Sorcerers of the Nightwing (Book One - The Ravenscliff Series) (32 page)

Cecily confirmed that her grandmother did indeed slip in and out of rationality, and that it was highly unlikely she could have made it up those tower steps. She also couldn’t imagine that it was she who called to Devon that night. Cecily insisted it had to be the ghost of Emily Muir.

“I don’t know what to believe,” Devon admitted. The Voice wasn’t cooperating in telling him anything.

They were sitting in the parlor, waiting for Mrs. Crandall. She’d allowed both of them to take the day off from school, given everything that happened last night. Devon hadn’t slept after the episode with Simon on the tower. He’d waited with Mrs. Crandall as she called the police. Soon the grounds had been swarming with cops. Both Devon and Mrs. Crandall swore that they’d heard a scream and, upon
investigation, found Simon dead, an apparent accidental fall. Or a suicide?

Deputy Potts had looked suspiciously at Devon’s wounded leg. “How’d you get that?” he asked.

“You can check with Doc Lamb,” Devon told him. “Wild dog. Better track it down.”

In the end, the cops were convinced that Simon’s death was an accident. Of course, they’d have to do a full inquiry. Mrs. Crandall understood
fully, and promised complete cooperation. Then Devon had watched solemnly as Simon’s broken body was loaded into the ambulance and taken away.

After that, Mrs. Crandall had refused to speak more until the morning. Now, after seeming to have disproven Devon’s contention about the old woman’s identity, she told Devon and Cecily to wait for her in the parlor.

“I can’t stop thinking about that
poor kid Frankie,” Devon said. “He’s my brother. And he’s still trapped in there.”

Cecily shuddered. “You tried to help him, Devon. You said he wouldn’t go with you.”

Devon looked at her fiercely. “Someday, Cecily, I promise I’m going to get him out. I’m going to save him.” He sighed. “I just need to know more about what I’m doing.”

“Look, Devon,” Cecily said. “Mother has promised to
finally tell us everything. All our questions will be answered.”

He doubted that.

Mrs. Crandall arrived as composed as ever, and just as guarded. Still, Devon knew there were certain things she could no longer deny. He watched as she settled into her chair in front of the fire.

“Well, it’s over now, and we can all breathe a long sigh of relief,” Mrs. Crandall said.

“Did you have any
idea that Simon was working in league with Jackson Muir?” Devon asked her.

She shook her head. “No, and I blame myself for that. I look back now over the years and see how fascinated Simon was with our family history. I should have suspected. But he had been a trusted family servant for so long, I didn’t allow myself to question him.”

“He said he was a Guardian.”

This time she nodded.
“He had worked with many of the Nightwing before coming to Ravenscliff. But you see, Devon, when he came here, he professed a desire to leave that world behind. We had repudiated our past involvement in sorcery ourselves, so he seemed ideal to work for us. Unfortunately, he harbored other plans.”

Devon leaned forward. “How did you repudiate sorcery? Isn’t it in your blood?”

She closed her
eyes. “Rolfe told you of the horrible events that happened here in the past. How my father was killed. After that, spells were cast that ended our sorcery, divorced us from our Nightwing past, and took the sheen of magic off Ravenscliff.”

“That’s when the ravens disappeared,” Devon said.

She nodded, opening her eyes. “After my father was killed, after the little boy Frankie was lost—those
of us who were left determined our family would never again find ourselves at the mercy of Jackson Muir.”

“But Jackson returned,” Cecily said. “Mother, you always said the ghosts in this house would never harm us. But Jackson tried to kill Alexander.”

Mrs. Crandall didn’t look at her. She kept her gaze fixed on Devon. “That’s because you arrived, Devon.”

“Me?”

“Jackson sensed that
you were Nightwing. He determined you would be the conduit by which he returned to power. Your arrival here stirred back to life whatever mystical forces remain here. Your very presence counteracted the spells that had repudiated our sorcery.”

She stood up and approached him.

“We are all very grateful to you for saving Alexander. It was a courageous and noble deed.” She paused. “But the
fact remains, Devon, that if you had not been practicing sorcery in the first place, Jackson would never have been able to return. You are responsible for the mystical disruptions that happened in this house.”

“But he had to use his powers, Mother!” Cecily cried. “There were things—demons—coming at him! And at me!”

“Be that as it may,” Mrs. Crandall said, still looking down at Devon, “they
are gone now, and all practice of sorcery must cease. Do you understand, Devon?”

“I … I’m not sure I can promise that, Mrs. Crandall.”

