Sorcerers of the Nightwing (Book One - The Ravenscliff Series) (22 page)

It took Devon several seconds to
respond. The word had sent chills up his spine. He felt his skin tingle from head to foot.

“The Order of the Nightwing,” Rolfe repeated.

In his mind Devon again saw those books in the East Wing of Ravenscliff. The word had given him pause then, too. Nightwing. He knew without even asking that the Muirs had been Nightwing as well: he recalled the ravens, black as night, that had once lived
in their house.

“Nightwing,” Devon breathed. “Sorcerer—warlock! Just like Jackson Muir.”

Rolfe looked angry. “Oh, no. Not like him. Jackson Muir defiled the ancient honorable tradition of the Nightwing. The tradition taught to him by his father, the great Horatio Muir. Jackson used his powers for evil. That made him an Apostate—a renegade necromancer, shunned by all Nightwing around the
globe.”

It sounded like the stuff of fairy tales to Devon—stuff he might have read about in comic books. It was hard to fathom, yet it was oddly reassuring too. Whatever this Nightwing was, he was a part of it—one of them. For the first time in his life, he felt connected to something bigger than he was.

“So there are more of these … these … Nightwing people?”

Rolfe smiled. “Oh, yes.
The Nightwing can be found all over the world. Their history dates back to ancient days, when the first Nightwing learned the secrets of the old elemental Knowledge—and tapped the power of the demons for their own use, for good.”

Devon laughed. “This is just too freaky.”

“I thought so, too, once. But I can remember, as a boy, watching my father and old Mr. Muir corral a demon in the courtyard
at Ravenscliff. I watched as Mr. Muir twisted it and pummeled it, all without ever even using his hands, only his mind. I watched as the filthy thing was sent back to its Hell Hole—and I knew then that I was witnessing greatness, that I had been given a great privilege, to see in action the magic of the Nightwing.”

“So the Muirs—all of them—are part of it,” Devon said. “The whole family. I
was reading about them, about Horatio—” He looked over at Rolfe. “So Mrs. Crandall has to know this?”

“Of course she knows. But—” Rolfe made a face, clearly troubled by a memory. “It was a long time ago. Terrible things happened. Sorcery and magic were banned from that house.”

“Because of Jackson, right?”

Rolfe nodded. “He was known as the Madman.”

Devon shivered at the word. “The
accounts say he left Ravenscliff for Europe …”

“Yes. He had broken with his father, begun using his powers for his own gain.”

“So he was considered an Apo—what was it you said?”

“An Apostate. A member of the Nightwing order who rejects the power of good. Who harnesses the power of the demons for his own gain.”

Devon was having a hard time keeping up. He steadied himself against the
table. “But Jackson came back to Ravenscliff,” he said. “He came back and married Emily …”

“Yes, he did. He convinced his brother he’d reformed. Oh, Jackson was very canny. Shrewd. Poor old Randolph Muir learned too late how shrewd Jackson was.”

Devon remembered the clipping of Emily’s death. “I saw your father’s name in an article about Emily Muir’s death. Is it true that she jumped? Because
of Jackson?”

Rolfe folded his arms across his chest. “You have been doing your homework. I was quite young when Emily Muir died. But I remember her as a sweet, sad young woman. When she failed to get pregnant, Jackson began cheating on her. It sent her into a deep depression.”

“So she killed herself.”

Rolfe nodded.

“But Jackson grieved for her,” Devon said. “That’s what Cecily told
me. He erected that monument to her. So he couldn’t be all bad—not if he loved her.”

Rolfe laughed. “Well, aren’t we the young romantic. But believe me, Devon. There was nothing but evil in the heart of Jackson Muir. When Emily couldn’t give him a child, he destroyed her.”

Devon looked off at the furious sea. “Why was he so keen on having a kid?”

“Isn’t it obvious? So his line could take
back Ravenscliff. His evil would have lived on in another generation. A child of Jackson’s would have guaranteed the destruction of Randolph’s line. Amanda, Edward, Cecily, Alexander … none would be here today.”

Devon thought of something. “Did he have a kid with somebody else then, other than his wife? With whomever he was cheating with?”

“No. That was his great regret. Jackson died without
an heir.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Devon, I’m sure.”

