Evilness might be shaded in dusky shadows, but most would be flashing in broad day light, right before your eyes.

  —from The Sketches of An Unknown Hunter

  Prologue

  In the dream, I had a weird vision of two figures, talking, chatting.

  Their faces were blurs to me. As if I was staring through a looking glass, with fog blinding my sight. But unlike gazing through a misty glass, I could actually see the vivid background of my dream. The two figures were in some sort of room with a dimly lit fireplace.

  “You’ve found something?” One asked. He seemed to be young, judging by the voice.

  “Nothing better,” The other voice echoed smugly. This man sounded like a gruff gentleman, with a hint of cold humor in his tone. “Here, read,” he handed the other one, the young one, a piece of something I could not see. Was it a book, a letter, or an invitation?

  The shadow of the young one blurred as he read it. Then I knew why. He was laughing with such an effect that the air surrounding him seemed to vibrate. “Oh, yes, that’s him, definitely him,” then the merriness in his voice died away as he turned to watch the fireplace. “He’s the one, without a doubt.” The young one’s voice had gone thoughtful during the minute and somehow a bit gloomy.

  The elderly one echoed in, “Our master will rise, sooner or later…” He sounded haughtier than ever.

  The young one didn’t reply but stared into the fire. He flexed his arms or perhaps snapped a finger. The flames exploded into red-hot light and licked the top of the large fireplace. My vision brightened, but the two figures disappeared. I saw the fire, the fire only, with the flames flickering like dusk… and something else… I thought I saw a shadowy thing amidst the light. It had glowing eyes that were eviler than the charcoals or the fire. And it seemed to be engulfing the light, sucking the energy around it. Then its eyes set upon me. Grabbing for me, it cackled with a sound like crackling flames.

  My dream ended with a scream and a feeling of desperateness.

  Chapter One

  Fiery Fingers

  A great morning it was, that day, with sunshine and whistling breeze. The fine weather might have washed away my fear of the nightmare. But another annoying little tragedy struck. I was stuck in Mrs. Tristia’s office, with my hands tied behind my chair, waiting for her interrogation on my crimes.

  “I swear, I didn’t steal anything,” I complained, struggling through the rough ropes. My hands were tangled into an uncomfortable position, which was starting to irritate me. Usually, I’d scream or kick or spout dirty words when I was interrogated and tied up. But when I was facing my severe orphanage supervisor, I’d double check for proper manners.

  “Save your tongue, Francis,” Mrs. Tristia scowled, pacing back and forth around her office. She was an old lady, with a skeletal build, tightly coiffed hair and razor-sharp eyes. Judging by the look, she wouldn’t be a person I could fool with a petty trick. And now she’s counting my crimes like she was making out her bills. “Admit it. You’re a usual guest at the orphanage kitchen. The maids there told me you look oddly familiar, and there are proofs of some…food that disappeared in thin air.” Her tone was icy when she mentioned the last sentence, enough to chill anyone else’s spine. Except mine.

  I shrugged with effort and cocked my head, grinning, “The girls there recognize me for my… attractiveness, I assume. As for the food…must’ve been a work of art from some stray cats.”

  “Some stray cats, with such quibbling tongues…” Mrs. Tristia shot me a stern look. Her face was tight with a plain expression, but her eyes were fuming with unsuppressed rage. I knew I couldn’t hold on any longer if I didn’t want to be whipped or die of agony.

  I tried to spread my hands to show my honesty but found that they were tied with ropes. “Alright, I confess. I’ve stolen several loaves of stale bread and over-aged salami and uh… countless numbers of coins and paper bills… directly from your office… and… let me see…” I tried to act like I was focusing on recalling my exploits, but I nearly laughed with pride and watched Mrs. Tristia’s reaction.

  Her face was like a waxy mask, with wrinkles bulging with anger. She cut me almost as soon as she saw that smile tugging my lips, “Francis Pavilion! There will be no regular meals for you for three days! Did I make that clear enough? Three days with neither meal nor freedom, you’ll be locked in the attic… and then we’ll see what would happen to your arrogance…” Mrs. Tristia gritted her teeth to steady her breath. Her eyes darted dangerously toward me and had a look of satisfaction in them when they met my horrified expression.

  I flinched at her words, aghast. Now she’s going to starve me as a punishment? Then what next, frigidness, disease, death? As if I hadn’t had enough misery since my mother’s absence… I felt my fingers nipping the ropes irritably. I couldn’t help dissolving into a pool of total self-pity.

  “I could die there!” I screamed with a raspy voice, fighting with my own temper tantrum now. “You can’t blame us for pilfering food! It’s your own fault… You didn’t give us proper meals; you forced us to do tough labor, and now you expect us not to complain? Ha, the thing you call food, those hard-cold buns, they’re half-stale, in case you’re thick enough not to notice…” I shifted in my seat, a surge of energy boiling inside me, encouraging me to continue. I glared directly into my supervisor’s equally infuriated eyes, “I know why you signed contract with the government, agreeing to tend us kids. You didn’t just want the subsidies. You’re planning to trade us to child labor, isn’t that right, madam…? That’s why the two kids you sent away a week ago are all fit to the bones, and the rest of us are all just plain scrawny. And I saw that letter in your desk, from the coal mine. The manager promises he would give you double payment… Wait until I report you and we’ll see about that, madam…”But I didn’t have the chance to finish my brilliant hypothesis.

  There was a screech, a smack and a shudder. I didn’t remember much when I had been slapped. One thing was that I felt the left side of my cheek burning with pain. My sight blackened and I, along with my chair, toppled to the ground. I couldn’t make out anything clearly, just the shrill shrieks of my supervisor and the sound of my weak, creaking bones. The ropes must had worn out and loosened during my fall, because when I flexed my numb fingers, they were free to stretch. I immediately propped myself up with effort. My vision cleared and I squinted. Mrs. Tristia’s hand was still trembling where she smacked me on the face. Her face, well, I was pretty sure she wouldn’t look prettier than the Devil.

  She grabbed me by the collar as soon as I straightened my spine, almost knocking me off my knee again. I couldn’t hear what she was actually screaming about, but the curses definitely weren’t entitled with sweet heart. Oh, curse me, one of my genius guesses must have proved right again, and so my supervisor would probably punish me until I shred tears. Yeah, like that was going to happen.

  But Mrs. Tristia’s hands were nearly choking me. Despite the fact that she was a creaky old lady and I was a twelve-year-old lad in my puberty, Mrs. Tristia was threatening my life now. I was astonished to feel the strength of her wrinkled fingers wrapping around my thin neck. Her talon-like nails were biting into my flesh. My eyes bulged as I felt the pain. I could only hear her threatening words, “You will…tell no one… about your…lunatic guesses… Do you understand me, you skunk?”

  I didn’t respond but writhed with my own fingers, fighting to make her release me. “Get… off… me…” I gritted my teeth, fidgeting with my half-palsied arm. If I was going to struggle like this, my scrawny arms against her fit, sturdy ones, my weak neck was going to bleed any minute.

  And Mrs. Tristia knew it as well. A weird smile lit on her face. “Not if you cooperate,” She hissed, anger seething.

  The C word… I hated it more than any other word in the English vocabulary, not that I liked the rest of the words. My eyes were tightly shut, nearly unconscious. How could I escape? My head burned in a torching heat as if there were flames smoldering. Fire… Red hot fire… There was an exciting buzz in my head. Of course, with flames, I could probably distract her attention. But I didn’t possess any matches or other flammable materials. Duh, thanks a lot for thinking of a clever, useless plan. Mrs. Tristia’s grip was still tight but I began to feel drowsy.

  Then suddenly, my image shifted like when I was having a dream. I saw my mother in my illusion, a graceful woman in her mid-twenties. I even felt her loving touch when she stroked my hair. Her gentle, smooth voice drifted into my mind. “The fire is inside you, it’s burning through your veins every now and then. Just set them out through the tips of your fingers, if you really truly need it.” Those were her last words, before she journeyed out and never appeared again. I wasn’t even sure those were her exact words. It had been a long time since I’d last seen her. I bit my lips hard and tried to concentrate on my situation. The words were still a blur to me.

  Then my mind skipped a beat. The image of my last dream appeared into sight, when the shadowy figure approached the fire, with his hands out-stretched. The fire had leaped out of the grate… Suddenly, it dawned on me.

  I opened my eyes. Mrs. Tristia was still yanking me toward her, her breath smelled of over-aged gravy when she pressed me for an answer. “Agreed…?”

  A smile tugged my lips, “Not this time, madam.”

  Before she could react, I squeezed on her hands with all my strength. I couldn’t get her off, but a touch was enough to satisfy me. I breathed in lungs of air. I concentrated hard, hearing the leaps of my heart, the gurgles of my blood flowing in my veins. I didn’t know what I was attempting, but I knew I was doing the right thing. I directed all my energy toward my fingers, imagining it to heat up. My fingertips tingled with an itch. A whisk of spark sizzled and brightened like a tiny star, dimmed and brightened up again. Then a tiny fire emerged around my fingers, flickering above my supervisor’s hands and heating her skin. Even though the fire was dim and easily-extinguished, it must had been scalding-hot, because Mrs. Tristia leaped to her feet in panic, rubbing her fingers frantically, her face contorting with utter astonishment. That bought me enough time.

  I didn’t hesitate when I accidentally knocked her down. With a mischievous laugh, I scampered away through the doorway, hoping against hope that I was fast enough for a cranky old lady.

  Chapter Two

  Two Vicious Visitors

  The orphanage kids searched for me the entire day. Mrs. Tristia was furious and barked her orders at the children, threatening with no regular meals if they didn’t find me. No luck for the poor kids, which was typical, I seldom lost in hide-and-seeks. I had buried myself under Mrs. Tristia’s piled clothes. I knew if the kids had brains, they wouldn’t dare search her office.

  Mrs. Tristia’s wardrobe was dark and gloomy, so I lost track of the time. After maybe about several long, dragging hours, I got bored in my hiding place. My stomach was groaning its protests as well. I slid the wardrobe door open but quickly retreated. There was a set of footsteps and a creak of the door. I flinched and sank myself deeper into the corner, only allowing myself to spy through the gaps.

  I was expecting some brainless kids to poke their heads into the office. But when I squinted, I groaned silently. My supervisor had stepped in, and she was accompanied by visitors. “…And are you sure you’re here to… adopt a child, sirs?” Mrs. Tristia was asking with her stiff smile and sick voice. She swung the door wide respectfully, allowing the visitors to step in, and allowing me to have a peek.

  Two strangers emerged at the doorway.

  One of them was a man in his forties. He was lean and gaunt, with prominent cheekbones that made him look like a smirking horse. He had neatly trimmed beard and an expensive golden-buttoned suit. His cold grave eyes were even more threatening than Mrs. Tristia’s. For a split second, I thought he was looking directly at me, amused, even though I was hidden in the wardrobe. But I must’ve been imagining it. He turned away, glancing around the cramped office, apparently scornful.

  The other was a teenage boy who looked only a few years older than me, around fifteen perhaps. I didn’t know why, but the lad stunned me. He wore a rich white robe that matched his pale complex. He was tall, with blond hair curled neatly around his face that actually glowed in the dim light. I doubted my tattered, yellowish hair could compare with his.

  I sucked my teeth at the sight of them. Both looked wealthy enough that neither would need a shabby orphan as their company. No wonder Mrs. Tristia got goggle-eyed and dropped her self-esteem. I snorted.

  “Uh… tea, sirs…?” Mrs. Tristia asked carefully.

  Surprisingly, the teenager answered first, “No, we’re here for business. But thank you for asking, madam.” His voice was crisp and clear, but also kind of serious. No boys except well-mannered ones answer that formally.

  With a forced smile, my supervisor placed the teapot down and turned to the man, “So… you’re looking for a suitable child to adopt, Sir Walcott? You’ve come to the right place…” She stuttered with excitement. I rolled my eyes. Mrs. Tristia would shove anything aside, even her egos, when she came face to face with socially-prominent gits, especially rich ones.

  The gruff man, Walcott, cut her down with a shrewd laugh. “We know yours is the right one from the start…”he said sluggishly, using a bored but equally satisfied tone. “We’ve heard that your orphanage possesses a boy… A boy by the name of… Ah, what’s he called again, Luther?” Walcott eyed the boy, a disturbing smile lingering on his face, which made him even gross-looking than before.

  The boy, naming Luther, shot him a look. He pursed his lips, as if he was… annoyed. But then he just shrugged and slid a piece of paper, a file perhaps, onto the desk. Mrs. Tristia grasped it, eyes twitching with astonishment. Seeing Mrs. Tristia staring like that, he raised an eye-brow. “Madam, perhaps you know the boy…” He continued, his tone apparently careless, but I felt the strength of his eyes, “…named Francis Pavilion.”

  I suddenly felt the urge to cough, to escape, to scream, to just to do anything except hiding there. I cudgeled my brain for my name sakes. No luck for me. I nibbled my tongue.

  Mrs. Tristia looked just as shocked as she heard my name. “Ah…ah… Yes, we do have… this… Hmn… this Pavilion boy around here… But…” She looked a little abashed as she faced the two’s interrogating eyes. For a split second, I thought she was going to admit that her violence caused my absence. But I guess I couldn’t expect that much from her. The shrewd old lady moistened her lips, “But that sneaky boy overheard that you gentlemen were about to adopt him… and this morning he ran, far away from here, afraid to be adopted… like the craven little weasel he is…”

  “No, he’s not!” I heard someone defending me, and then realized my lips had twitched and the voice was my own. I swung the wardrobe door open with a defiant bang. I thought Mr. Tristia was going to faint right there when she saw me, and I relished it. The two visitors stared. Their faces exposed various emotions, but none of the emotions was shock or surprise, as if they were fully prepared for my sudden appearance.

  I could even catch a glimpse of Walcott’s thin smile. “So, that’s the boy?” he asked. He eyed at me closely, not even glancing at Mrs. Tristia.

  “Ah… yes… I mean, yes, Sir Walcott,” Mrs. Tristia finally struggled with her anger to answer him, the fake humble smile rose on her face again. Then she hit me hard on the elbow when I snorted loudly again. “And… Francis Pavilion…” she said it in a sugary sweet voice, but her fierce eyes were focusing on me as I glared back in response, “that gentleman over there…”

  “He’s Walcott,” I said in a bored dreaded voice and rolled my eyes, irritating her even further. “You just called him that. Duh.”

  Walcott rose from his sitting place, polishing his nails with a handkerchief, but he had a taunting sneer. “If you don’t have any manners, boy, I hate to teach you my own… way. I am Sir Melas Walcott. You may address me as Sir Walcott.” His voice drained away, but his eyes never left my face, which was beginning to make me feel nervous all over again. Why couldn’t he stop staring at me? I wondered. What was so interesting about my face?

  I straightened my back and stared back at him. “Well, if you bother using my name, I’ll use yours.” I said, picking my nails, trying to look absolutely careless. While Mrs. Tristia glared at me through rage but puzzled to say anything, I was enjoying the game around here so far.

  Though glowering at me, Walcott changed the subject and gestured at the boy, “That’s Luther, though I figure you heard his name… He’s a boy I… ah, adopted years before. If you’re the one we pick, you’re going to behave like he does.” Walcott gave me a thin smile, but I figured that wasn’t actually a joke. He seemed to have a cold sense of humor. Ha ha, very funny.

  I stared back at him, eyes narrowing, “Why do you want me?” Mrs. Tristia was glaring, but none of us bothered to acknowledge her.

  Luther eyes flashed a little as his met mine. “That’s a matter to be considered, Francis. We have a few questions for you, to see if you’re the one we need.” His tone was gentle and soft when he spoke to me, which somehow made me relax. It had been long since the last time someone had spoken that nicely to me. But I briefly brushed that thought away with annoyance. I couldn’t trust someone so easily just because he’d spoken nicely to me.

  Luther nodded at Mrs. Tristia and suggested she’d leave us for a private conversation. I rolled my eyes. Great, the last thing I wanted was to stay in a room with wealthy guys and let them inspect me privately like I’m some kind of luxury they needed to purchase.

  “Mrs. Tristia informed us in her letter that you’re a troubled kid. That’s true, Francis?” Luther leaned closer to me, with his eyes gazing intensely into mine. They were grayish blue, like the sullen sky before a storm. I blinked twice. Those eyes were vaguely familiar, but my memory gave up trying.

  I quickly tucked away my astonishment. “The ones who are troubled are those people,” I tilted my head toward where Mrs. Tristia had left. “My pranks are always disturbing.” That last bit was totally unnecessary, but Luther laughed.