Her eyes flashed anger. “How can you say that? Would you risk bringing danger once again to this family?”

“Of course I wouldn’t want that,” Devon told her. He seemed to think of something. “Mrs. Crandall, have you really surrendered all your powers? I
mean, with a threat as great as Jackson, did you maybe keep just a few?”

She stiffened. “I told you. Sorcery and magic were repudiated here.”

“Yeah, but I still remember what you said about redoubling your efforts to protect us from Jackson. What did you mean by that?”

She sniffed. “Simply that I would make sure no one got into the East Wing again.”

Devon wasn’t buying it. “All I know,
Mrs. Crandall, is that my father brought me up to respect my abilities. He promised that some day I would understand them.”

She was rigid, unmoving. “If your father had wanted you to practice and develop your powers, why did he never tell you about the long tradition of the Nightwing? Why did he never share with you the secrets of the Guardians? Why did he never train you in the use of your
powers?”

She raised herself to her full height, as she was so prone to do whenever she attempted to intimidate Devon. She glared down at him.

“Thaddeus Underwood was a great Guardian,” Mrs. Crandall said, “one of the most respected in all the world. Why then did he become just plain Ted March, raising his son to be just an ordinary boy?”

Devon stood up straight himself, raising his face
to look at her directly. He figured in another few months, he’d be as tall as she was, and then he’d grow even taller. Her intimidations no longer worked on him.

“I don’t know, Mrs. Crandall,” Devon said. “Why don’t you tell me?”

She backed down, a little.

“All I know, Devon, is that for whatever reason Thaddeus adopted you, he chose to raise you without knowledge of your heritage. He
did not want you to be part of the Order of the Nightwing.”

Devon couldn’t answer. Maybe she was right. Dad never did tell him much … and he could have. He could have told him so much. But he didn’t.

He looked over at her. “When he left here, Mrs. Crandall, did he give any indication why? Or of any Nightwing who might have had a child? Namely, me? Rolfe told me that my father said he’d heard
that the one-hundredth generation had been born …”

“No, Devon. Thaddeus did not give any indication why he was leaving or where he was going.” The matriarch of the house walked over to the fire and warmed her hands. “In fact, I believe your father sent you here because he knew of our repudiation of sorcery. He knew we’d understand your abilities, but he also knew that we would forbid you to
use them.”

“My father never forbade me to use them. In fact, he—”

“None of that matters,” Mrs. Crandall said severely, interrupting him, “because I do. I forbid you to use any magic, any sorcery, from here on in!”

Cecily just looked at Devon anxiously.

Again Devon was not sure what to say. He couldn’t openly defy Mrs. Crandall. It was her house, and she was his guardian. Lowercase.

“Mrs. Crandall,” he said, after a moment’s consideration, “I promise I won’t use my powers except to protect myself or anyone else from demons or Jackson Muir. Is that fair?”

She looked at him warily. “I suppose so. For now.” She brightened. “But I truly believe that such protection will no longer be necessary. Once more, we do not have to fear anything in this house.”

“I hope you’re right,
Mrs. Crandall.”

“I am.” She gave Devon a tight smile. “And one other rule still stands, Devon. I do not want any further contact with Rolfe Montaigne.”

“But, Mrs. Crandall—he’s the only one who can tell me more about my Nightwing heritage—”

She scowled. “If you are not practicing sorcery, you don’t need to know.” She seemed exasperated. “Devon. For God’s sake. You’re a high school sophomore.
Next semester you’ve said you want to join the track team. You have studies to think about. Algebra, trigonometry. And then college. A career. That’s plenty for a young man.”

“I have a right to know who I am,” he told her. “I believe my father wanted that much for me anyway.”

“Then why did he never tell you?” She crossed the room, placing her hands on the knobs of the double doors of the
parlor. “You’ve learned enough. There’s no need to know anything more.” She opened the doors to leave. “And be careful of how much you share with your friends. There are already too many legends of Ravenscliff out there. Let’s not stir the pot any more than we already have.”

She swept grandly out of the room.

When he caught up with the gang at Gio’s later that day, Devon was unsure how much he should say, but he did manage to give them a bare-bones account of the episode with Simon, promising that as he learned more, he’d fill them in. They all took a vow to keep it among themselves.

“But, dude,” D.J. said, “if we’re going to be doing anymore fighting off demons, you got to promise to make us
honorary Nightwing again.”

Devon promised. He was glad to hear they’d done a good job convincing the terrified seniors that the fight with the demons had been staged for their benefit. Devon knew he could trust these guys. After just a month, they’d become the best friends he’d ever had.