The boy had walked over to the bookcase. He touched a skull that stared out at him from the shelves. He felt a little electric shock.

He turned back to Rolfe. “Why did Jackson want to be master of Ravenscliff so bad?”

“Horatio Muir built the house on one of the largest Hell Holes in the Western hemisphere. He drew his power from
a vast and powerful resource. Jackson wanted control of the house and the portal—which, as the eldest son, he believed was his birthright.”

“So a Nightwing gets his power—from the Hell Hole?”

Rolfe managed a smile. “Listen, Devon. This is all too complex for me to just sum up quickly for you. Maybe in one of my father’s books …”

“But I’ve got to know. Does Jackson control the demons?
Is he the one who’s been sending them against me?”

Rolfe sighed. “Perhaps Jackson is in league with some of them, but I don’t know the answer fully. There are many Hell Holes, Devon. Some have been sealed over. Some are under the control of Nightwing—and some are open. ‘Earth’s gaping wounds,’ Thaddeus used to call them. From them many creatures have escaped over the centuries, and these things
walk among us. Some are crafty. Some are just plain stupid. But all have one intent: to release their brethren and once again be permitted free rein upon the earth.”

Devon nodded. “That’s what the creep at the pizza joint said.”

“Of course, Jackson would use them to his own advantage, as I imagine he’s doing now. Being dead is only a minor inconvenience for him … especially now that there’s
a new Nightwing at Ravenscliff.”

Devon looked up at Rolfe. “He’s got Alexander in his power now.”

“What do you mean?”

“At first I just thought it was Alexander being the malicious kid everybody said he was. But not anymore. Now I know Jackson’s working through him. I saw him, on this weird TV show Alexander watches—”

“TV show?” Rolfe barked. He rushed over to Devon and grabbed his
shirt. “What TV show?”

“Hey, take it easy,” Devon said. “It’s called
Major Musick
…”

“Dear God,” Rolfe breathed. “Not again.”

“What do you mean, not again?”

Rolfe glared at him. “When I was a teenager, the Madman tried the same thing. It was a few years after his death. We discovered this television show one day and became hooked. Only later did we realize that it was a televised version
of the magic show Jackson used to put on for us in the parlor when we were kids.” He looked sternly at Devon. “Have you seen this program? Have you watched it?”

“A little,” Devon admitted.

“Don’t. And you’ve got to prevent Alexander from doing so ever again.”

“It’s too late for that. He’s already in Jackson’s power.”

Rolfe shook his head. “If Alexander’s still here, it’s not too late.”

“What do you mean?”

“If he’s physically still here. The Madman’s plan is to bring him inside.”

Devon looked astonished. “Inside the TV? How crazy is that?”

“Inside the Hell Hole, Devon. The TV screen is just like a monitor into the depths of hell.”

“Whoaaa …”

“Yeah, whoa all right.” Rolfe bit his lower lip, contemplating something. “I’ll tell you a story, Devon. I imagine Thaddeus
never told you he had another son—a son of his own.”

“No,” Devon said.

“His name was Francis. We called him Frankie. He was about my age. He came to Ravenscliff with Thaddeus. We all hung out together: Eddie Muir, Frankie, myself. It was the three of us who started watching
Major Musick
. Every day we watched it faithfully, and none of the adults suspected a thing. None of the adults who
were always on the lookout for the Madman’s return—Mr. Muir, my father, Thaddeus. They just saw three boys watching a clown. How innocent was that?” He paused. “How devious of Jackson Muir.”

“What happened?”

“One day Frankie disappeared. We searched everywhere for him but he wasn’t found. Poor Thaddeus was so distraught.”

Devon thought of his father with another son. There was a small
twang of jealousy, but it dissolved under the realization of the pain Dad must have felt. Devon remembered once when he got lost in a department store. He was maybe five or six. Dad had been far more upset than Devon, throwing his arms around the little boy when he spotted him, saying over and over again, “Thank God you’re all right! Thank God!”

He understood now why his father had been so
upset. He’d been through it before.

“Was Frankie ever found?” asked Devon.

“Oh, yes, he was found.” Rolfe paused. “Do you know where?”

Devon swallowed. “Tell me,” he said, dry-mouthed.