  Meanwhile, Walcott showed no approval. His expression was as grave and serious as… well, a grave. “If you’re going to bother us, boy, you won’t even have the chance to say your last words.” He narrowed his eyes that were barely thin slits of lines. He pushed himself forward with his gaze still focused on mine. As if I was a prey of his. I almost stumbled.

  Luther made a short cough. “Not now,” he warned in a hushed voice.

  Walcott looked offended. Menacing the boy, He eyed him with his unblinking eyes. But this expression briefly faltered and he looked away.

  I stared. The two’s relationship seemed a little blurry. Walcott mentioned he’d adopted Luther, but why was the boy acting rather not like a humble ward? My stomach lurched.

  Walcott finally broke the stiffness. “Here is your profile,” he cleared his throat and picked up a folder of documents, the sly grin that disgusted me still lingered on his face. “It listed your 247 crimes, starting from age 4, when you started a fire in a gentleman’s private library, without a fire source such as a match. Ah, now that’s interesting. At the same year, you leaped off a high balcony and ended up without a single scratch on your body. Curious, very curious… Don’t you think…?”The smugness in his tone made me want to punch him.

  “That was an accident. I’m not that thick to leap off a building,” I cut in, annoyed. If he was going to read the whole profile, I bet we’d take hours, maybe even a whole day. Besides, I’m not going to let a plain number like 247 to limit my exploits.

  Walcott finally reached to an end by skipping ten pages in a row and slid the profile down. He and Luther exchanged glances, mysterious glances that made me wanted to outcry for answer. What do they want, these people? Rich people are sometimes really weird.

  “Who are your family?” Luther didn’t attempt to hide the curiosity that gleamed in his eyes. Somehow, the way he stared disturbed me.

  My nerves prickled. “My mother was gone when I was five,” I replied, moving my eyes from their preoccupied gazes, trying to sound as casual as possible. But of course, I wasn’t. I swallowed so I wouldn’t spill any more information.

  “And… What about your father?” Luther asked, carefully hefting his words. The end of his lips rose to form a thin smile, as if he knew something, or was expecting me to reply with an answer he knew too well.

  I reluctantly moved back a few paces from them. My eyes darted suspiciously between them. “He’s… probably dead,” I answered awkwardly, a sour lump rising in my throat. “He left us when my mother was pregnant with me. He’s probably dead…” I repeated so stupidly that I wanted to slap myself.

  Luther raised an eye-brow.

  “…Because he never came to see us. Why…why are you staring at me like that?” I stuttered. Why was I shaking? I’ve already gotten over the fact of my absent father years ago, so why was I trembling now?

  Somehow, the two seemed to get the exact answer they sought. “Good,” Luther nodded, “that’s… good.” He added nonchalantly.

  I blinked, figuring that’s probably the weirdest event that had occurred to me yet. But seriously, I was wrong.

  Without arousing my attention, Walcott somehow appeared behind me and reached for my shoulder with a tight grip. “What are you…?” I yelped out in pain and struggled for him to release me. But his fingers just clawed deeper into my flesh. “Now, boy, I want you to answer me honestly and truthfully,” his dead gray eyes seemed to crawl over my shoulders. His breath was barely a disgusting whisper. “Do you have a birthmark?” The question echoed for a moment.

  My mind flashed to my left arm. There was a birthmark there. It was just a small black totem in a shape I didn’t recognize. I always informed myself that the mark was nothing special. I shrugged uneasily. My fingernails bit my palms.

  I winced as Walcott’s fingers dug into my skin. “No,” I shook my head, fighting to back away. My eyes blinked once, twice… “Sorry, sir, I don’t have one.”

  Walcott smiled, “I don’t think you’re telling the truth, boy.” He reached for me and I wailed in agony. That claw-like grip, it was inhuman. He rolled up my sleeve to reveal my left arm, placing his cold fingers on my birthmark. Then he pressed into it.

  A strong sensation of pain slithered from my upper arm and exploded inside me. My limbs felt numb and pained. I collapsed to the ground. Mrs. Tristia’s punishment of starving to death seemed like a good option now.

  My surroundings stirred for a while. Something vile came to my mouth. But I heard Luther’s distinctive voice.

  “Sir Walcott, I think you over did that. He won’t be happy about it,” Luther muttered warningly, and then he took my trembling hands and pulled me up. My legs still felt like jam, and I staggered when I took a step. “Sorry about that, Francis. Are you alright?” He asked smoothly.

  “Looks like I’m pretty fine, thanks to your guardian,” I grumbled, glaring.

  “So, he’s the one?” Luther turned to Walcott. Strangely, a grin spread across his face. That was actually the first time he looked sincerely overjoyed. And it was the first time he looked not so matured, but like a boy he was supposed to be.

  “Positive,” Walcott nodded with a hungry spark glinting in his eyes. “I don’t think there’s a vestige of doubt left.”

  I looked from Walcott to Luther and panicked. This…cannot…be good. They probably think I was the one they wanted to adopt. My instincts screamed for me to run. Without understanding the exact meaning of their words, I sprinted toward the corridors, slamming the doors behind me. I tumbled on the stairs several times but made it quick to the orphanage gate. I had to run, or else they’d take me to whatever places they called their homes.

  There was a coach in front of the gate, adequate for escaping. God bless me today. I swung myself onto it, panting. “Take me to… to the farthest place you can get to,” I glanced nervously at the coachman, who yawned and looked totally worn-out, “I’ll… uh… give you double payment for tips… fine! Three times, okay? Just quick…” I fished for cash that I pick-pocketed. Even if I didn’t have any money, I could always steal from the coachman.

  “I don’t think so, kid,” The coachman answered, a weird smile rose on his face as he gazed upon me. Our eyes stared at each other for a moment, with his shone with an odd glee and mine drenched with total confusion.

  I squirmed on the seat. “Why? Wait, what exactly do you mean?” I stared at him blankly, and then my quick mind realized what had just happened. “Hey, wait, you’re not paid by another…” I tried to dart down the coach, but a hand gripped the back collar of my shirt and yanked me down while I yelped in pain. Uh, this is the worst day I had had in my miserable life.

  A bold hand stuffed something into my mouth, something like a handkerchief. My eyes started to droop, my eyesight went blurry. My head spun around. Then, without realizing, I fell into sleepiness…

  Chapter Three

  A Disturbing Night

  I woke with a start, panicking hard. My eyes were still heavy and exhausted, but when my gaze fell upon my surroundings, my consciousness clicked in place.

  I was lying in a splendidly huge bed, so soft that I felt I was sinking into sponge. Silk and satin bedding mattresses lay across lavishly. Warm blankets embroidered with patterns of golden threads wrapped around me. I shook them off, staring around me.

  The room was furnished in gorgeous gold and scarlet, every inch of it worth fortunes I never dared imagine. Expensive tapestries hung on every wall, that you could hardly see the wall at all. Furniture and couches of luxury placed in a stylish manner. Where was I? Where had I been taken? Who brought me here?

  I slid from the bed, and grab hold on the door handle. I clicked and banged on it. Darned, it was locked on the outside. The window was hidden beneath layers and layers of golden brocade drapes. I hit hard on it. It was stiff, and I had no way of opening it. But I could always open it otherwise.

  I carefully grabbed a heavy china vase and lifted it toward the window. My hands were slippery against its surface and my weak knuckles cracked with pain. But the next sound I heard nearly let me shatter it. “Hold it right there, kid,” a rough, chuckling voice echoed into my ears.

  I froze, every single bone in my body creaked for help. I turned around and dropped the heavy thing. An old man had emerged from the doorway, inspecting me with a doubtful grin. With a mess of grayish hair, tanned skin and smiling wrinkles, he looked like an old urchin ready to pickpocket me. We didn’t know each other, yet he was staring directly at me, and his eyes glanced sideways to my left arm. Judging by the old man’s warm eyes, anyone would expect him to be looking at his dear grandson, instead of a cunning kid who was about to escape.

  I shifted uneasily. “Who are you?” I said, blinking hard to remember. Something about this old man is vaguely familiar. His eyes were a blurry shade of gray-blue, like ponds that rippled in the murky light.

  But, instead of answering me, he tilted his head like a naughty child, “You have your mother’s features, kid, especially those eyes…” He had an amused expression on his face. I’ve known my mother as a charming debutante. She had been my only comfort, the only one that forgave my disobedience…well, before the day I turned four, and she mysteriously disappeared. I said disappeared, not died. I won’t believe it that way. I was always told that I had my mother’s looks, her blond hair, her eyes… Then, I locked my eyes with the old man in front of me. But why did he know her?

  I took a step near him cautiously, “You know my mother, when? Is she still alive?” My heart was thumping in a rapid speed, begging hard for the answer. I wanted to know about my mother’s situation and the mystery of her disappearance. All the veins in my body were aching now.

  The old man hesitated at my question, as if stumped. But he quickly brought his spirit together. “Of course I know your mother, kid, of course I know her…”he sighed with a grievous whistle. He reached out a gentle hand as if to muddle my hair. And strangely, I didn’t flinch and let the stranger stroke my hair.

  He was about to go on, but a bitter cough cut him down. Both of us leaped to our feet at the exact same time. The old man swiftly moved his hands away from me, shrugged and stared away.

  The boy that I had previously met entered the room from the darkened corridors. “Graves, you know shouldn’t be here,” Luther bit his lips as he caught sight the old man. Something strange was flaring in his eyes as he scowled at the old man.

  I frowned and looked from Luther to the old man, Graves, waiting for his reaction. Maybe he would glare at the boy or hush him away, or perhaps roar in rage at him for his sudden interruption. But he just tilted his head apologetically and bowed to Luther, “As you wish, young sire,” he didn’t even dare to look at me, and then hurried away.

  My mouth dropped but I caught myself quickly.

  “Do you know him?” Luther watched as the old man hurried away, biting his lips more tightly. He eyed at me as if querying. Though his voice was quiet and intimate, I knew there was something in it.

  “That man? No. He seems to know me though…”It was oddly familiar, the way his mischievous eyes blinked like a boy’s, the way he called me kid… I blinked, it couldn’t be. “Wait, isn’t he the coachman that refused to give me a ride? He lives here?” I wondered aloud.

  “More of a servant, actually,” Luther muttered, his tone somehow sour. He didn’t meet my eyes, but I could see them darkening with coolness and distance. At least that explained the whole bowing thing.

  Then… What the hell am I doing here? Someone had poisoned me with a handkerchief just on the coach. The whole clod, that horse-faced Walcott and Luther and the coachman, they kidnapped me. “What is this place? Why did you bring me here, out of all the other orphans? Kidnapping, more like?” It was awkward interrogating him. Luther was almost a head taller than me, so I had to lift my gaze.

  Luther’s brows perked at my sarcasm, “This is Sir Walcott’s manor, the place I’ve lived for almost my entire life. And partly, we just paid you off at the orphanage, nothing like kidnapping. As for the medicine that made you drowsy, it was supposed to keep you from running away. We knew you’d run. But… that’s not my idea.” He gave me that complicated smile. It made him look older than he was, and for no particular reason, I hated it.

  “You took me. I think it has to do with the birthmark? I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Luther’s eyes-brows wavered by the slightest bit but I caught that detail, “It’s… got to with everything.” He hesitated but rolled his sleeve up, revealing the same black birthmark, vivid and darker than mine. I couldn’t help biting my finger nails. “… I can’t tell you what it means,” he chewed his words, looking utterly uncomfortable, as if he had just swallowed something nasty. “The one thing I can inform you is that… The Walcotts, they want you because of the same reason they want me, partly because we bear the same mark.” He gave no hint to my question.

  “Well, then. Do any others have the same mark?” I asked, getting frustrated with his answer. Who did he think he is? Did he and his adoptive father think they had the right to bug into my life? My teeth clenched without my notice.

  Luther slowly nodded, now more cautious, “Sir Walcott’s family has the mark and some others, I think.” Somehow, the idea of Walcott having a family struck me as funny. I coughed until my throat ached. Luckily, Luther didn’t seem to notice anything.

  “Does Sir Walcott count as your family?” I tried to stump him with a trick question.

  Luther stared at me blankly, “He adopted me. What do you think?” I guess he didn’t mean that as a joke, but I laughed anyway.

  “Then what about your family, your original one?” I eyed him, challenging him to answer me. And I knew I had gotten him there.

  The boy furrowed his brows, probably holding back the itch to throttle me. After a moment of fidgeting, he finally managed,“What makes you think I’m telling you now?”

  I made a snap at my tongue, fighting to swallow the frustration in me. “Can’t you just tell me anything? What do you want me for?” I raised my voice. But he just waved me off. My impatience finally exploded. No surprise there.

  “Ha, what am I supposed to do here?” I grunted. My eyes twitched as my temper went flaring. I couldn’t help it. “You locked me inside a room and refused tell me anything. What are you people treating me like? Some humble pet?” I backed away, but my eyes were still focusing accusingly at the boy in front of me. I swore my eyes were threatening and sweltering with flames, but the boy didn’t budge, as if he had experienced my frustration a dozen times before.

  He just stared calmly at me, “I guess that matter’s settled now,” he seemed nonchalant to my reaction. “Call the servants outside your corridors when you’re hungry. I don’t want you to starve.” His clear eyes flashed toward me; there was nothing brutal that hinted he had been offended, but pure sadness. But unfortunately, that’s what irritated me the most. I was about to burst with irritation again, but Luther cut me off by closing the door.

  “Francis,” his voice echoed along the hall way as he left the room, “excuse me if I can’t tell you anything. Sorry, I really am.” His voice was so low, I almost felt sorry for him. Well, almost.

  I lay on my bed. I’d never sleep on that thing if I didn’t necessarily need to, I decided. I over thought about what Luther had said. He was acting peacefully all along, I couldn’t even figure out his emotions. He obviously knew something, he and the rest of his precious family. I traced the outlines of my ink-black birthmark. Luther had the same one, too, and probably the rest of this house. But why…? There were so much questions gushing inside my head that I didn’t even notice my grumbling stomach.

  But I decided I’d never ask for food from this place. Well, I’ll make an exception when I’m starving. Why did they leave servants on the corridors anyways? To patrol the corridors from thieves? Or was it to keep me from picking the locks to escape?

  Too dreaded to think anymore, I cuddled myself on bed and fell asleep.

  I had the weirdest dream in my life that night. Perhaps it was because of my quick temper. A figure had emerged from the blurry backgrounds of the dream. He was so imposing and tall that it took me several seconds to figure out the he was actually a she. The shadowy figure was an aggressive-looking girl about my age. A wooden bow and a quiver of silver gleaming arrows hung on her back. Who was she, some kind of huntress? Then she noticed me and wrinkled her nose.

  “Please… Help…” I pleaded to her. I was bitten and bleeding in the dream. Something was chasing me. Something hidden in darkened shadows, something that was powerful and almost invincible…

  The girl now had an amused smile on her face, like she was taunting me. But she leaned down to me. Somehow, this stopped the darkness from getting nearer. She grabbed on my collar and yanked my sleeve down to reveal my arm. When she saw the thing she wanted, she gave me an almost vicious grin. The golden tint in her hazel eyes gleamed oddly.

  “Oh… I’m so going to help you, little…” What she called me I didn’t remember, but it was definitely not sweet heart. Then, she stuffed her hand into her outfit and pulled something out. At first, I thought she was fumbling for bandages to heal me. But she drew something out aside of that. I cowered like a mouse that had been haunted by the shadow of a treacherous cat. I didn’t know how, but the its presence made me wince.

  It was a blood-red knife, pulled out of its sheath, perfectly curled on the end. I screamed so hard at the sight of it that my vision started to shake. And that was even before she stabbed me, directly on the arm. I crumpled to the ground as if my nerves were loose. I blacked out.

  The girl laughed and dragged me away. The dream faded, but I didn’t wake up. I fell backwards into the darkness, closing my eyes, allowing the dark force to devour me even further…

  Chapter Four

  The Kitchen Knife

  I didn’t attempt to wake up and get dressed that morning, for my eyes still felt drowsy and I hadn’t slept in a mattress so cozy in my life. I forgot everything I promised to not sleep in that bed.

  The dream I had last night stirred in me. I pressed my fingers on my forehead and rubbed hard. The dream was nearly a blur now. I tried to remember everything during my sleep, but nothing hit me.

  There was a knock on the door. Great, the last thing I needed was some jerk invading my privacy. I expected Luther, because the weird boy always had some unspeakable feeling toward me. Or maybe it was that mysterious man with a shaggy beard, who had informed me he knew my mother.

