Spiral Path (Night Calls Series Book 3) (41 page)

This house has demons
guarding it!
Margaret’s mind shrieked into mine.

How had I heard her? I was not supposed to be able to hear them,
or they me! Only what they could see through my cross—

I threw myself out the doorway and whirled to slam the
French door shut. Maybe the winged thing had limits. Maybe it could not leave
the house.

That did not mean it didn’t have friends outside.

I saw its outline against the faint light of candles: huge many-vaned
wings like a bat, its legs with spread claws like a stooping eagle. I pushed
the glass door until the latch clicked and ran down the long stretch of the
covered porch.

Thank you, thank you,
Lord and Lady, that I did not see its face.

Sometimes people did not survive seeing a demon’s face.

I’d reached a side porch, but I was entirely turned around.
I had no clue if I was heading north or south. Low tables scattered along the
open porch supported lit candles encased in tall glass containers. The
household had prepared for people to come outside, but I could see that on this
side, no one had braved the cold for a private chat.

I had to get back inside, or I would be discovered.

I might have already been discovered.

I reached the end of the walkway and staggered, catching
myself against the smooth stone railing, for there were two stairs leading down
to the snow-covered ground. Where to go? By the bright arcing road of the Milky
Way I could see I was on the same side of the house as the labyrinth, but that
did not help me. I had no hope of knowing how to use it to get anywhere I
wanted to go. It was possible to travel on a labyrinth—somehow we’d used a
labyrinth to travel from Marta’s home to Esme’s.

Margaret?

Silence.

They had told me we could not speak to each other—how had
Margaret reached beyond that limitation? It seemed I could not question
Margaret or anyone else, and Margaret was no longer speaking to me.

I didn’t think they had expected a demon.

Please send the
carriage soon.

I’d panicked. How could I fix this?

Taking a deep breath, I stepped off into space, feeling for
a stone beneath the ice—and found the starlight blocked. A wall of glittering snow
unfurled before me, swirling like a great snow devil. Shrinking back, I dipped
my hand into my right apron pocket, fumbling for Shaw’s coin, St. John’s words
rising to my lips—

Starlight shone on a horn, blazing like a candle beckoning
through trees.

The wall of flickering snow was . . . a horse? A huge, slender
horse, larger and yet more dainty than the Kristinssons’ Arab stallion. No—a
horn, not a horse, not a demon,
a unicorn
.

We must hurry
. The
mind voice ran into my head like water, a swirl of sound, a deep cataract.
Mount
.

“Oh, and how are you going to prove you’re not a pooka?” I
gasped out, shrinking back.

The creature tossed its head, craning its neck to look
toward the labyrinth.

Standing by the entrance to the labyrinth was my Good
Friend, luminous in his white stag form . . . or there stood a spirit alike enough to
be his brother. The deer’s antlers were not flaming yet—instead, they gleamed
like snow under the eye of the new moon. My White Wanderer stood motionless,
watching me. I could just make out the flicker of flame in his irises.

It’s always a test.

Was the test to mount, or not to mount?

I’d always trusted him, and he gave no call of alarm. . . .

Hurry!
The voice
of the unicorn rang between my ears like a bell.

I grabbed a handful of mane. Kicking off from the veranda’s
top step, I managed to get on the great beast’s back, my skirt rucking up, my
stockings bared to the cold.
Trousers—if
I live through this, I will have my own doeskin trousers to wear always!

The unicorn said,
Hang
on.

With a bound we were airborne, as if the creature had wings,
and heading straight for the labyrinth. Color eddied at the labyrinth’s
entrance, purples and bright pale blues, and a
glenngarseea,
cat-like,
raccoon-like, stood there as if he owned the path . . . as if he was waiting for us.

The unicorn was an inferno, as warm as the White Wanderer,
but I was more aware of the surging power of him, the purely animal side of his
nature. Whatever else he was, this unicorn was
real
.

My hair whipped free, my necklace dangled down the back of
my neck, but I was too busy hanging on to pay it any mind. The weight of the
metal case lay against my thigh.