“Sitting in the bleachers of
The Major Musick Show
. There he was, just sitting there. Blank-eyed and vacant. I remember sitting in front of the TV and recognizing him. Just a slight kid, covered with
freckles …”

Devon felt as if a cold hand had just touched him on the shoulder. “I’ve seen him!” he shouted. “I’ve seen him on the show!”

Rolfe grimaced, running his hand through his hair. “Poor Frankie. All this time in the Hell Hole.”

Devon still felt the icy grip. “That’s what he wants to do to Alexander? Bring him in there? Why, Rolfe?”

“Because he wants you to come in and try to
save him,” he said.

“Me? He wants me to go—in there? Through the bolted door?”

Rolfe nodded. “Just as poor old Mr. Muir was forced to do. The last of the Nightwing.” He looked sadly at Devon. “He never came out.”

“Mrs. Crandall’s father? He died in the Hell Hole?”

Rolfe sighed. This was clearly dredging up long-ago, painful memories. “And he wasn’t the only one who died in that struggle.”

“Your father, too?” Devon ventured.

Rolfe nodded, his eyes shining with tears now. “The Madman won. Which is why sorcery became forbidden at Ravenscliff. Why the spells were cast to renounce their Nightwing heritage. The ravens left one bright afternoon, flying up into the air all at once, obscuring the sun for several seconds before disappearing forever.”

“But Jackson has returned,” Devon
said.

“Yes, and I suspect you were the catalyst. He sensed another Nightwing had arrived. He wants that portal opened, Devon. He wants the demons released so he can harness their power.”

Devon ran his hands over his face. He felt staggered by all this information. “Rolfe, it’s just so hard to—make sense of it all—”

Rolfe frowned. “I understand, Devon. There’s so much you need to know,
so much you need to learn, and I’m not a Guardian. I was meant to be, but my father died too young to teach me everything he knew.”

“I need to know about the Nightwing, Rolfe. What I am.”

“Yes, Devon, you deserve to know your own history, the heritage of the Nightwing.” Rolfe shook his head. “But not now. We don’t have time for all that. We have to move quickly if we’re to save Alexander.”

Devon looked at him with some alarm. “What do you mean?”

“We need to go to Ravenscliff and confront Amanda.”

“Why? Confront her how?”

Rolfe sighed. “I’m not sure how much she knew about the specifics of that television program. Her father kept a good deal from her. But she was there. She certainly remembers Frankie’s disappearance and what happened to her father and mine as a consequence
of it.” His jaw set in determination. “No matter our own personal antagonism, she’s got to listen to me when I tell her Alexander is in danger.”

“Well, she insisted to me he wasn’t,” Devon said.

“She thinks they’re protected from the Madman. She thinks because they’ve renounced their family’s heritage that Jackson is gone for good.” Rolfe looked at Devon. “Perhaps because she doesn’t know
of your powers. If she did, she might be more wary.”

“So I should tell her?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll try talking to her first. Come on. Who knows how much time we have left to save the boy?”

Devon considered something. “Rolfe, I think it’d be better if we don’t show up together. It might antagonize Mrs. Crandall to see us arrive in the same car.”

Rolfe nodded. “You’re a sharp
kid. Okay, I’ll drop you back at Stormy Harbor.” He laughed. “Reminds me of the night I brought you in from the train station.”

How long ago now that seemed to Devon. And how much more he now knew. Not that he understood all of it fully—

His mind was spinning. So much information in such a short time. It seemed utterly fantastic and yet so right somehow. As if he already knew everything
that Rolfe had told him, somewhere deep down within his soul. As if the knowledge were embedded in his psyche, in his genes.

They headed back up the spiral staircase. Roxanne was at the table, going over old manuscripts. She and Rolfe just exchanged knowing smiles as Rolfe grabbed his coat from the rack and headed outside. Devon wondered what their relationship was.

“Goodbye, Devon March,”
Roxanne said.

“See ya later,” he said, managing a smile. “And thanks again for the food.”

He and Rolfe spoke very little in the car heading back to the village. What could they say? Devon felt talked out. His head struggled to absorb all the new information.

I’m a Sorcerer of the Order of the Nightwing,
he repeated over and over again to himself.
And Dad was a Guardian …

Over two hundred
years old …