  The knock on the door echoed again. I felt annoyed, and didn’t even move an inch on the bed, let alone replying. The door creaked open, and a kitchen maid wearing a white apron slowly padded in. She had a tray full of food in her rose arms. She dipped her head low in a meek way as if she was staring at the floor. Noticing her, I quickly retreated into my blanket, hiding my face beneath it and snoring slightly to look like I was still sound asleep.

  The maid took no notice of my action and placed the tray of breakfast on my bedside table. She bowed her head low respectfully and mumbled something like “Enjoy your breakfast, sir”, which I found pretty peculiar, for my acting skills were usually very convincing. I fooled Mrs. Tristia several times until I got tired with that game.

  As I watched her retreating from the room like she was sleep walking, my eyes quickly darted toward the breakfast tray. There were lumps of hot pancakes sizzling with gooey treacle and hot syrup, several dishes of roasted bacon and poached eggs, and a… I caught sight of a useful device. Now this is what I’m talking about. I glint of smile rose on my face… a razor sharp kitchen knife perched on top of the bacon. Not that I ate using a knife and a fork with well-behaved manners, I usually ate with my dirt-stained bare hands, sometimes with my toes for the fun of it.

  I twisted the knife in my fingers, attempting the next move. Finally, I acted. I swung myself toward the door just when the maid was about to leave. She blocked my way and closed the door. The set of keys dangled in her palm. She stared at me and mumbled numbly, “Sir Walcott doesn’t want you to leave this room, sir.”

  “Well, I’m sorry. You should tell your master that he’d be disappointed,” I snarled as I twisted the blade between my fingers, allowing her to see what I was doing. My hands that pressed against the hilt were sweaty, my fingers trembled a bit, but I tried to make my face calm. This was my chance of escaping, I couldn’t lose it. I didn’t know why I was acting so alerted, but my instincts told me there was danger around this place.

  “The keys. Open the door,” I muttered. My fingers felt slippery, but I forced myself not to faint out of nervousness. I couldn’t do it. I knew clearly from the very beginning when I plucked the knife I didn’t dare harm anyone, not even a single scratch.

  The maid glanced at me. Her eyes fixed on me, as if she didn’t see the knife at all. “Pardon, sir?” She said in a dreamy low voice.

  “Please, open it,” I pleaded. This was totally weird, wasn’t she the one who is supposed to beg? I’m the one with the knife and the stupid gut. “Miss, I don’t want to stay here forever. Please,” I blinked several times. These were the politest words I had ever said to anyone. I grasped the knife harder. A twinge of guilt and pain ran though me. My fingers burned. Did I cut myself? That was my least concern now.

  The maid repeated the same thing in the same tone, like she was recalling something by rote, “Pardon, sir?” She said, gazing at me with humble eyes.

  I stared at her. Her behavior was more than a bit odd. I leaned closer and stared right back into her eyes. They were blurred, like they were covered by streaks of slivery mist, like she was in some sort of dreamy trance. “Pardon, sir?” She looked at me dreamily, a smile on her face.

  A chill ran up my spine. The gentle smile on her face never wavered, her tone never changed, those eyes never blinked… I wondered if she ever breathed, or ever lived in this world. The thought made me froze. I reached for her to ask more questions, when…

  “What are you doing, Francis?” Luther’s voice reached my ears. I jumped, reluctantly aware that the lad was right behind me with his eyebrows raised. This wasn’t the first time he surprised me off guard. The way he always knew when something was wrong, the way he appeared from the void… It’s kind of creepy, made my skin crawl.

  “How did you get in…?”I rapped, gawking at him,

  But the maid seemed totally casual about Luther’s appearance and bowed low, “Young sire, my honor…” She murmured in the equal faraway voice as if what was talking wasn’t her own voice, but echoes.

  “You’re dismissed,” Luther said coolly, eyeing the maid. The maid bowed again and hurried off without even looking at me. He treated the others, in a way as if he’s not a boy of fifteen. There was something proud but still sad about him, which made me want to kick him and pity him at the same time.

  Luther caught my eyes, “What are you doing with that knife?”

  My blood chilled. “Ah…” for a stupid, split second, I had forgotten that I was clasping the damn knife, “I didn’t have one to slice my bread, so I asked for one.” I blurted out without filtering the idea in my brain. After I said it, I felt like slapping myself. I swear that was the worst lie I had ever doped out.

  Luther tilted his head when hearing my reply, “Someone like you, using a knife to eat breakfast…? You really should have figured out a better lie.” The smooth way he said it caught me off guard again. I choked without even realizing it.

  There was an odd silence, which frequently happened when the two of us were in a private conversation, as if both of us were lost for words. Finally, I managed to work out something lame. “Do you forgive me for what I’ve done?” I chewed my tongue, avoiding eye contact with the boy. Luther had done nothing against me last time, just following commands of Walcott’s, I shouldn’t be expecting everyone else to be as rebellious as I was.

  Luther’s eyes flickered toward me, “What are you sorry for?”

  “You know, for yelling at you and lying to you, last night,” my forehead burned while I talked. Strange, that was unlike me.

  He just laughed, “That was totally nothing, if compared to what I’ve done when I first arrived at this damn place. I snuck out of my room at night and even managed to escape.” The odd smile that tugged his lips was much more than a drollery. Something tight caught in my throat as I forced to smile. But Luther continued, as if he was unmindful of this. “Well, they caught me, eventually… And then,” he halted, the spark in his eyes dimmed, and he looked serious to the bone, “I think you can intuit what had happened.”

  I considered what he had just told me. It was hard to believe Luther had been as roguish as I was now. My skin crawled to think what would happen if I stayed here any longer, let alone catching hell. “How old were you when they first kidnapped you?” I added sarcastically.

  “They didn’t take me like they did to you. I was sent here,” He breathed hard, and then shrugged, as if pretending that was no big deal. “But… I was four then.”

  “Oh,” I mumbled. “That’s… unfortunate.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Not really. I don’t have both my parents around me, either,” Luther managed a faint smile but failed to hide the sulk behind it.

  I realized he had let-slipped his most painful privacy. My eyes went down-cast. “Sorry… for asking. I didn’t know.” I drew out a breath of bitter air.

  The atmosphere went heavy again, scratching my nerves. Couldn’t bear it anymore, I broke the tension. “Why did the servants all treat you like you’re their lord or something? Is it because Walcott’s your adoptive father?” I laughed. It was meant for a joke, but he flinched at the question.

  “No,” Luther bit the word hard and breathed with a sigh, “it’s nothing like that. My father…Well, Sir Walcott serves my father and he orders the servants to show some respect to me.” His face twitched.

  I cocked my head, “And… what’s wrong with that? Why does Walcott serve you father? Who is he? Some kind of minister, I suppose?” Since both of us were very near parentless, I figured he would confide.

  “No, I won’t tell,” he said flatly, his sudden hostile glare alarmed me. But he then gritted his teeth and breathed out his annoyance, “Sorry for that… Really, Francis, don’t push me. Not telling you anything is the least of what I can do. Or else father would… accuse me.” He bit his lips so hard that all the color ran out.

  I gawked at the boy but at least settled my urge to punch him.

  When he recovered from the discomfort, he tilted his head at me, “You haven’t even touched your breakfast. I suppose you want to be in private? Sir Walcott wants to see you when you’re ready. You’d better not be late… at least you know what he’s like.” A ghost of a smile played around his lips.

  I laughed. He pursed his lips gently- I knew it’s his version of rolling on the ground and laughing.

  Chapter Five

  An Incident of Kindling Flames

  After a quick breakfast, Luther led me through a long narrow corridor that twisted and turned several hundred times. Portraits hung on the wall, velvety drapes and tapestries blurred past us.

  “What does he want me for?” I asked. I know I wasn’t supposed to ask too many questions, but I couldn’t help much. Luther just shrugged in response, whether he didn’t know or wasn’t allowed to tell, I wasn’t sure. Keeping my mouth shut for the rest of the time was a major effort.

  We arrived at a splendid wooden door with ancient etchings. Luther nudged my elbow, signaling me to get inside. “All three of them will be in there. I suggest that you behave yourself.” Luther said with a warning look.

  “All three of whom…?”I wondered, a little aghast.

  “Sir Walcott’s wife Lady Rosamund and their daughter Roth,” Luther answered and raised an eye-brow when I laughed at his words.

  “Walcott has a wife? What kind of…” I couldn’t help it, picturing Walcott with a wife struck me as funny.

  “You’ll see for yourself,” Luther tightened his lips, interrupting my rudeness. “It’s best for you not to let them wait any longer. Sir Walcott doesn’t have a good temper. ”

  “I’ve noticed that already, thanks,” I grumbled and snorted. Luther didn’t say anything and bopped me inside, though I knew he was stifling a laugh.

  I pushed the door inwards for it to open. At the back of the room, Walcott was seated comfortably at his arm chair, enjoying every single moment of the day. The smug sneer on his face made me want to punch him hard on the face. But I just rolled my eyes and behaved myself. I didn’t want to spend my whole day being punished. So I looked sideways.

  The lady beside him, apparently his wife, Lady Rosamund, I hate to admit, was breath-taking. With light brown hair that worn up in a gorgeous fashion and eyes that shone like stars, she looked dazzling enough to be a queen. But her smile was stiff and unwelcome as she nodded at me, with every inch of her face pinched into a scowl. I quickly looked away as her cold eyes studied me. She sipped her tea carefully and looked away just as I did. It’s hard to imagine that so gorgeous a woman could be just as trying.

  The last person I noticed was a little girl about my age. Roth Walcott had inherited her mother’s lovely face and her father’s sneer which puffed up with pride. She, too, looked at me with total interest, sniggering annoyingly. I rolled my eyes again and spat in disgust. It was really incredible that you would despise someone you have hardly known.

  Before anyone else could break the silence, I stood up and squared my shoulder. “What do you want me for? You haven’t told me yet,” I glared at Walcott with anger boiling inside them. “You just grabbed me and dumped me into this damn place…”

  All three of the Walcotts laughed, even Lady Rosamund, who looked like she’d never smile. Roth smirked with disapproval and gazed me over again with a new interest. “Oh, he’s such a cute idiot,” she sniggered, which I found very disturbing. I mean, fine, this wasn’t the best speech I had made, but that was how I felt. Anger surged inside me like tide.

  “That will be remained to consider. What we want you for… You’ll see at the end, boy,” Walcott answered coldly. The end, those words rumbled inside me like a storm. They’re going to do something heinous to me at the end. My fists clenched tightly.

  “Are you educated, Francis? Or perhaps, being taught to learn your manners? I suppose not,” Lady Rosamund asked me as a faint mocking smile rose on her face. “I hate to think about the education your mother had given you.” That last sentence struck me so hard that I almost lost my balance.

  My breath instantly became shallow. “You know her… how dare you…” I breathed hard, trying to defend my mom. Anger was surging inside me. So, these people knew my mother, could they possibly be responsible for her disappearance? My fists clenched harder than ever and my fingers dug into my palm. Rosamund and I glowered at each other, her icy proud ones with mine.

  Surprisingly, a sharp voice answered. “Milady, that is enough, I thought we have come over this. You know better than insulting the mother.” Luther slid in, apparently annoyed. He must have been hiding outside the door, eavesdropping. I noticed that his lips were pale white, trembling. I grinned at Luther, grateful for him to defend my mother.

  Walcott’s face tightened and he said nothing. But Lady Rosamund’s looked like wax. “I… my apologies, Luther… I didn’t notice you there… Might I be excused?” She clutched her throat, looking as uncomfortable as ever. I whistled, silently laughing the lady’s discomfort.

  “That’s not the first time,” Luther muttered, moody. Then he raised his voice, “Sir Walcott, I suggest that the ladies should be escorted back to their rooms. This is no place for them.” His brows creased as he said that. Apparently, he, like me, took no favor in the two. My breath drew out, relieved.

  With a glance at her husband’s emotionless face, Lady Rosamund dipped her head gracefully and lifted her skirt to head for the entrance. Luther exited as well, accompanying her. Roth hesitated and squirmed on her seat. “Go,” Walcott growled. “But…” Roth argued, leering at me, as if she couldn’t wait to see me being punished. “Go!” Walcott rasped. Only then did the girl hurry away, chasing after Luther and her mother. Idiot… I cursed.

  The door slammed in a shudder, cruelly isolating me, leaving me to deal with Walcott alone. I scowled and turned back at him. “If you’re not going to explain your purpose, why did you call me here?” I rapped, demanding for an answer.

  Instead of replying, Walcott gestured with his thumb for me to sit beside him. “Standing must’ve exhausted you.” He sneered, gazing at me with lazy, relaxed pleasure. The more he stared at me, the more I thought his face looked like a mask, a horse-headed mask.

  “I prefer standing than sitting with you, thanks,” I replied.

  He laughed with a croaky voice. “Stand as you like, boy, I’d rather sit alone.” He steadied himself and then hefted my expression. “You look awfully like your mother and acted like her, such an ignorant debutante…”

  “Alive… Is she not?” I cut in, annoyed of his offenses.

  Just as I expected, Walcott ignored me. He leaned closer, so his face was even uglier and more visible. “So… she kept you for… what? Four years or so…? Thinking she could protect you from us…” He laughed dryly, amused. Then Walcott directed his question at me, “Has your darling mother ever told you about… this?” He shoved me a book. I glanced at it briefly. The etchings read A Historical Tragedy: 1692.

  My eyes suddenly twitched convulsively. “No. That’s a history volume, and you expect my mom to read me that as a bed time story?” I lied, of course.

  “Or about this, perhaps…?”He rolled up his sleeve and I swallowed hard. There it was, He had revealed his own black mark, the same shape as mine. I felt my left arm twitching with a sizzling energy.

  “Neither.”

  This seemed to satisfy Walcott. A leer on his face, he nodded, “Good, just as I had expected… She concealed everything from you… good… excellent…”

  “What do you mean?” I snapped. I hated it when I was confused. My head buzzed with both excitement and fear, torturing my will power. I felt as if I was drowned in the undulating sea of questions.

  Walcott shot me a triumphant look, suggesting that he’ll leave my questions hanging there. He lowered his voice, just to intimidate me, “You’ll be staying in this place for a while, not that I appreciate it, boy. There’ll be things going around here, intricate things that are too much for your little rascal’s brain, and I kindly advise you not to lurk around the whole place, investigating them…”

  “Things like Luther’s father, am I right?” I cocked my head, half smirking, half insulting. Walcott’s eyes narrowed and I felt the sizzling heat that held in his gaze, but I was too big-headed to care, “Luther told me himself. Incredulous, someone like you, a servant of…”

  That did it. Walcott clasped his hands together and I finished the sentence with throat gargles. A bend of pressure had tightened around my neck, almost suffocating me. I coughed, I choked, I gagged, but my breath was drawn out. I could only whistle to gasp for air.

  “How… the bloody… hell…” I sounded like I had aged sixty years, but I stopped the effort. My voice collapsed as I struggled for air. My vision blurred as if in a black-out… lack of air… vainto writhe… But I saw my arch enemy, resting there with a lazy taunt, his fingers still hooked with each other, as if clutching something… Somehow, I envisioned his fingers around my neck, choking me, even though there was some distance between us. If those dead, gray eyes of his were the last thing I see, being a perished corpse wouldn’t stop me from puking.

  Oblige to my luck, this time, I didn’t need to conjure the flames myself. As if triggered by my anxiety and desperateness, the desk between us glowed scarlet and erupted into flames, even brighter than dawn light. The books and parchment and scrolls was caught by the fiery tongues and burned down to shreds. Smoke rippled through the air. With a reluctant yelp, Walcott did the sensible thing and leaped away. He wasn’t as thick as I thought he would be, because the next second I knew, the snarling fire ripped his chair and swallowed it.

  The bend around my neck loosened. I didn’t even have time to faint. No seconds to lose, I sprawled my way toward the entrance.

  The door was locked, but that didn’t thwart me, because it, too, buckled and warped in a brilliant blaze. Blood was thudding in my ear drums, encouraging me to traipse through the kindling flames. Without thinking, I crawled through the flames and ashes. The fire squirmed as I approached. The scarlet red itched, torn off my clothes, but it didn’t hurt me, it never did. In the flames, everything seemed to melt into the golden warmth, into the hot breath of coal.

  The moment I crossed the burning door, I blacked out immediately of so much stress and exhaustion. I could feel the birthmark on my arm scorching and heating up like coal. I feel the power and strength boiling inside me but then faded as my eyes closed. My vision blurred again. Someone grabbed me behind gently and carried me away from the ruins…

  Chapter Six

  A Fierce Quarrel

  Someone rubbed a wet towel on my forehead, leaving a cool sensation, as if an autumn rain had washed over me. My head was burning hotly, and spinning dizzily.

