shoulder. “But if you really want to make a difference, you’ll come up with a spell to remember what you have forgotten, so we can fix things.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said as he sat down. Then he leapt up. “Wait! I just remembered.”
“What?” Daemona asked.
“This. It will help protect you from the undead and wicked mind spells that vampires are fond of using on their victims,” Malkieth said. He held out a necklace with a small blue crystal. Daemona frowned but let him put it around her neck. But she didn’t want it wagging around while she would be moving, so she tucked it between her shirt and vest.
Malkieth continued, “It is the talisman of life. If anyone is using a mind spell against you, just touch it and it will break the enchantment.”
“How would you know if someone was using such a spell?” Ivy asked.
Malkieth shrugged. “I don’t know that.”
Ghul Lykos laughed out loud at that, but then checked himself, realizing they were on the very doorstep of Ghul Tark Manor. “Sorry,” he murmured.
They strode through the tombstones, careful to not step on any of the graves lest they disturb a sleeping ghost or demon. At the edge of the graveyard was a rusted fence and gate that hung off-kilter on broken hinges. They gingerly passed through it, and as they got closer to the Manor, Daemona could see that the front door wasn’t black—it was simply open. Inside was dark as a night without stars. She didn’t see any guards or any signs of life.
“Keep your sword handy,” grumbled Daemona.
“I ain’t got a sword, just this trusty crossbow.” Miniver patted the weapon and a bolt shot out, whisked past Daemona and Ivy, and hit a post on the front entry of the Manor. It quivered in the thick wood with an audible vibration. “Uh, sorry.”
“You old fool! You could have killed one of us,” said Daemona.
“At least I know it works,” he responded.
“You walk in front then,” ordered Daemona.
There was no commotion, no indication that any enemies had noticed the bolt jutting from the entry post.
As they neared, more features of the manor came into view. Moss and ivy clung to the outer walls like a second skin. The half-hidden statues of gargoyles, dragons, and worse. An oppressive sense of decay hung over everything. Amidst scattered leaves were bleached bones. Daemona thought it better if she didn’t point them out.