It was Alexander he wasn’t so sure about. He hadn’t been allowed to see him yet, and he half-expected
that when he did, the child would glare up at him with the same malevolence in his round button eyes as ever.

That night, he peered into the boy’s bedroom.

“Alexander?” Devon whispered.

“Devon!” Alexander called happily.

Devon stepped inside the room. “Hey, buddy. Feelin’ better?”

“Yeah. I feel fine.” Alexander was in his bed, reading comic books. Superman. Batman. Justice League.
“But Aunt Amanda said I had to stay in bed all day, just to be sure I wasn’t coming down with anything.”

Devon sat down on the edge of his bed. “You remember anything about last night?”

“No. The doctor said I fainted or something.” Alexander tried to recall what happened. “I was waiting for you to go trick-or-treating, but you never showed up.”

“And I’m real sorry for that, Alexander,”
he told him.

“I know. I think I remember you telling me that at some point.”

Devon smiled. “I did. But to make up for it, how about if we go into town this weekend and play some video games at the arcade?”

“Cool,” Alexander said.

“We’ll get you out of the house more often. Away from the old boob tube.”

Alexander frowned. “I hate television,” he said.

“Me, too, buddy.” Devon tousled
his hair. “I’m glad we’re friends now.”

“Me, too.” Alexander looked over at Devon. “You still promise you’re not going to go away?”

“Still promise, Alexander,” Devon told him. “You can count on that.”

“Well, the most bizarre thing of all this is the change in that little monster,” Cecily said as they stood on the terrace, looking out along the cliffs. Several days had passed since Simon’s death, and at last, they were enjoying a peaceful night over Misery Point. “Alexander actually seems human now. You really
are a master sorcerer, Devon.”

He laughed. But his eyes were drawn upward toward the roof of the old house. There was motion up there, a sudden flurry of wings in the moonlight.

“Cecily,” Devon whispered, pointing. “Look.”

Ravens.

They had returned.

They settled down, one by one, dozens of them, taking up their posts once more. Enormous, proud black birds with piercing, shining
eyes.

They had left when the Nightwing were gone from Ravenscliff. Devon smiled. Now they’d returned—because the Nightwing had come back as well.

“Well, since you’re such a sorcerer,” Cecily said, “maybe you’ve cast a spell on me.”

“Cecily,” Devon said. “I like you a lot. But sometimes I still worry …”

She frowned. “That I’m your sister? Oh, Devon, that’s crazy. Wouldn’t the Voice
tell you if that was so?”

“I would think so,” he said. The Voice always warned him of danger, and surely that would count as danger. Still, Devon wished he could banish all those lingering little nagging doubts from his mind. It would make kissing Cecily a lot more fun.

But surely putting his arm wouldn’t be a problem. They stood that way for a while, looking up at the ravens. And then Devon
spotted something else in the upper reaches of the great house.

A light in the tower.

“Cecily,” he said, pointing again. “Look.”

She saw it.

“Still that light,” Devon said, shaking his head. “What does it mean?”

Then they heard something, too, from behind them.

The sobbing.

Stepping back into the parlor, they listened as the long wailful cries echoed across the marble of the
great house.

“Some things don’t change,” Cecily said, sighing.

That was for sure.

After Cecily had gone up to bed, Devon sat in the darkened parlor, lit only by the light of the fire, pondering all the things he still didn’t know. What was the light in the tower? What did the sobbing mean? Who was the old woman who had saved him from Jackson on the tower?

And while Jackson was gone,
could they be sure he’d never find a way back? What did the story of Jackson’s life—and the lives of all those who had lived here in this house—have to do with the mystery of Devon’s own past? Who was Clarissa Jones? Who was the boy in the portrait who looked so much like him? Who was buried under the gravestone marked DEVON?

Simon had hinted at knowing some of those answers—and Jackson, too.
But their secrets had gone back with them to their graves. Would Devon ever learn what they were?

And what of his Nightwing heritage? Forbidden access to Rolfe, how could Devon find out the history of his people? Dad’s ring might tell him some things, but he’d need help in understanding them. Would he forever be made to go behind Mrs. Crandall’s back to find out the truth?

Behind him, he
heard a footstep.

Devon stood, peering into the darkness.

“Who’s there?” he asked.

There was no one. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps this was one time that a creak in the old house really was just the wind.

Devon took a step forward to head up to bed.

Just as a hand burst from the shadows and grabbed him by the throat.

CONTINUED IN BOOK TWO, DEMON WITCH