  “Fire…” I mumbled, out of breath, “needed to be put out… the fire…”

  “Francis? Snap out of it，Francis! Are you fine?” My eyes flew open with pain still smoldering in my head. Even though my sight was fuzzy, I caught the brilliant blond curls of Luther’s. He was leaning against my bedpost, with his brows knitted together with concern.

  “Fine? That’ll be a miracle…” The second voice mused. I looked around. The old man, Graves was soaking the towel with water. The two of them leaned forward as they examined me, not with interest this time. It’s awkward to see them in the same room, since last time things got awfully wrong.

  I tugged the hair from my eyes, hoping that would brush away their tense concern. “No, I’m fine, really.” I grumbled.

  “There’s nothing fine with you.” Luther declared, suddenly agreeing with Graves, “You were outside in the rain this morning and caught this serious fever. How could you have been so …” He managed to hold back the dirty words and swallowed hard.

  I stared at him. “What are you talking about? I… it wasn’t even raining this morning. I was with Walcott; he interrogated me with these ludicrous questions, when the door exploded into flames and…” I exclaimed, darting my eyes from Luther to old man Graves. Both shot me baffled looks. I moistened my lips, because it suddenly felt very, very dry.

  “Walcott had been out today, kid. You’re dreaming things up, are you?” Graves chewed his beard. I started to protest, but he cut me off with a deep whistle. The old man turned to Luther with a hard expression, “I’m afraid the kid had lost his memories and his nerves during the fever.”

  “Not funny,” I glared at him with no humor in my eyes. Even though the old man looked extremely grim on the face, I still wanted to punch him for that one. But I was in no state of combat, not even against a frail old dude. Annoyed, I sank in bed. Did they just suggest that the whole thing never happened? I still remembered Walcott showing me the dull history book, not that I could remember something so tedious like that.

  My eyes passed between the two. Luther’s expression never wavered as he looked at me directly in the eye. But Graves’s eyes darted away when mine met his. I caught his eyes twitching.

  “Luther…? Is it okay if you leave us?” I said, “Graves and I need to… talk.”

  Luther had one of those hard looks in his eyes. I saw the loathing, the sulk. But he managed to shrug. “I think I’ll make an exception this time.” His breathed out his permission, turning away. I noticed the scowl on his face as he closed the door and left it unlatched.

  “So, Graves…” I cupped my chin, acting careless. “Is it alright if I call you that?”

  “Sure, kid. Unless you want to insult me, that is. I like that name,” Graves chuckled, a thin smile tugging his lips.

  I grinned back in response, even though it took me some effort. “Right,” I glanced toward the door. Luther was out of sight, but I didn’t feel safe to talk. I sank my voice into a low whisper, “You’re lying and I know it, Graves. You won’t meet my face when you’re talking,” I peered at his eyes directly, but he flinched.

  “What do you think, kid? Do I look like I was lying?” He asked with a soft voice, his eyes drifting away as he talked. Alright, he’s lying. I decided.

  For the following minutes, I tried to yank the truth out of him, but he just changed the subject or chortled along over his jokes. He was the most stubborn guy and the lamest liar I had ever seen, if not counting myself.

  “Ah, so…” I was getting a bit dejected with his answers but too dogged to give up. Switching the topic, I hoped I could at least trick something out of him. “What’s the tale between you and Luther? I notice the way he…treats you.”

  Graves’s cheerful gray eyes darkened, and he grimaced at the question, “You know, kid. When Luther was young, he and I… we were once friends.” He spat the word out with such bitterness that he almost sounded like the boy, “I used to be his guardian instead of Walcott. We had a close relationship… I thought he liked me more than that devious Gallagher brat. And then… things changed, everything changed.” His forced a grin at me, but that only made him look more distressed.

  “I was supposed to protect the boy’s mother from harm. That was a duty.” he swallowed hard, voice quivering with pure grief, “But then…she was perished, probably murdered, by whom? Only the hell knows. You know rest of the story, kid, and the boy screamed at me and…” Graves tried to shrug off the pain, “treated me like a nuisance.”

  Silence, stony silence… Neither of us said a word for a long dragging moment.

  Even though my voice was cracked, I knew I had to break the silence. “Why don’t you just… leave? Since Luther hate you so much.” I quickly regretted saying it.

  Graves laughed, so hard and with such an affect that tears came to his eyes, slipping down the bridge of his nose, making the wrinkles on his face as vivid as ever. “Could I? Could I? Oh, that would be such a relief if I can leave this damn place… Oh, curse him…” He stared into the ceiling for a long time and gained his nerves. He smoothed my hair with his bony fingers. They felt warm and soothing rather than skeletal. “I’ve sworn my loyalty to Luther’s father,” He murmured, “He’s my master from the date of my birth, or else I’d leave this dreaded place…” Graves cursed again.

  “I know why you didn’t leave. You’re still attached to Luther, aren’t you?”

  Graves tilted his head at me but didn’t answer. He had that mysterious smile on his face again, which bothered me, as if I had that choking bend of pressure around my neck again. The old man’s lips twitched to respond.

  Just then, Luther swung the door open. He always arrived just in time to spoil the fun. I was beginning to wonder if he was eavesdropping. The boy leaned against the door frame, face showing no expression. “Graves, you should leave, you’ve been here too long,” He ordered indifferently, widening the door for him, even though Graves just stayed for several minutes, as I could recall. “Francis will need privacy. He’s sick now. Don’t you, Francis?” His face appeared as an emotionless mask, but his gray eyes went burning inside mine. That frigid stare, I swore he was challenging me to answer.

  “Well, I like him here.” I made it a point, showing no trace of backing off, “Why can’t you just let him stay for a while?”

  Luther cut me down with a frosty scowl. “Not you too,” He accused me and turned to glare at Graves as if it was his fault. “Graves, I’m warning you, now.” He bit his lips so hard there was no color in them at all.

  “I’ll be fine, kid.” Graves leaned forward to my ears, “I’ll be back at…”

  “Graves!” Luther snapped, “You’ll never come back into this room unless I order you to! And trust me, that’ll never happen! I’m the master around here until then and you should remember that until the day of your death! Now get out!” His usually-mannered face was distorted by fiery exasperation. Maybe it was my imagination that his eyes were no longer clear gray, but an eerie shade of red, as if blood had filled them. He then glared at us with those blood-shot eyes, and I had to stop myself from flinching.

  But Graves was calm, as if he had experienced this many times before. He knelt to the floor and hurried away.

  I finally managed to swallow down the vile taste in my mouth, and then yanked my head around. “How can you do this?” I met his eyes, mine, too, boiling with wrath. I’d be depressed as well if someone incautiously let my family die, but to loathe him? “That old man didn’t do anything to me or you. Did he?”

  Both of us were breathing hard. The terrible silence erupted between us, and it made the blood roar in my eardrums. After steadying his breath, he managed through gnashed teeth, “Do you know what will happen between you two? He can let you die, Francis, the way he did to my mother!”

  “Why? Why do you care for me so much?” I demanded. Though it wasn’t much of a threat, it was enough.

  “Shut up! I can’t tell you!” He howled. That order shook me hard. A sudden force came from nowhere and swung me back. I crashed into the wall. Panting, I clutched my leg. I swore there could’ve been a bone broken if I hadn’t grabbed a pillow. I glanced at Luther, astounded and equally dazed. But that feeling recoiled and replaced itself with bursting anger

  Luther gasped and took out a hand to help me up. The fiery red in his eyes had washed away. “I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean to…” He reached out to touch me.

  “No!” I shrieked. “Don’t you dare touch me!” I winced to avoid him. That made my leg ache, and my head burned hot, but I didn’t care.

  “I’ll call someone to fix your leg, it’ll get worse…” Luther insisted. He’s trying to hoodwink me, as if that would make us friends.

  “Just call Graves,” I said, annoyed. This would infuriate him and I knew it.

  My plan worked. “Fine,” he snapped coldly, whirling around to leave. “Fine then, if that’s what you want.” He strode toward the door without even a glance at me. But I knew his eyes were burning with flames of wrath. He slammed the door shut and locked it up. This time he was probably locking it five different times. “Good night,” his voice rasped through the door. There was sulkiness in his tone.

  “Good night? Aargh!” I grumbled with equal fierceness. Then, I covered my face with the blanket and started ripping the pillow apart. I tried to forget everything. The maids, the spiting fire, and the lies everyone’s telling me… And the powers I couldn’t quite put my hands on… Walcott had choked me without laying his filthy hands on me, Luther thrust me aside and almost injured me while he did nothing but stood there, me and my damn flames…

  No, that none of my business. If I were free, none of them would be in my way. I’d run away, maybe tonight. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought about it again.

  I mussed with my hair and sank between the pillows. My head hadn’t gotten over the fever yet, and my leg felt like it had been pinched.

  Maybe I’ll sleep for a while. It’ll be fine to just rest for half of the night. Wishing I had never been so drowsy, I stumbled backward into bed and fell asleep, mumbling something…

  Chapter Seven

  The Secrets behind the Tapestry

  Early in the morning, I woke up with a start. My head was still aching, but not as badly as before. I just felt a twinge of pain in my head when I propped myself up, nothing more. I tested my legs, stretching them back and forth and back again. They were perfectly flexible.

  I straightened my back. Something by my bedside table caught my attention. It was a note, written neatly with long thin words.

  Francis，

  Sorry about last night, I didn’t mean it. Really. I hope you feel alright. The Walcotts and I are on a long journey across the country. Don’t even miss us; I assume you won’t, so I’m not concerned. The servants will bring you the meals; ask them if you want anything. Don’t even try to escape, Francis. That’ll be the last thing you do (that’s not a threat).

  PS: Don’t ever try to look for the old man; you can’t get out of your room.

  Yours sincerely,

  Luther

  My eyes tingled at the last part. “Friendly word choice,” I teased, then ripped the note apart and thrust the remaining fragments into the trash. As if I care what he thought. I snorted hard. He just didn’t want me to escape with old man Graves, that boy never cared about me. I was just a piece of chess in his treacherous games.

  I returned my thoughts to the note. They’re all gone on a journey to somewhere else. I tapped my fingers on the desk. Great decision… The kitchen maids would probably serve my breakfast at seven. I had gotten plenty of time on my own. Escaping. They’d find my room empty when they brought in the food.

  The door were tightly latched from outside. I tried to pick the lock, but it was a total waste of my precious time. At least five locks and a chain were fixed tightly on the outside, making it a challenge. Besides, I didn’t even have a pin or even a quill to pick it. What was I supposed to use? My tongue?

  I quickly found myself wrong about breaking through the windows. They’re all sturdy enough to block a flock of arrows from miles away.

  I sprawled on my bed, completely exhausted. Maybe I’ll wait for the servants to come to figure something out. Perhaps I’ll trick them into letting me go, since the threatening part didn’t work for me.

  I stopped plotting my vain plan. The Walcotts’ absence hadn’t given me any advantages. I’ve checked the room from top to bottom, inside out and there was nothing, nothing other than useless, lavish furnishings. I glared at the room with revulsion. Even my cramped attic with squat ceiling and scuttling spiders was better than this place. Here, every surface was shiny clean, furnished with luxuries that I would never own, full of despair and emptiness I could never cast off. The Antique Persian rugs, the French glass-to-ceiling windows, nothing was out of place, except…

  Something caught my eye, a tapestry, woven with thick golden threads that shone like dawn light. But that wasn’t what allured me to it. It was old, apparently not preserved with care, unlike any other tapestries in the room.

  On the heart of the tapestry was a ring of silk. I studied the patterns. It showed a flock of white birds, stainless as snow, fluttering in the background of a pitch-black sky. The birds were sewn with their heads angled toward the top, as if soaring to the Heaven.

  I leaned closer. The birds had snowy-white legs and little faces, golden streaks of hair were woven along their faces. They’re angels. I traced their faces with my fingertips, watching them beaming at me.

  My fingers fell, so it carelessly pointed out the background. I blinked once, then twice. I had mistaken the blackness for the night sky, but apparently, it represented something totally else. The angels’ wings seemed to give the blackness some outlines, so it appeared like dozens of tiny black silhouettes. Each of the things looked identical, like the angels were. Something heavy rose in my throat. My hand trembled as I reached forward to outline the brims of the black things. The angels seemed to fade, leaving the blackness behind. All I could fix my eyes on was the blackness.

  I rolled my sleeve up, revealing my birthmark. I traced the mark, running my trembling fingers across it. My breath became grew shallower. It was the same as the black thing on the tapestry.

  If angels were voices of the God, then the blackness could only be one thing. Messenger… Messengers of the…

  “Devil,” I mouthed the word with a trembling voice. My tongue ached as if it was burning. The word seemed to light a fire in my mouth, and I tumbled to the ground. Reaching for my pained mouth, I stared at the tapestry again. For the first time of my life, I knew the meanings of my birthmark. No comments there, my mind went blank and I refused to consider more.

  Without a thought of what I was doing, I grabbed the heavy tapestry and hurled it toward the floor. The patterns on it made me uneasy. I shook my head, trying to cool my nervousness.

  My eyes fell upon the empty stone wall beneath it. Would any servants notice this? But that was now the least of my concerns. In the dim morning light, I could make out a vertical crack running down the wall, deeper than the gaps between the stones. I reached for the crack and touched it smoothly. The line turned all twice in vertical ways, then the two ends of it ended down the floor.

  A door, a secret door… My heart leaped in a somersault. Could it be some sort of servant’s passage way? This could be the only way for me to leave this damn place. A smile curled my mouth. Hello, freedom. I leaned on the wall and shoved hard at the door. It gave a slight creak. My heart pounded and did another joyous flip. I wrapped my fingers around the groove and pushed again, this time yanking harder. The door moaned as it swung open. I rubbed my exhausted hand on my shirt and looked inwards, my whole-body trembling with excitement.

  Not a broom cupboard, that I was sure. I took a breath. Some sort of darkened corridor loomed like shadows before me. There were no torches or lanterns, so I grabbed a candle stick and slipped inside. Knowing it would be ridiculous to trap myself between the walls, I slid the door wider, leaving a crack, just enough for light to stream in. For a second thought, I grabbed the tapestry and concealed the entrance. The servants might suspect I ran away elsewhere.

  As the tapestry veiled the dawn light, the passage way quickly darkened. The only source of light was the shivering, golden flames of my candle. I squeezed the candle stick with a stiff grip, almost melting it.

  The hall was squat and narrow, surrounded by stark, black stone. It was coated with dust and mildew. Tangles of knotted cobwebs frequently blinded my sight. There were huge spiders in the corners, I wasn’t sure if they were tarantulas.

  It was dark and cold, as well, seeming to have no end. I sneezed, rubbing my nose. I couldn’t even hear the echoes clearly. I threaded through it for a decade. There were no turns or twists, just a narrow, boringly straight passage. I picked my way down a swirl of rickety staircases that descended into the shadowy bottoms. I tensed as I stepped down. I could only hear my own shallow breath, being squeezed in and out of my lungs. No one else was around.

  The corridor was deserted, at least just for now. How big was the manor?

  There were fewer cobwebs down here. The stone walls were covered with grand portraits, each one reaching from the ceiling to the floor. The golden frames were glistening. I stopped to examine them. Holding the candle aloft, I leaned closer.

  They were portraits of somewhat ancestors of the house. Women in layers of satin frocks and with ridiculous curls of hair piled on their heads, men with puffed up sleeves and lace collars and trimmed white wigs. I had to cough to stop myself from laughing at their clothes. They were probably from the fifteen-hundreds or so, judging by their horrendous tastes. There were children, too. Their starched clothes weren’t the best choice for suicide.

  All the way down the hall way, the pictures were newer and more modern. A portrait at the end of the hall caught my eye. My blood stopped cold and I gagged. I recognized each figure in the portrait. Walcott grinned smugly at me through the portrait, with the young Lady Rosamund at his side. Roth was barely one year old, but she already had her famous haughty giggle. I rolled my eyes.

  Then I saw Luther in the portrait, about four years old. He had a cherubic grin on his face. His eyes were a shade of watery blue, glinting in a playful way. I barely recognized him, but a feeling that tugged the back of my head reassured me. My eyes prickled as I recalled what happened between us yesterday. My fingers curled into a fist.

  I tipped my head to move one when… another woman in the portrait beamed at me. My mouth was plunked down to the ground. She looked like a Greek goddess. Golden hair swirled in gentle waves down her shoulders, gleaming like dawn light. She smiled easily at me, that quick, intelligent smile that I’ll never forget.