We plunged into the labyrinth, curving around to the left,
weaving to the right and then the left, back right again, one more left—and the
unicorn leapt over a lowered part of the hedge. I turned my head against the
spray of snow, and saw over my shoulder that the
glenngarseea
had seized
hold of the unicorn’s fluffy tail and was with us.

Soft snow fell. I glimpsed the great house, and then we ghosted
toward the back courtyard to a kitchen door I had entered earlier that evening.

“Here?” I whispered.

You have been here. Do
not go farther into the house, not for a twelfth of a candlemark. Do not meet
yourself.

Myself? I was already here? Then. . . .

“We are in the past?”

We are always in the
past.

A distraction, I needed a distraction, just for a few
minutes. . . .

I thought of the pans of raw biscuits sliding into the oven,
the golden brick of the firebox—I pointed at everything I could use, everything
left to me under my cousin’s spell, and said, “
Resurge
,” my mind and
heart rushing like a waterspout to those pans.

I could feel the swelling from the dough as the pans slid
into the oven, and I let them slip away from me.

Good
. The great
unicorn came to a gentle stop before the kitchen door.
Wait until you hear screams—then rush in
.

What?

A tilt of the beautiful head, a glint of humor in the inky
blue eye—
You have told me this story, in
your future
.

“Is that why you are here?”

I am here because you
are my friend, and I owe you my life.

A tug at my sleeve. The
glenngarseea
perched on the
haunches of the great unicorn, looking at me as if trying to speak without a
human voice.

I’m in no hurry to see
that demon again,
I thought at them, still looking at the
glenngarseea
.

The creature had thumbs!

You have no skills yet
for demons—leave them to others,
the unicorn counseled.

Did my cousin call
you?
I asked him.

I detected amusement in the unicorn’s mind.
No, I came because you needed me. We are
bound. If I can come, I will always come. I owe you everything.

Who are you
? Could
you ask a unicorn its name?

I am Misu.

Where did . . . do . . . we meet?
I decided to ask.

We met when you pulled
me from my mother’s womb.

I delivered my first
unicorn a week ago.

The stallion snorted, clearly amused.
That was me
.

Well, I didn’t really have anything to say to that . . . .

Are you going to
explain sometime?
I couldn’t resist asking.

He shifted, almost as if he was nervous, and I slid off on
the left side, as I would do for a horse. I felt for the metal case still in my
right pocket of my gown. My hair was probably a mess, so I pulled the last pins
and let the braid fall back down my spine. The
glenngarseea
was no
longer up on the unicorn’s back.

Could you thank unicorns?

“I am glad that you came.” What a strange way to meet
someone!

Yes, I will explain,
but not tonight
.
Be silent, and be
well
, Misu told me, stepping sideways and lifting his beautiful head so the
horn easily passed over me. He started to move away, and then paused, looking
back at me.
Hide in plain sight
, he
suggested, and then leapt, moving toward the labyrinth, his feet scarcely
touching the ground. Beyond him the White Wanderer stepped into the labyrinth, a
sparkling cloud at his feet, tinged with blue and purple, and I knew the
glenngarseea
was with him.

Mystery upon myst—

A woman screamed.

The biscuits!

Please lady, let it be
the biscuits . . . .

I ran to the back entrance and prayed that this crazy house
had one more open door.

o0o

By the time I’d passed through the mudroom, the scream had
become a three-part chorus of voices in the kitchen.

I entered the kitchen in time to see a biscuit whiz past my
nose, hitting a table with a thump before bouncing off and rushing down the
floor toward the custard that had been prepared for dessert. Two biscuits rooted
in a bowl of sugared strawberries, the fruit brought in from who knew where at
an unimaginable expense.

Hide in plain sight.

I shrieked and tossed my arms over my head, as if I was
trying to ward off a bat. The young scrubbing girls and the baker promptly did
the same, flinging their aprons over their heads and running away from the
biscuits to the corridor.