  I reached for her, watching her warm eyes. But my finger touched nothing but canvas. “Mom,” I whispered, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to stop the sore that pained my eyes. Tears were coming in so fast all I could see were blurs of colors. Only when the tears dried did I notice Eliza Pavilion was hugging and kissing someone on the chin. An infant with mischievous eyes and straw-yellow hair… I didn’t want to see or think any further, the portrait had sent my teeth on edge.

  I passed through other portraits, not even glancing at them. I shoulders sagged with an old sorrow but I managed to shrug. I should be able to see an exit now. Soon enough, I saw a stone door, like the one in my room. Calling myself a coward, I shoved it hard and stepped inside.

  Chapter Eight

  The Journey Out

  The door hadn’t led me outside the manor. Quite startlingly, it revealed Walcott’s office. A pity that he had been out, it would’ve been a pleasure to irritate him.

  The rambling desk I had in mind had been removed, the door, too, had been replaced by a new one. Typically, the old ones had been burned to cinders. I hadn’t dreamed it up after all. I gripped my arm hard, convinced as ever. The nonsense Luther and the old man had told me was a lie and a rubbish lie as well.

  I kicked Walcott’s arm chair, since I hadn’t revenged on him enough. Being busy insulting him, I hadn’t examined his office carefully the last time. Books ranged on the shelves, each one of them designed to frustrate me. It turned out that the A Historical Tragedy: 1692 was actually the most straightforward one. The others completely mashed my brain, either with unreadable scribbles or in a language I didn’t recognize. The illustrations were hand drawn and ghastly, with so much blood and gore I decided not to interpret. I tore a few pages off, just to annoy him.

  There are things in his office so weird and intriguing I couldn’t lay my hands on. There are flagons, bottles and cylinders displayed on the racks. At first I figured that they must contained wine or some other drinks for the wealthy. But there are half a dozen of them. I took a closer look and I leaped out of my skin. The first had snakes’ head soaking in the bubbling liquid. The second had some sort of dark deposit with leech-like creatures squirming inside. The third was a tiny vial of thick, frothing liquid, tagged Headache Draughts and a horrendous skull. I already had a headache reading the label so I didn’t bother touching it.

  I nibbled my fingers. Seriously…Walcott was addicted to collecting scary ingredients? Maybe he was some sort of mad alchemist. There were still legends circulating about people trying to distill gold from human urine or raise little men inside a bottle. Maybe the bottles were prepared for producing gold, maybe that’s why the Walcotts were so wealthy. But then what about the poison in the vial? I stared at them, my mind adrift in my meaningless thoughts. The dim light illuminated the variety of glass containers, silhouetting eerie shapes on the wall. My flesh crept as I watched them.

  Hurrying footsteps echoed through the hallways outside. I froze, panicking hard and hauling my mind away from my thoughts. Could it possibly be Walcott? Hadn’t he been on a trip to somewhere? I quickly pressed my ears against the new, wooden door.

  A dreamy, drowsy voice drifted through the door. “He’s gone, nowhere to find, how will our master punish us?” My heart gained its normal speed. I keeled over and fell flat on my back in relief. It was one of the servant girls, probably the one who brought me breakfast.

  But the voices that came next made my heart shiver.

  “He’s gone, nowhere to find, how will our master punish us?”

  “He’s gone, nowhere to find, how will our master punish us?”

  “He’s gone, nowhere to find, how will our master punish us?”

  ……

  I breathed hard and turned my back on the door. There was a herd of servants. Each one of them had the same mystified sing-song voice, repeating the same words as if echoing to the girl’s, as if in a dreamy trance. In a trance…

  My heart flipped like a crooked dice. A trance…? Could it be true…? A chill went up my spine, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on ends.

  A mighty force knocked me over. One of them was slapping the wooden door, anxious to get inside. Their target…? Me. Once again, I became the prey.

  “He’s in there…” One of them muttered sleepily, as if he was dream talking.

  “He’s in there…”“He’s in there…”“He’s in there…”

  Many of them pushed at the door. The door groaned and wobbled. There was no way I could blast it again, I might injure the poor servants, lucky for that door, though. I had to flee.

  When the wooden door swung open with a volcanic force, when hundreds of servants streamed into the room, I had already slid out of the room through the trap door, as fast as I could.

  “Where is he…?” “Where is he…?” “Where is he…?” The ghost-like voices were like thousands of tiny tapping fingers against the trap door, scraping my nerves.

  Okay, okay, Francis. I told myself. Nothing to worry about, absolutely nothing at all… Because by the time the zombie servants find me, I’ll be on my way out of this creepy place.

  I started down the corridors of the secret passage way. Several of the doors only led to someone else’s bedroom, all furnished neatly and perfect in every way. I quickly passed them without interest.

  One of them led to the kitchen, to my total delight. The large circular room was filled with kettles and pots with steams hissing through the lids. The fragrance of delicious food was escaping from it. I grabbed several pieces of bread and gorged myself on them. My borrowing skills finally paid off.

  The passage way became very damp and cold. My candle sputtered in the moisture. I wrapped myself with my arms, shivering in the cold wind. Wind… I must be close to the outsides now.

  Splash! A sudden sound made my heart skip.

  With excited leaps across the wet floor, I ambled through the passage way. It got brighter and brighter. The smooth light of the brilliant day burst before me. I tripped several times on the ground, but who the hell cares. Streaks of my damp blond hair were blown away from my face. The billowing wind was breathing on my sweaty neck, buffeting me. The tiny droplets of rain were cool against my skin. My heart was pounding so loudly that I thought my ear drums might explode. A surge of happiness flowed into my heart.

  The quivering flames of the candlestick died away in the zephyr. The candle slipped from my palms and hit the ground with a crash. But my eyes and thoughts and mind were elsewhere. I was gazing at the sight in front of me.

  I was facing the exit of the secret hallway.

  Thousands and thousands of silvery droplets streamed from the sky. Strings of rain, threads of breeze, they gently stroke my face. I stepped out of the damp corridors and into the mild drizzle.

  I never liked rain this much. Or perhaps it was the feeling of freedom, freedom at last. I was caged in my room just for a day or so, but it felt like decades. I laughed as the frigid water trickled down my face, brushing it off my hair.

  I was in the garden that surrounded the manor, but it wouldn’t take me much time to get through it, toward the open world, toward freedom. Free. I muttered the longing word between my lips; even the yearning of it excited me.

  The trees were stunted over a bitter winter, their branches knobby and gnarled. The rose bushes, decayed at the roots, clung to each other as if to warm themselves. Water gurgled in the geyser, occasionally spraying from the jets. The yard was big, void of life or sound. The paths here were quite a maze, criss-crossing one another in a fashion that at times defied logic.

  A dreading moment had passed before I finally sighted something. Somewhere at the back, stark boulders were arranged in an odd, circling manner. I shouldn’t have lingered, but a feeling lured me toward it. The black boulders, possibly marble, were cold and smooth against my palm. Only when I got nearer did I saw the chiseled inscriptions on it. It had a name on each, with dates. I was in the center of a family graveyard.

  I watched as the tombs pass by. Judging by the same last name, the buried dead must all be Walcott’s ancestors. The earliest ones were cracked and crumbled with the odor of mildew. Seriously, how long was that guy’s family line?

  My eyes skipped through the graves as I moved along. Then, I froze.

  My gaze was locked on one of the latest graves. Slowly, I read the inscriptions. Melas Walcott. 1650-1692. It was Walcott’s grave

  What? I swallowed hard. Though Walcott might look like the walking dead, he’s one hundred percent alive. Perhaps it was one of his namesakes. It wouldn’t seem likely if Walcott was dead about one hundred years ago. Still, envisioning him as a corpse wouldn’t be too hard.

  I ran the name Melas again in my mind. Why did it look so familiar? I tried to shake the worry out of my mind and hurried through the graveyard. I had a mission. Escaping. When I’m out of here, I wouldn’t have anything to do with those hideous mysteries.

  I threaded my way through the network of garden paths. I reached the iron gate. It was old and creaky; the iron seemed to rot and peel off, almost as ancient as the world itself. Behind it, was the opening world of rolling hills, tumbling streams and peaceful country villages, all blurred in the rain. I took one last look at the gloomy looming manor and spit out my tongue. So long, suckers.

  I tugged the gate, expecting it to crack open in my grip. The thing gave a muffled creak but didn’t budge. Flustered, I quickly grasped the lock. No keys to open it, no needles to pick it. I drew a breath, despite the rain, my head heated up with a charring sensation. I should’ve known. This whole escape plan couldn’t be duck soup.

  I banged the iron gate again, it shuddered but took its stand. Moving on to Plan B. My boots were firmly laced. I rubbed my hands until they sore and spat on my palms. Let’s just hope the climb wouldn’t be too slippery. Then I jolted upright and clung to the gate.

  By and all, the trip to the top wasn’t easy. Frequently, I’d step into midair and lose my balance. Some of the hollowed carvings were rickety. Wherever I landed, my footing was always the slipperiest place. Even when I reached the summit, the best I managed was to knock my funny bone on the hard metal and almost crippled myself. So there I was, dangling on the top of a gate like that nursery idiot Humpty whatsoever. The only difference was that I still had my limbs in one piece, though I doubt that would last long.

  I didn’t have time to congratulate myself for surviving. Sitting there, dazed and dizzy at the top, I made my way down. Perhaps it was my fear for heights, or maybe it was the slippery sweat in my palms, the next step I took, head down and backward, I fell.

  Wind and rain billowed around me, trying to ease my fall. The world flashed in and out of my sight, dimmed. Colors and sound rippled in unison. I caught glimpses of sound, heard images. For a blink, my mother was up there, hauling me to my feet, calling my name desperately. The next, I saw Luther, whose cool, calculating eyes were watching me as I plummeted down, the slightest trace of a smile on his face. When he faded, the unknown brunette girl of my dreams stabbed me again, laughing, the gold in her eyes glinting. Then I sighted the Walcotts, my orphanage superintendent, the mansion I used to live in when I was little… Eventually I knew what was coming afterwards. The hideous blackness that had haunted my dreams engulfed me. I went deaf, blind, mute, petrified and dying…

  I retched and bolted upright. The rain was pouring now, washing over my senses. I was sprawling on the manor’s lawn, exhausted, but still alive.

  “Already lost, kid?” A gruff but amused voice startled me as I quickly rolled up from the ground. The pearly rain drops splattered everywhere, pulling a curtain of brilliant water between the sky and the land, making my vision blurry. I could only make out the vague shape of the person who’s coming up toward my direction, shriveled, gaunt, with damp curls of silvery hair dripping with water…

  “Graves…?” I frowned. He slowly sauntered toward me with that gleeful grin on his face, as if the boy he was seeing wasn’t splattered with mud all over.

  “You want to get that headache all over again?” Graves asked with a merry tone, teasing, “Looks like you did lose your nerve.” He wrapped his jacket around my shoulders, ignoring my protests. He gently tousled my moist hair and smiled faintly at me, his wrinkles curling together like the ripples of a pond. A warm sensation ran through my body, this was the feeling I hadn’t had for years.

  “I was just…” I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. What was I supposed to say, that I was just running away from the only person who’s really truly caring about me? I swallowed. “I was just… um… walking around and…”

  Graves made a sound that was half sneezing, half snorting, but I caught that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Walking around and losing your brains? You look like you need a cup of hot coco to clear your helpless nerves.”He wrapped his arms around me with a tight squeeze.

  I didn’t mind his mockeries. “That’ll be great,” I whispered, grinning back at him. In the rain, the old man and I walked back into the house without another word.

  Chapter Nine

  Graves

  Rain banged hard against the window-pane like scraping fingers. Thunder boiled under thick sheets of clouds. But the Graves’s room was not affected by the miserable weather. Unlike any other room I had seen around the place, this one was simple. Though cramped with shabby furniture, there was still space for coziness. The ground had been swept clean. The fire place was crackling with scarlet flames, shading the room in a mild light. On a makeshift stove, steam escaped from a kettle with loud hissing noises, delivering the sweet scent of coco.

  Graves brought the kettle over and poured the rich, silky liquid into my cup. He sat down with a grunt, and went on chuckling at me as if I was the most ridiculous joke. I didn’t know what to say. It all seemed too unreal, a warm room in a storm, hot coco, a man who could’ve been my grandfather smiling at me.

  The chuckling died away. For a moment, the two of us were all in silence, not sure what to say to the other. Graves clearly knew about my escape, but he mentioned no vestige of it.

  To break the stiffness, I slurped my cup of coco. It was hot, with sugary foam and a hint of cinnamon. I wiped my mouth, smearing chocolate on both my hands and my face. “Hastee,” I grumbled, allowing the liquid down my throat in huge guzzles. “Tasty, I meant to say.” Then I caught the old man making weird faces at me. “What?”

  Graves pretended to wrinkle his nose in disgust, “You kid, smearing your face like a clown’s and you expect me not to laugh? You’re hopeless. You can even compare with your mother, believe me, she wasn’t as fair a lady as she acted like.”

  It should’ve been a comfort that Graves had known my mother, but the way he said it, in the past tense, as if my mother was gone, made me gag. “You know her, why?”

  Graves set the kettle down, upset. He messed with my hair again, as if that would cheer up the both of us. “She was a good friend of mine, your mother. But she’s… I’m sorry, kid… Eliza was long gone.” His voice trailed away and the spark in his eyes dimmed. He drew a deep breath and coughed.

  I swallowed hard, eyes down cast. “You do sound very certain,” I noted.

  Graves rubbed his furrowed eye-brows, “I saw her body, kid. Don’t… just don’t make me describe the scene, or don’t blame me for punching you.” He sighed again, this time louder, with no hint that he would laugh at his own joke. His eyes were brimmed with what looked like tears.

  “I’m not… I just thought… I miss her,” I finally managed. My mouth felt dry, but my eyes were not. Tears were not far from rolling down. I was actually prepared for her death, but it still knocked me off-balance. What I meant was, if my mother really had been alive, why wouldn’t she come for me? The answer was clear, but I didn’t feel like embracing it.

  “You’re not feeling OK, are you, kiddo?” Graves asked with a slight, gruff whisper.

  I didn’t answer for a moment. Then I got up and pushed through the doors. “No worries, Graves. I’m… alright.” My voice cracked, and I forced myself to give him a faint smile, maybe to comfort him, maybe to comfort myself. The rain splattered on the window-pane, and my heart was as hollow as it had been before.

  The days continued, every day long and dragging, I even started to miss the bickering between Luther and me, which was still something to do.

  For some of the time, I stayed in my room, gazing boringly at the ceiling, wondering about the mark, the tomb inscription, the weird behavior of the servants around the manor. I tried not to think about my mother during the days. But during the empty night, I’d press my face into the pillow and rock back and forth on the edge of the bed, crying myself to sleep, wallowing in the despair.

  I had crossed the secret passage ways several hundred times during the weeks. I had figured out all the routes and channels around the place. I even drew a map of the whole passage way to loiter away the time. But every time I passed the portrait of my mother and the infant, I’d hurry on and leave the damn place. I didn’t dare have the slightest interest in figuring out why my mother was in the portrait.

  Most of the time, I’d go wandering off in the house. Though the room of my door was always locked, I could still use the secret passage way to explore the manor. The next morning after my escape, a servant came to my room and saw me lying in bed, perfectly still. He looked bewildered but said nothing.

  I’d go wandering around the house, especially Walcott’s office, where I always kicked his chair for the fun of it.

  But the best time was the hours I stayed with Graves. We enjoyed his thick-crust pastries, drinking hot cocoa, and sometimes even toasting each other with marshmallows while he told me bizarre stories. If someone tried to tell me a story before, I would have replied with a rude laugh. But now…the things I lacked around this place were decent friendship and some care.

  Luther’s warnings were totally ignored, no surprise there. Though Graves might still like the lad, he cared for me as much to ignore his threats. But every time I asked Graves about the peculiar things, he’d snort with a tilt of his head, “If I explain them to you, my master will have my head chopped off,” He eyed me gravely with dark humor.

  I struggled to keep up with what he had just said. “You told me Luther’s father is your master. I don’t suppose you mean Walcott, do you? Then why don’t you just bother using his name?”

  Graves forced a hoarse laugh, like he was choking, and waved his hand in amusement, “Say that I’m serving that old horse-face, I’d rather be dead. Luther’s real father, I mean… All the people around this bloody place serve him, even Walcott. Hell, I thought you’d be sticking around long enough to figure that out by yourself.”

  “So…All the people, you say,” I cocked my head, grinning, “Does that include me, then?” That was apparently meant for a joke, but I guess Graves didn’t take it as one. He gazed at me with a dark ripple in his eyes, neither doubting me nor assuring me.

  I quickly switched the topic. “If Luther’s father’s alive, why does Walcott need to adopt him?” This time, I carefully chose my words.

  “My master’s got business of his own, kid.” Graves answered darkly, eyes drifting away. He was lying again.

  That sensitive topic went on like that. Graves never told me much about anything; or rather, he’d use a bunch of lies to deal with my curiosity. And that yearning for truth coiled inside me, made my stomach lurch. That’s not a good sign.

  Chapter Ten

  More Threats

  When I opened my sleepy, drowsy eyes one morning, yawned, I saw a vague figure leaning against my bedpost. Then my instincts blared, and I jerked to find myself facing Luther. How he managed to slip into my room without startling me I did not know. Disgusted, I straightened my back. “So, already back now, are you?” I grumbled.

  He tilted his head but didn’t reply for a while, just gazing at me with those cold-as-ice eyes of his. After a deafening silence, his lips twitched to speak. “Do you feel alright these days?” his tone lacked enthusiasm, which was fine by me. “Were you fine with Graves?” he scowled, showing his first facial expression this day.

  “Well, I would’ve been great if you’re not here,” I glared at him, trying to stir up his anger.

  Luther’s eyes rippled, but he looked away, as if trying hard not to explode at the spot, “You ignored my warning. You ran away. Francis, I know everything. The servants around the house are not just for decoration.”

  “What makes you think I’ll listen to you?”

  “All I did was to put you out of harm’s way!” He snapped. At that point he must’ve noticed that his voice had gone shrill, so he leaned forward and whispered, “I do care for you, even if you frequently try to fight me.” He paused and waited, giving me that rigid, tense gaze.

  Luckily, I had the perfect thing to say. “Say that to some jerk who believe it, like yourself, though I highly doubted you believe what you just said.” My head was clear now, and I wanted to pick up a good fight to start the morning.

  Luther heaved a deep sigh. “Don’t test either of us, Francis. The result won’t be good,” he warned. “None of us has a good temper.”

  “Is that a threat?” I said aggressively, eyes widening with hostile. I got up and stood on my bed, which made me taller than him, making me feel a lot better with self-esteem.

  “No, it’s just a warning,” Luther bit his lip again, and then drew out a deep, whistling breath. “Let’s get this over with… You’ll have breakfast with Sir Walcott. He demands to discuss something with you. You’d better behave yourself; Sir Walcott has returned from a long journey and is very distressed.” He reached out a hand to lead me, but I growled and stood back.

  “I can walk by myself, granny,” I taunted.

  But to my disappointment, Luther didn’t object. He didn’t even lead me the whole way to the dining hall but asked a bunch of zombie servants who bowed low at him to escort me, he himself walked quietly behind the group of us. He didn’t even try to look at me. I walked with the servants, eying them, wondering which one told me off. To start a fight with a servant might just be the fun thing to do.

  The herd of them led me into the dining room, which was perfectly meaningless. Crossing the secret passage and wandering through the manor all by myself, I knew the way as I knew the loops and whorls on my own fingers.

  The dining room actually looked like a banquet hall, designed and furnished to impress anyone who saw it and to flaunt the Walcotts’ family wealth. The room was huge and splendid, lit by thousands of candles with pedestals of pure gold. A large chandelier glorified the whole room. The thing looked like a million diamonds strung together, or perhaps it was indeed made of those precious gems. A long banquet table stretched from the door to the end of the room, laid with laced silk tablecloth and expensive dinner wares. Every little thing in this room, from the gold-rimmed plates to the silver forks, could afford me and the other children in the orphanage half a life time of food.

  Walcott, Lady Rosamund and Roth were seated at the end of the table, waiting for me to approach. I noticed that the largest chair at the far end of the table, which faced the door directly, was empty. Walcott was seated at the left side of that chair. His wife and daughter were both seated at his side.

  Luther walked forward, ignored the middle chair and sat at its right, which left me at the door, standing there like a total idiot.

  Walcott threw his head over and laughed at my awkward behavior. Amused, he spread his arms, taunting, “Why not sit? I never thought you’d be willing to give up your meal. The servants won’t serve you if you stand there like a half-wit…ah, forgive me for using that as a comparison, that’s what you are.” I heard Roth muffling a snigger.

  My eardrums went swelling as if blood rushed to them. Though I was glaring at him, my stomach was groaning its protests. With a grit of my teeth, I dropped the fight and strolled toward the middle chair. Since the four of them all left it behind, I decided they’ve preserved it for me. But Walcott’s eyes narrowed and turned to slits when he saw what I was doing. “No, you’re not.” He muttered darkly, nostrils flaring, “That seat is saved for a highly important person, boy. He won’t be happy if you take his seat.” He gestured for me to sit beside Luther.

  My face twitched as my eyes met Luther’s emotionless one. “I’m not sitting there,” I announced outright, ignoring his beckoning.

  “Yes, you are,” Walcott’s voice seethed with dry anger. Seeing his knuckles go white as he gripped his chair, I had intuited what would happen. But instead of being throttled, a stabbing pain in my midriff knocked me off balance. The spasm of pain screwed my face and I heard little animal noises. That’s when I realized I was whimpering, so I clamped my teeth shut tight. Apparently, that didn’t help much because afterwards I faltered and fell to the chair, retching.

  Roth couldn’t help it and made sneezing laughter through her handkerchief. With my muscles still trembling, I kicked her shins beneath the table. Lady Rosamund glared at both of us. “Table manners!” She reproached with her voice high-pitched.

  Luther seemed to be the last one to notice this. His brows perked and slowly, he stood. I was half expecting him to mock me. But he twisted his head around to face a smug Walcott. “I believe we’ve talked about some of your behaviors，” Luther muttered. His voice was soothing, but there was an unmistakable red glint in his eyes. Was he accusing his adoptive father? That thought made my head buzz.

  A bored smile crossed Walcott’s face. “Really, Luther,” He made no attempt to stifle his yawn, “You know me well enough to realize it’s just a little game.”

  Luther shrugged, but just for a second, I caught a ghost of a smile playing around his lips, a crafty, leering grin that I had never seen on his face. “I suppose I have no right to judge this matter,” he tilted his head and his smile turned more than a bit eerie. “Possibly, I shall tell my father about this. I’m sure he’ll be generous to give you…let’s say, a little reminding of your duties. That would’ve been nice, I assume. You do agree with me?”

  If Luther wanted to draw the Walcott’s attention to him, he made great process.

  The candles burned through the odd silence. Lady Rosamund coughed and held her shaky hands up to her forehead as if praying. Her daughter didn’t look any better. At least, that pesky Roth lost interest in kicking me. All eyes were on Walcott.

  His knuckles whitened and he twisted his colorless lips so his early smirk turned rigid and awkward. “Disturbing him… at this state of timing?” he hesitated, and then sneered to muffle his panic. “Hate to admit, for his son, your threats are meaningless. And young sire… May I humbly enquire whether you have the guts to summon your dear father?”

  I blinked. Summon? I had a feeling that I wasn’t going to like Luther’s father at all.

  Luther eyed Walcott, still with that scary smile. “Believe me, I do, sir. In fact, he visits me, talks to me, though occasionally,” the lad seemed to be toying with his words. “Imagine how unnerving it’ll be if he hears you’re mistreating our young guest.” He raised an eye-brow, provoking Walcott. But one of his eyes fixed on me expectantly, as if hoping for my gratitude. I didn’t budge and gave him a snarl he deserved.

  “Are you threatening…?” Walcott’s nostrils flared. The two shot each other cynical glances. This time, Lady Rosamund didn’t shriek at them for not abiding by table manners. The ill-tempered debate would’ve been chaotic to watch. Luckily, a servant rushed in, announced that it was time to start breakfast, and practically saved the day.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Vial of Foaming Frothing Liquid

  A long line of servants brought in trays of sumptuous food. They started with platters of soft goat cheese dipped with cream, the ones that dissolve into butter the instance they reached your tongue. Apparently, the stormy atmosphere and the deadly eyes of Walcott didn’t affect my appetite. Actually, nothing did in my hungered life.

  The servants served me last, which was not surprising. Hungry as I was, I reached out my fingers and dipped into my platter. The aroma was so rich that I couldn’t help it any longer. Roth saw me licking my fingers, and then tossed her head away from the scene. Despite the fact that her father was still at his boiling temper, she started to tremble with laughter.

  Lady Rosamund shot her a look. Then, seeing my buttery, stained fingers, she suddenly changed her mind that Roth could be forgiven. She pursed her lips and I knew that was her version of “rolling on the ground laughing”. “Seven hells,” she admitted mockingly, “even Roth’s got manners better than you do. You look like a savage starved for a day. I assume your sweet mother didn’t teach you manners?”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. Rosamund had insulted my mom twice already. Pressing down the urge to strangle the lady, I rolled my eyes and went on gorging my meal.

  When I got through half of the cheese, even Luther couldn’t stand it. He coughed. “The spoon nearest your plate,” he muttered. “But when I was seven, I eat like a… like you do now. So I wasn’t expecting you to eat properly.” His tone was equally taunting.

  Irritated, I cursed and turned to my plate. Staring at the rows of glistening forks and knives and spoons, I picked the one he mentioned and started to deal with the rest of my cheese. Eying him, I thought I saw a spark in his eyes. That annoyed even more.

  The breakfast continued. Roth giggled every time I started to taste something, but what do I care? The servants brought in plates of sizzling-hot bacons and poached eggs, baskets of crispy burnt bread taken right from the oven… I gazed at every course, with my stomach still growling. I didn’t know if it had had too much or not enough.

  I didn’t have much food to eat when I was an orphan. Mrs. Tristia was mean about feeding us kids. Every dinner was a wild jumble of screaming and robbing, while kids tried to steal from each other’s plates. I, however, had chosen to steal from the kitchen to avoid starvation. Though my meals were always better than the rest of the kids, famine still tortured me from time to time.

  Except for Roth’s constant titters, the rest of the meal was an unearthly silence. Finally, I dropped the spoon and impatiently, turned to Walcott. “You said you wanted to discuss something with me. What is it?” I demanded. My eyes bored into his to show my defiance. I was afraid he’d drag on forever.

  Though it had been half an hour ago when Luther browbeat him, Walcott’s face still looked dead-dark. After moments of hesitation, he cleaned his mouth with a napkin as I glared at him for the answer.

  “…Well then, if you’re so anxious to know, I see no harm telling you,” Walcott forced a smirk. “During the long journey, we’ve been across the country to visit… ah, several of our friends and colleagues. We have decided to hold a gathering at this manor.” He pursed his lips in an unfriendly way, the glowering spark he had had was still in his eyes.

  “It’s an ancient tradition for us to have a meeting and some entertainment together.” He continued, emphasizing the word entertainment. He probably meant to say tortures.

  I didn’t move on my seat. “What does that have to do with me? Alright, let me guess, stay in my room, pretend I’m invisible, behave myself and not do anything absurd, is that right?” I hugged my chest and stared at him, and then a grin spread across my face, “You know perfectly well that won’t happen, sir.”

  To my surprise, Walcott laughed dryly and waved my sentence aside. He had a weird glint in his eyes which I found very disturbing. Weary and uncomfortable, I shifted on my chair. Walcott went on smoothly, “On the contrary, we want you to attend the gathering. To be precise, every one of our friends is very eager to see you.”

  I snorted loudly at his last sentence. Walcott had a dry sense of humor. “Is that my concern?” I twisted my fingers, laughing half-heartedly. “What do you think? Me? Obeying your orders and attending a jerks’ assembly?” I tapped my plate, making ringing noises so to show my scorn.

  “Francis, get serious, it’s no joke,” Luther was staring at his untouched plate of food. Out of the corner of his eyes, he was studying me, the blueness in his eyes churning. I flinched, enough to make him notice. Obviously offended, Luther stopped his rambling and lowered his gaze again.

  I spread out my hands, heaving a big breath. “Fine, I’m getting serious. You want to tuck me into your darned gathering. Well, give me reasons. I know you’re all up to something,” I glanced at each one of them, carefully searching for the faintest indication. “Everything you did was according to some damn plans you have. You can’t fool me for long, can you?

  “Why not tell me anything?” I demanded, squeezing the fork between my fingers. The metal started to twitch and glow with warmth, and I felt my finger prickling. This was driving me crazy, I decided.

  The expression on Walcott’s face was dangerously close to wry mirth, but Luther hushed him with a look I couldn’t actually interpret. The two females must’ve found the ground very appealing. There was only the tinkling of forks and the boiling, roiling sizzle of soups.

  Finally, Luther gathered his guts to look at me, that coward. But he didn’t say anything. Those grey-blue eyes lost their purity and had a sunken, haunted look within them. I wondered if he had spotted a ghost.

  “It’s my father’s will,” he said thinly. His voice faltered a little as he spoke. I caught a twinge of sympathy in his words. That technically enraged me.

  “So?” I demanded sharply, the end of my mouth trembled, “So what? Does that mean I’ll have to obey? Do you think I’ll obey?” Snorting with distain, I sprang to my feet. Before any of them could press me down, I choked out a hoarse laugh, “Conforming to your rules, you mean? Ha!”

  Luther’s jaw tightened. The blue veins on his resting arms bulged with tension. “You think bickering’s fun, you think it’ll do you good. But it doesn’t, Francis. We’re not talking about fighting for your dignity,” he didn’t even try to hide the annoyance in his tone. Just for a second, the eerie, red glint reappeared. As if sensing it, he rubbed his temples in exhaustion. When I could see his eyes again, the glow was extinguished.

  “I know this is difficult for you. But I might understand you more than you think I do,” he stood up and touched my nervous, perched hand. I reluctantly punched his and backed away. Apparently, Luther didn’t know what hostile means and went on. “Francis, for all of this, I apologize, deeply. But you have no choice but to obey my father.”

  “So, you’re going to make me now, aren’t you?” I eyed him in mock surprise, “Talk about being my friend, Luther.”

  His face fell. “That’s what I expected us to be,” he hesitated, and then hawked to clear his throat, as if finally letting slip of his motives. “But friend or foe, you have only two options. You join in the gathering by your own will. Or…Or, you can test the other method. I remind you, Sir Walcott will gladly support the latter. I won’t be able to stop him then. Either way, you join us in the gathering. What do you think?” The bitterness in his tone was more than a bit vile.

  I caught the leer on Walcott’s face and swallowed hard. He’d already half throttled me and tortured my gut with that pain. I couldn’t imagine anything worse, but I had a feeling Walcott had something conserved especially for my punishment. Did that mean I’ll have to compromise? Every inch of my brain was screaming against this conclusion. I couldn’t decide yet, I just couldn’t.

  Walcott made bored tssk sounds. The atmosphere around us seemed to turn solid. No one spoke a single word. Luther was watching me, hefting my expression with his scheming eyes. The room seemed void and soundless.

  Splash! A racket broke the awkward silence. All of us turned to the side of the table. Roth, sitting across form me, had accidentally knocked over my goblet of orange juice. “Ouch,” she shook her annoying ringlets of hair away from her face, revealing a grin. “Sorry.” I rolled my eyes at her and she kicked me.

  “Roth, your courtesy!” Lady Rosamund snapped, her lashes fluttering furiously. “Help the boy refill his goblet.”

  Roth didn’t move.

  “Roth?”

  “Yes, mother,” Roth spat her tongue out at me and took my goblet.

  I rolled my eyes again and turned back to Luther, whose eyes didn’t leave me a second. “You’re too afraid that you’ll disappoint your precious father,” I crossed my arms, my eyes flitting resentfully. Wouldn’t do me any good? Certainly not. At least I’d have some entertainment angering him before I died of agony.

  “You won’t fight back,” I concluded. And those last words squeezed themselves out of my clenched teeth, every breath I exhaled became hot. “A big yellow coward, that’s what you are.” I shouldn’t have said it, not even to insult him.

  Luther’s brows twisted. He stared at me as if he wanted to say something, but quickly pursed his lips. Then his eye-lids drooped as if he was lost for words. Finally, he caught a breath, “I can’t.” he seemed to panic, his words stumbling. “I can’t. If I fight, he’ll punish me. But that’s not my main concern. But, He’ll…” his voice drained away. Luther leaned toward my ears before I coulds slap him away. He got so close he almost bit my ear and his whisper was barely a cool breath, “He’ll let you pay the blood price.”