One girl threw her arms around me, and a second plastered
herself to my apron. Too late I realized that I was the tallest in the room and
that my light gray dress made me bright as moonlight.

“Run!” I yelled, and pointed to the mudroom. More girls fled
shrieking except for the youngest one, who remained latched onto my waist. I
put an arm around her and hauled her backward into the mudroom.

I grabbed my navy shawl off a hook and tossed it over my
head. “We need things to catch them!” I yelled, looking around for a bowl.

“There!” shrieked a girl, pointing toward a milk pail.

That will do,
I
thought. Anna wouldn’t know that the biscuits were harmless.
So—She’s a farm girl. She’d try to get away,
and then plan a way to retake her kitchen!

Grabbing the bucket, I spun as a biscuit hopped toward us, a
larger biscuit in pursuit. Oh-oh—they couldn’t find enough to eat in the
kitchen! They were starting on each other!

“Get it, get it!” I yelled, dropping the bucket over the
first biscuit as it reached the entrance to the mudroom.

Inspired, several girls grabbed milk and slop buckets to
slam on top of the escaping biscuits. A pail caused a rain of carrot peelings,
but I doubted the biscuits minded.

The next few minutes were frantic as kitchen helpers wailed,
hiding under their aprons, while a couple of footmen chased biscuits, wielding
long wooden bars that were commonly used for home defense. The spit boy made a
gallant attempt to catch biscuits with his hands. I thought the butler yelled,
but I couldn’t make out his words.

The girls proved tough, keeping their aprons on their heads
and dropping buckets down on top of biscuits. Biscuits splattered into the
containers like exploding corn kernels.

Then Cook screeched on a note of sheer terror. I hauled the
girls to either side away from the entrance.

“Hide!” I screamed at them, in case it was that demon. Two
girls dove behind the garments hanging off pegs. One girl climbed into a window
seat. Another surrendered to her fear and threw open the door to the courtyard.

That made more footprints in the courtyard; that was good. I
followed her with several more of the kitchen staff on my heels.

Without the warmth of the unicorn, I was grateful for my
navy shawl. The youngest member of the kitchen staff clutched me again, as she
had nothing but her apron to protect her.

Crack! The noise sounded like an ice dam had broken free. Light
flashed brilliantly from somewhere in the house, reflecting in the corner
window at the edge of the corridor.

I should not have stopped moving. I was so tired I nearly
fell asleep standing up. At first I ignored the babble of voices around me, then
I found a place in the questions.

“This is a wizard’s house,” I finally said. “Who is in
charge when magic escapes?”

“Mr. Bennett,” voices chorused.

“The butler,” came a timid voice from beneath my shawl.

Then we wait.

I hope I did the right
thing, taking the package.

Maybe the biscuits
were a mistake . . . .

In truth, I was torn between wanting to know what was going
on, and thinking that Cousin Esme would want me to keep my head low. So I stood
my ground, listening to the sobs and whispers of the staff and the faint
thumping of biscuits trying to get out of overturned buckets.

A well-dressed man stepped out of the kitchen doorway, his
expression amused. “It’s safe!” he called. “We have the biscuits under control!”

“Did you destroy them?” the spit boy asked. He held up a
dishtowel that was wiggling like a kitten in a sack. “I caught one!”

“Capital! Bring it along! No, there was something else in
the house that Evans destroyed—” He brought himself up short.

So you destroyed the
demon?
I thought. That opened up all sorts of intriguing suggestions. Did
the demon belong to Professor Lee, the master of the house, or was it also an
intruder?

It was definitely not a tale for the staff. I suspected it
was hard enough to get the average worker to serve in a haunted house. How
difficult to keep staff in a magician’s house?

At least keep a staff without their own magic.

Cautiously we moved back toward the door.

The kitchen was full of men in fine clothes, turning over
buckets and using dishcloths to seize biscuits and haul them up for inspection,
amid laughter and joking.

Around me teary and worried faces made it clear that the
kitchen staff was still tense.