  I didn’t turn to face him, nor did I shove him aside. My mind just couldn’t filter those words. When I peeked at him, still stunned, he had already sunken back into his seat as if nothing had happened. Something vile came up in my mouth. My vision of Luther faltered. His falsify seemed… real. Was he really my ally? Did he merely try to move me, to win my trust?

  Luther seized upon my doubt, “For both of us, what choice are you going to make?”

  My lips felt dry. I didn’t dare peer at Luther, afraid that dwelling my eyes upon him for too long, I’d be touched by his mock pitiful eyes. I glanced at the others. Walcott was picking his finger nails and pretending to yawn, apparently unconcerned about either of us. Lady Rosamund was blowing the hot surface of her creamy beverage, but she was listening to our endless talk. Roth was peering at us with full interest. I suspected that she was secretly eying Luther like always. But on the contrary, she had her eyes on me expectantly and was with a disturbing, cheeky grin. What’s she planning now? When that puny girl grins, nothing good’s gonna happen.

  I stuck a forkful of bacon into my mouth and munched it absentmindedly. Something was glinting in her palms. The light had flashed several times. It was too obvious. I caught a few glimpses of it every now and then. It was something like… like…

  A glass vial.

  I crushed the food between my teeth with a snap. There’s no mistaking. It was one of the poisons from Walcott’s office. I hadn’t really examined his hazardous collection, but the vial with a name like Headache Droughts was hard to overlook. Roth must have snuck it out of the office. For what?

  My mind strained to consider more so I decided to drop the subject. The dispute left me exhausted. My mouth tasted like hot sand. Without much hesitance, I reached for my drink. It was refilled and had a shade of translucent gold, with a thick layer of bubbling white foam.

  Frothing, foaming. Like the poison.

  Instinctively, I spew my first guzzle back into the goblet. Gross, I know. But I was too busy vomiting and hawking to care. Roth was trying to poison me. But we hadn’t even talked, we barely knew each other. Though I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with her, I was never tempted to murder her. My mischiefs were sometimes gruesome, but they never went that far. But what do I know about Roth, the precious daughter of my potential murderer, Malice Walcott?

  I sprang to my feet and grabbed Roth’s goblet instead of mine, hefting her reaction. Roth’s eyes widened. “That’s mine, you ass!”

  All eyes turned to me for an explanation. “Sorry. Bad eye sight, can’t blame me, can you?” Clearly, no one except me bought my lame excuse. Walcott’s smug sneer was tightening on his face. Rosamund went scolding her daughter for spouting dirty words. But her pale eyes were on me. Luther raised an eyebrow but remained calm, as if watching a dreary comedy.

  Didn’t want to attract any more attention, I squared my shoulders and handed a goblet back to Roth. She couldn’t tear her eyes off the goblet, but didn’t move, either. “What’s the matter?” I asked, with my head lazily resting on one side. “You refilled mine. It wouldn’t matter if you took my drink.” My eyes twinkled. “Wouldn’t it, Roth?”

  She made a face. “Yes, it would, you dweeb. You slurped yours. I wouldn’t want to taste your spit. Eeesh…”She shrugged a lock of her hair from her eyes, as if she was casually making fun of me. But I noticed the awkward pitch of her voice.

  Roth then studied me. She didn’t take the one I offered, instead reached for the other. I gave her that smile I knew she’d punch me for. She creased her brows and slowly moved on to the one I set out for her. I struggled hard not to laugh.

  Still suspicious, she took it and leaned back toward her seat.

  Just for the dramatics, I lifted my goblet with two fingers, beckoning her to do the same. Roth wrinkled her nose as if she was disgusted. I knew better. She was scared, while I toyed along. “What? Cowering now?” I mused so that only Roth could hear. Didn’t matter anyway, the other three seemed puzzled by my reaction. Walcott’s fist clenched as if he was going to crush my skull any second from now. Luther seemed to intuit what I was doing. He gave me a genuine look that said, don’t do this, I’ll kill you afterward. Did I seem to care?

  Roth bit her lip, annoyed by my defiance. She raised hers.

  Our goblets met with a clear ding. I lifted the goblet to my lips and poured the liquid down, pretending I was drinking the stuff. But actually, it dribbled onto the carpet. Rosamund would be unmindful of the ruined carpet, once she realized her precious baby was poisoned. Roth had lifted hers, too, but I didn’t see her lips move an inch. She wasn’t even sipping it. I didn’t expect her to be that thick.

  I knocked over my goblet, enough to cause a jumbled chaos. The juice oozed out, forming a sticky puddle. I collapsed to the ground, with my face smashing onto the floor. My nose went bleeding with hotness. I clutched my forehead and screamed with a piercing voice, “My…h-head! Ahhhhh!” I rolled on the ground and writhed, as if my clothes were on fire.

  Luther was the first one to approach. He leaped to his feet and gripped me. I had to fight the urge to strangle him. “Darned, you…” He cursed with swear words so foul that even I couldn’t fully interpret. I had to bite back a grin. I didn’t expect a mannered dandy like him to know all those insults.

  Luther shook me to my feet but I insisted on groveling, allowing my body to be as limply as possible. Finally, he seemed convinced. “He’s been poisoned. Take him to his room. Now!” Several servants scurried to our aids and lifted me up out of the door.

  With my eye-lids still shut tight, I squinted at the table. Walcott sat there, motionless, with only a slow smile on his face. Rosamund had an odd expression; the powder on her face seemed waxy.

  Roth watched me as I was dragged away like some dead corpse. She blew a ringlet of her hair, a gratified, relived grin spread across her face. As if to flaunt her victory, she nursed herself from the goblet of lathering orange juice, assuming it had never been toxic.

  My mouth made a tremor of a new victory. All the screaming and yelling was just part of an act.

  Both goblets had been poisoned. I made sure of that when I poured some of the frothing liquid into Roth’s. Now she had drunk it. I wonder how much time would it take the poison to work out for the girl. Hopefully nobody would blow my cover, and then I’d live through the night to see it.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Scorching Pain

  Though I had already woken up, Luther insisted on calling a doctor. I know. I’m doomed.

  “I don’t see any physical problems with him.” My doctor wiped his glasses after inspecting me. “His heart rate and breathing seems normal, and his face looks plenty healthy. You sure you’re sick, young man?”

  My words stumbled its way out. “Um… my head’s dizzy.” I grumbled. I screwed my face and constantly rolled my eyes into my head, reassuring them with acting skills that totally sucked.

  Wearily, the doctor nodded. “I’ll leave some medicine for him. I suppose he has a normal head ache. He’ll pass it pretty soon.”

  “With how much certainty? He looked bad enough an hour ago, who knows if he…?” Luther shrugged his sagged shoulders, apparently feeling more uncomfortable than I was. He directed his question at the doctor, but his eyes were still on me. They were calm and unpredictable, who knows if there isn’t any hidden wrath inside them? I wish he could stop giving me the look that dug me inside out. I didn’t really appreciate his sympathy.

  With a few more reassurance, the doctor left the room. Stony silence steadied between us once again. Luther gave me an awkward, alien smile that didn’t look like his own. “Finally, that’s… settled. Francis, stop snapping your eyes shut, I know you’re listening.” He sounded irritated, but he broke it down by making a sour, little laugh. “I know you hate me. Not a surprise, most people do, counting myself. I’ll leave and immediately, I promise. But this, you have to listen.” He paused.

  Assuming I’m still a pathetic patient, I hawked hard and decided not to argue.

  Luther went on, “Look, there aren’t many people you can trust around here. Walcott, you know how he is. He considers it a pleasure to tear you apart. Rosamund, I see how she looks down on you. As if she’s going to be befouled just talking to you… Roth’s no better. You can’t even count on the servants, they hardly… talk. And…”

  “Graves,” I blurted, apparently forgot to muffle my voice.

  Luther turned to me, his sharp eyes burning with a cold fire. He looked like he was going to strangle me, “He doesn’t even count as a person.” The ripping sounds in his throat sounded suspiciously like an animal’s. He paused, steadying his panty breath. “Well then, it leaves me, doesn’t it? Where will you put me in your category? Not a friend, I suppose? But besides that old moron, I’m the best choice you can have. You must trust me. I’m always your backup.”

  I had to stifle a cynical snort. “…Why… should I… trust you?”

  Luther’s mouth twitched, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking flushed. “Because, Francis, I’m your… your… um…” he seemed tongue-tied and looked up at me, “I’m your friend.” Judging by his downbeat face, I couldn’t figure out what he was really thinking. His eyes were murky and rippling, even harder to read.

  “That’s it?” I asked.

  He nodded, his voice coarsening, “I hope you feel better now.” He turned away and disappeared down the corridors.

  I waited for his footsteps to fade, propped myself up and leaped from the bed. I listened again, this time more carefully.

  I couldn’t sleep. I knew I was supposed to pretend I had a headache. Lying in bed in a coma wasn’t an easy task. So I reached for the secret passage way.

  As I crossed the damp darkness, the endless corridors loomed before me once more. This time, I knew whom I should visit. Graves. I reached unlatched the trap door leading to his room and stepped in.

  Graves was sitting on his bed, motionless, dejected. He didn’t notice my sudden arrival.

  “Psst, Graves! It’s me.” I hissed, finally catching his attention.

  Graves’s eyes widened like pinballs. “Kid, you’re okay?” He reached for me and held my shoulders in his large, crude hands. Then, he punched me on the back with such a force I almost puked out of breath.

  “You brilliant… idiotic… simple-minded… rascal!” He tackled me to the floor, completely ignoring my protests, “Do you have any idea… how freaked out… I was! Aargh, I wish I could skin you and wouldn’t get skinned myself!” He yanked me from the floor again, this time laughing and hitting me even harder.

  “Stop that. Hey, hey, I said stop it!” I pretended to shriek in agony, and then burst out laughing. I looked into Graves’s eyes. Hot tears were streaming between the tremors of his body. “Thank the Hell you’re okay.” Graves grinned, “I can’t afford to lose you anymore.” His gray eyes were twinkling in a sparkling light, vaguely familiar.

  “Yeah, right, Graves, I’ve never been sick,” I explained and told him everything. Graves listen carefully. He furrowed his bushy brows just at the right time, cracking me up.

  “Seriously, kid.” He said finally, mopping a joyous tear from his eyes, “Have to admit, I’m proud. I might’ve done the same thing if I were young.” Then, his gaze turned serious, “But you really shouldn’t do that, not to Walcott’s daughter.”

  That caught me unprepared. “What?” I choked, “Why? What do you mean?”

  “Old horse face won’t be happy that you poisoned his cheeky girl,” Graves chewed his beard, “You take my word, he’ll dig everything out like a tomb, sooner or later. By then...” He sighed and punched me again, “You’d be in serious trouble, kid. Probably I’ll have no one to punch anymore.” He didn’t laugh.

  My eyes lost their focus. “Oh,” I grumbled, “I hadn’t thought of that.” I’ve made someone worry about me, someone that’s the only person left that cared about me. “Sorry, for upsetting you, Graves.” I forced a fake smile.

  Our conversation ended like this.

  I slipped into the passage way. The next cheerful visit would be to Roth’s room. I wondered how Little Miss Annoying was dealing with her headache.

  I sprinted toward a trap door and pushed it open. I was careful only to leave out a long narrow chink, just for squinting. I hope she’s not taking a bath, that would’ve been disgusting.

  I peeked through the gap. Almost instantaneously, knew that I was in the right place. The room was painted in rich pink, perfectly designed to look like a nightmare. The room’s atmosphere had a scent of over-perfumed roses. Filigree laces lavishly bordered the curtains and drapes. Forget about the helplessly tremendous changing room, the tons of make-ups were enough to ruin my appetite for a day. I scowled. That girl’s got forty different types of lip gloss, though each one looked totally identical to me.

  But Roth wasn’t in there. A figure, taller, more agile, was rummaging around the room. My front teeth hit the wall hard but I was too astounded to care.

  Luther.

  What business did he have here? I squinted hard, frowning.

  His hands moved swiftly across the shelves and the dresser. Judging by his frustrated panting, he didn’t find what he was looking for. I noticed that he was constantly glancing at the main door. He was searching for something in secret. My heart pounded heavily, plummeting up and down. Stop it. I told my heart. It didn’t budge and started to do somersaults.

  Suddenly, hands trembling, he froze. He picked up something and held it out for further examining. I fidgeted, urging to steal a better glance. The thing glistened in the dusky candle light. I saw Luther’s fingers tightening around it, coiling, almost crushing it. He had a reason to be astonished.

  Headache Droughts, read the label of the vial. I was positive that it was the same bottle Roth used to poison me. I silently added it to my Christmas least-favorite wish list. Roth must have kept it in her room, believing it was safe there. Even though, Luther had seen through her and found the evidence he needed to claim her crime. I couldn’t help but appreciate his keenness. If he really were my arch enemy, he wouldn’t be an easy target. I waited to see what he would do.

  Luther clutched the vial as if choking the life out of a bug. I didn’t dare meet his eyes.

  Just then, there was an urgent thrust on the door. Both of us jumped in surprise, I almost bumped my funny bone onto the wall. “Is anyone in my room?” Came the bossy, fake-sugary voice of Roth, “Could you please unlatch the door?”

  “Great, just what I needed,” Luther muttered darkly. I thought he was going ignore Roth. That would be my option if I were sneaking into someone’s room. But Luther had a different idea. He cursed something I didn’t really understand. He swung the door open for Roth, his eyes chilling at least fifty degrees. I hid myself further in.

  Roth bounded in as if there were springs on her feet. Apparently, she had had a good mood, seeing me being poisoned and all. The poison hadn’t worked for her, yet. I clenched my teeth. Her gleeful mood annoyed me more than her make-up.

  She saw who had opened the door for her, and a flustered but equally delighted smile shone on her face. “Oh, it’s you,” dazed, she tucked a streak of bang behind her ear. “What do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

  “I think you know why I’m here,” Luther raised an eye-brow and flicked the vial so it caught the light. Roth looked like he had just shoved a snake down her throat. “I suppose it’s just another marvelous coincidence. Francis had a headache, and you, just happen to have the perfect poison. The world’s just full of spectacles.” His voice dropped to a low, dismissive whisper.

  Even though the surrounding light was a warm red glow, Roth’s face turned to a sheet of paper.

  “Peculiar,” Luther whispered, pacing around the room, “for a vial of poison to appear in your room, isn’t it?” His voice remained cool and aloof, but his stormy eyes told otherwise. There seemed to be something hissing and coiling beneath the calm tone.

  The girl was blinking furiously, probably couldn’t believe that she slipped herself so easily. “…A charming theory, really,” She had to force a stiff laugh to muffle the nervous chattering of her teeth. “I hardly know him. Why would I poison him? What do you say?” She tried to smile, but it only turned awkward.

  Luther’s gray eyes darkened, and a streak of crimson light flashed through them. Even I could make out his creaking, whitening knuckles. There was a split second when a jerk went through his body. Both Roth and I flinched. The muscles on his neck twitched in an odd, painful way, like he had swallowed something nasty and was retching to clear his throat.

  There was another spasm, and he suddenly clasped Roth’s hands, squeezing them in his tight grip. Roth howled in pain.

  Luther’s lips twitched. But the voice that came out definitely wasn’t his. It was heavier, more powerful and more vicious. I felt a spasm of fright and dread as the words scraped on my skin like rusty daggers. “You think you can lie to me, don’t you, little girl?” He asked, with his pupils the color of lava, “You think I wouldn’t have a way of knowing?”

  “I… I didn’t…” Roth gasped, struggling to free herself from his iron grasp. The red drained from her lips and she looked as pale as a ghost. Luther only bound her tighter.

  “Liar,” he breathed heavily. His irises were burning like disks of coal and flames. Burning, I mean literally. He looked like he wasn’t satisfied yet, but he dropped Roth’s hand just as suddenly as he had clasped them.

  Roth panicked, staggered backwards and fell stiffly to the floor. Tears rimmed her eyes as she dropped to her knees before the boy. “Please, please! Stop this, please! I… I beg you!” She pleaded with agony and wept into her shaking hands.

  Why was she…? I gaped in horror as Roth clutched her chest and yanked the floor, as if to break loose of some painful torture. Then, my eyes flashed toward Luther and saw his fingers. They were curved like talons, as if he was crushing something with his fists. My mind made a horrible click. I remembered how Walcott sent me that current of pain. His hands had been clasped and curved, similar to Luther’s. But the teenager’s power was much more than threatening, I swear even Walcott couldn’t start compare with him. I could sense the pain just by watching the poor girl.

  Her high-pitched scream went piercing through the cold odd silence. I tried to turn away but couldn’t. Her whole face was screwed up, wet with tears. She pleaded once more, imploring with a strident scream, “I admit it! I put the poison! Just stop it, stop it!” She clutched her ears and started to whimper, as if her strength had been drawn out.

  I couldn’t bear to watch any longer. Voices were screaming in my ears. Though I knew Roth had been an annoying wretch, but I had to stop it. I tried to muster my courage. But my legs were numb with fright and they felt like jam. I hadn’t tasted this much dismay and fear in my whole life.

  Roth was begging him and shedding tears, but Luther didn’t budge. He was relaxing himself, leaning by the bedpost. He glanced carelessly at Roth, an enjoyable grin spread across his face, as if he was watching a comedy show. Roth probably deserved a lesson by adding poison in my drink, but this, this was too harsh for a twelve-year-old girl.

  “Say the word,” Luther or what looked like Luther studied his finger nails, not even looking at Roth. “Say the word and perhaps I would be merciful enough to spare you.”

  Roth struggled hard to keep still. Then, she gasped in pain, “Master… I…I beg…your mercy!” She sniveled.

  Master… The word imploded inside me, punching my gut. Judging by that, the one who’s torturing Roth couldn’t be Luther; it had to be the boy’s father. The one who was standing there was positively Luther himself, but the one who had acted had been his father. But what kind of horrendous logic is that? I tried to straighten everything.

  Hearing that word, an evil smile rose on his face, and his blood red eyes gleamed hungrily. He dropped his fingers. The pain stopped, and Roth collapsed on the floor. My heart eased and released a tiny bit. My breathing returned.

  “Than… Thank you… master…” Roth stuttered, with her breath as weak as shattered glass. She breathed and coughed as she crawled up from the ground.

  “You’re dismissed,” Luther hissed, baring his teeth as he spoke. Roth stumbled away from her room while she sobbed nonstop.

  There was only Luther in the room and me hiding behind the trap door. I didn’t dare move an inch. The tension in the room was getting on my nerves. Did he sense me eavesdropping on him?

  Then, Luther’s body twitched, and he, too, collapsed to the floor as if someone had yanked his nerves. He was staring at the floor, but I saw the red in his eyes washing away, returning to its usual clean color. My eardrums buzzed and hummed drowsily.

  Something glinted in his eyes. It streamed down by the root of his nose and dribbled to the floor. I blinked. This was the first time I had ever seen him cry.

  The boy stiffened up again, his whole body rising and falling as several sobs occurred. Then he started to bite his lips as if to ease himself. And there was something painful inside his eyes that I couldn’t comprehend.

  I slowly stepped out of the trap door. Luther was weeping into his hand, so he didn’t see me approaching. Watching him curled up on the ground was like watching a feeble, harmless animal. I squatted beside him and placed an arm around his back.

  Sensing my touch, his head shifted. “Fran… Francis?” He mumbled, tensing as he saw me, “You’ve seen everything… didn’t you?” He asked bitterly.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  I nodded briefly. Didn’t say anything.

  He wiped a tear from the corner of his eyes, watching it as it dripped down. “Do you… do you think it was really me, who... who did that?” He nudged his head toward where Roth had been struggling.

  I faltered, not sure what to say. “I don’t really…” Stuttered, I know I have to be careful. I always make thing worse, “I mean…”

  But I didn’t have the time to finish my sentence. Luther gave me an abrupt laugh, but tears were still trickling down his face. But afterward his laughter dissolved into throat gargles. I didn’t know how to react. His face was contorted with what looked like forced merriness and true pain.

  After several minutes, he stopped choking or chortling or whatever he was doing, cuddled up and buried his head into his lap. He still had a smile lingering on his face, a painfully twisted one. “If I were angry, Francis,” Luther mumbled, “I would lose control of myself

  He stared blankly into the ceiling and let the tears drain back into his eyes. His voice was calmer than before, but a bit dreamy and low, like he was talking to himself. “I could do horrible things… Do you know why?” His murmuring voice was barely a whisper.

  I just gawked at him.

  Luther didn’t wait for me to respond and continued. That weird smile widened. “You’ve seen it. I’d lose myself if I were irritated. That’s when my father could get into my body and take control…”

  I jerked and stood up in alarm. “Wait, that makes no sense. What do you mean by my father could get into my body? Gods, you have to tell me everything! You can’t pique my curiosity like this!” With my voice trembling and unusually pitched, I demanded for him to reply.

  Luther forced a wan smile, and wearily, shook his head. Just when I was going to grumble in frustration, he suddenly reached for my arms and clenched them. I could feel his hard-cold fingers curling like claws as they dug into my flesh. I gasped to avoid myself from yelping. Flustered, I stared into Luther’s eyes. With utter relief, I found that they were still gray-blue, but gleaming with what looked like hungry desire.

  I swallowed hard. He scared me.

  “Those things don’t matter. You’ll find them out sooner or later. I have complete faith in you,” Luther gave me a sullen smile, but he didn’t release my arms. Instead, he seized harder on them, almost injuring me. “But you, Francis, you have to trust me. Please, it’s not a threat. I’ve been searching you, for years and for personal reasons. Walcott or my father has nothing to do with it. I’m your friend. Trust me.” He pleaded, squeezing my hand, almost pinching my arteries.

  My muscles felt numb. In the hazy light, his blond hair looked as if it was streaked with gray. His pained smile ruined his handsome face. Though his fingers were gripping me like manacles, I saw his desperateness. I bit my lips hard, blinking to avoid the scorching pain. Gradually, I stopped struggling. Nodded, I nodded.

  “Good,” He drew out a hasty breath, “but… now, I’ll let you to have a good rest.” He dropped my arms. I staggered backward and fell to the ground.

  “I assume you still have a headache?” already, standing by the door, Luther raised an eye-brow, half mocking. Despite my exhaustion, I laughed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Shadow in the Bonfire

  The last tide of the red-hot sunbeam flickered off the horizon. Darkness slowly devoured the luster of dawn, creeping up the sky, stretching in every direction like the Devil’s talons.

  The night was stiff and still, without a single sound but the tick-tock of the grandfather clock.

  I sank into the chair next to the French window, staring into the endless night. After being through so much in a day, I didn’t want to sleep. But having no desire of sitting around in boredom, I stilled climbed into my bed. Sleeping wasn’t what I have anticipated. But my eyes were so weary, that once my eyelids touched, my mind drifted elsewhere into sleepiness.

  It was maybe about mid-night when I woke up. Footsteps had been hurrying down the corridors from just outside. People were passing by. I could hear low whispers. Curiosity burned away my exhaustion. I pressed my ear against the door.

  “Only a quarter of an hour left, there’s no time to lose,” the first voice was clam and soothing, but with a pinch of sulk. I recognized instantly. Luther’s.

  “Is Roth alright? Has no one told her? She should’ve been her,” the second was the panicking voice of Lady Rosamund.

  Someone snorted. “Says she has a headache, who believes that junk? Rosamund, you really should’ve taught her how to properly fabricate an excuse…” The teasing, taunting voice was Walcott’s for sure. A lump formed in my throat. Headache? I’ve almost forgotten about it. A twinge of guilt flashed through me. My muscles tightened as I thought of Roth. She had been through enough the whole day.

  There was a long silence.

  “Well… It’s best that we go without her, the graves might startle her anyway,” Luther said softly. I knew he was trying to hide the remorse in his tone. Then they hurried away. I rooted there and pressed closer against the door, but I couldn’t hear anything. I smacked my fist at the door.

  But at least I know where I was going to go. I grabbed a burning candle and swung myself into the hidden passage way.

  I had never been inside the passage at this deep dark of the night. The passage way was dim in the day time, but at night, it was like a total nightmare. Even with a candle, darkness suffocated me like a tight wrapping cloak. I swallowed and edged further in.

  Then, “Ah, damn it!” I was in the middle of my journey when a chilly wind blew out my candle. With the light extinguished, I could barely see my fingers, let alone the way. I had no matches, no fire. But I could always conjure a flame like when the time I burned down the door, couldn’t I? Breathing hard, I rubbed my thumb with my index finger. My inside started to warm up, collecting all the strength and energy that could build up a roar of flames.

  A spark tingled on my fingers like a star and a brilliant tongue of flames burst out in my hand. The flames tickled my skin, but it didn’t hurt me. It was warm as it floated above my palm. I took a step. The fire steadily drifted with me. Whoa, it hadn’t occurred to me that I could manipulate fire.

  With my fire interweaving with the darkness, the passage way seemed less unwelcoming. Only several minutes had passed as I scuttled toward the exit.

  As soon as the night zephyr greeted me in the face, I closed my palm to weaken the blazing fire. Hanging around with a ball of fire in the dark was like saying Hey I’m here, lalala, come and kill me!

  I took my way toward the graveyard under the moon. An owl hooted somewhere, making the night even eerier. Some nocturnal creatures soared across the sky. A quick shadow crossed my face and it disappeared. I stopped fifty feet from the graves and quickly hid behind a tomb. The fire died out as I lost focus on it.

  Kneeling down, I saw the three of them. They were bustling around with armful of firewood in their arms. Each piled the firewood in the circular center of the graves.

  As all were settled, Luther gestured for the other two to back away and approached the stack. With one knee resting down, he closed his eyes, concentrating hard. When he finally got to his full height, a flicker of flame emerged in his hand out of nowhere. I almost gagged and stared at my own palms.

  A burst of raging scarlet, his fire was much stronger than mine. There were even shapes forming and fading inside it. It flickered so quickly that I couldn’t even glimpse at the shapes. Luther dipped his arm into the pile of branches, and instantly, the whole bundle blew up with crimson, lighting up the horizon, hurling out twirls of flames that shaped like livid serpents. Thick swirls of smoke intermixed with the atmosphere. The firewood was hissing and buckling. Still dazed, I was preoccupied by the scene.

  Luther backed away and all three of them circled the bonfire, their figures shadowy and ghost-like. The three’s faces were blurred and glowed red in the light.

  “It’s ready,” Luther muttered. For what? My instincts screamed for me to hurtle back to my comfortable room, but my legs were stiff and dragged me down. I stayed and watched.

  The three of them had stopped moving and stood in silence by the fire. Only the crackling of flames could be heard. They rolled their left sleeves up, revealing their birthmarks. The black marks reflected off the crimson light and seemed to glow. I felt my left arm prickling. Annoyed, I pressed it hard, easing the itch.

  They were moving around the bonfire again, now mumbling something under their breath. Their lips moved, but the language they spoke was foreign, unlike any other I had ever heard. The words rammed in my ears and I felt myself trembling all over. With their constant chants, eerie circling and the way their clothes flitted in the night wind, the ceremony was unnerving, irritating me in an unexplainable way. Something itchy started to stir in my memory. I shook it off and my attention returned to the bonfire.

  The three had stopped whispering the dreadful verses. Luther stood nearest me. Now, watching the dancing flames, his expression was even more unreadable. His shoulders tensed in a way that I knew he was fighting within himself. He paused more than a while, I think.

  Walcott tatted his fingers, a scornful, mocking leer on his face. “Luther, Luther… I was expecting this. Afraid now, are you? I suppose my master won’t approve of your cowardliness? I’ll do it, if you’re so fearful of winning his favor…”

  “No,” Luther snapped coldly, and then shuffled his foot, “I… I’ll do it.” There was something like regret or even fear in his tone. He hesitated, and no one expected him to act. But with a scowl on his face, Luther reached out an arm.

  I swore his hands had been empty before. The thing had appeared like the trick of the light. He was now holding something tiny. It was a bunny, with fuzzy, white fur, probably only a few months old. I heaved out a sigh of relief. Seriously, I was expecting something like a king cobra or a tarantula.

  The docile little thing wriggled, whinnying slightly at the sight of the torching fire. It huddled up in Luther’s embrace with a weak, frightened squeak.

  Luther gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’ll be unharmed. I will care for you.” He smiled bitterly and stroked the little thing’s fur. The bunny seemed to relax a little. It curled up into a fluffy ball and nudged Luther’s fingers with its little snout, making purring noises.

  Luther started to fondle its drooped ears. Then, a short, high-pitched shriek pierced through the silence. Blood trickled down Luther’s fingers. Something snapped in me. The first second, Luther was lovingly tending innocent little creature. And the next, he’d snapped its neck with his bare hands. The head dropped to the floor. Red hot blood spewed into the fire as if the broken neck was a spraying jet. A vile sickness churned in my stomach. I threw up, literally.

  Luther smeared the blood away and dropped the tiny body. As the red liquid entered the center of the flames, the fire glowed like the fresh, roiling blood. Luther’s voice seemed to age fifty years as he spoke. “Blood… of the innocence…” His lips trembled, this time using English.

  The flames exploded, the highest streak of it flew as high as the sky itself, licking the heavens with its hissing crimson tongues. Even the sky seemed to burn red.

  All of the three stepped away from it in a respectful way, with their eyes transfixed.

  Something disturbing started to morph amidst the flames, ashes and shadows. A black shape started to take form in the smoke like shadows. The shape started to grow larger, gathering all the terrifying darkness and sucking all the light during the growth.

  I stumbled backwards as the shape flickered and loomed in the fire.

  The shape was more startling and petrifying than the mark on my arm. It had no exact outlines, just shadows and darkness weaving together. It had two eyes, blood-red ones that never wavered in the breeze. I had an odd feeling it was Luther’s, the ones that took form when he was exasperated. But I knew better.

  It was the darkness that had haunted my dreams.

  The three of them knelt to the ground before the shadowy figure. I was petrified in my hiding place. My breath went shallow. I couldn’t remember why I was there.

  For a split, terrifying second, I thought the shape would loom out of the fire light, sprang toward me and devour me, for it had always done so in my dreams. But as the fire shrank to its regular size, the shadow cackled and disappeared along with it. The fire flickered away like the hissing of a serpent. The night was in dark again.

  “Le… Let’s go,” Luther mumbled weakly, rubbing his sore joints. “Everything has been prepared for the Grand Rite.” The three of them went like a gust of wind, just like that, leaving me behind to shudder in the cold.

  A streak of moon light pierced the darkness, reflecting off the carvings on a gravestone. I touched it. Melas Walcott. 1650-1692

  It was that grave again. The tomb was frigid, but the name burned, the year of his death singed like charcoals. A Historical Tragedy: 1692. I remembered the bedtime stories mom used to tell me, with the circles of flames and dead black cats and the full moon and a tragedy in 1692.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Chaos at Breakfast

  “Mom, tell me a story…” The boy’s voice echoed across the darkness. The warm yellow light flickered in the night. The scene seemed so near, yet so blurry and distant.

  The mother stroked her son’s blonde curls between her fingers and tickled his armpit. The boy tittered. “Once on a time in the ancient days, there were a group of special people. They possessed unique talents from others.”

  “How special…?”

  The mother tilted her head, “Very special, sweetling. They know the wonders of nature and elements, life and death, like the way I know you want another piece of pie… No sweetling, you can’t have it.”

  “Mom…!”

  Both of them laughed.

  The mother continued. “Every year, the members of the group would meet together, sometimes in the deep dark of the woods, sometimes in the graveyard in the night hours; sometimes maybe in our basement, so don’t you fuss there anymore. (“Mom，get serious!”) They would form a circle and light a fire in the center.

  “It was to honor their master, showing their loyalty to him. He was the source of their powers. Their lives were bond to him.”

  “Who are these people?”

  A shadow crossed her face, but she forced a smile, “They’re witches, sweetling. You’ve heard about them? Don’t you?” She tickled him again.

  “Their master… I think… is he the D…?”Startled, his mother flew her hands up to his mouth.

  “No, don’t say it. Names… have powerful connections.” She stared away, her eyes a bit sullen.

  The son sensed her discomfort and swallowed. “The witches, are they real?”

  The mother didn’t answer, but leaned forward and kissed her son’s birthmark on his left arm. She clasped the boy tighter than ever. “Goodnight, sweetling, bedtime story’s over. If you want a pie tomorrow, go to sleep.”

  The image dissolved and another crept in sight. It was some sort of an empty bathroom, with only a stark, marble bathtub gurgling with cold water. Luther lay inside, his body invisible beneath the rippling surface. For weird reasons, he was frantically rubbing his hands in the water. Somehow, I sensed the tentacles of fear enclosing on him.

  Finally, he drew out his drooped hands, staring at it, a look of utter dismay and horror on his face. “No… not this… never this…” I realized why. His hands had red streaks of blood on it, the blood from the bunny whose head he had snapped. Even though his hands had been soaked in the water for almost an hour, the blood stains still hadn’t worn away. He had scrubbed it with soap and scalded it with boiling water. Even the skin had sloughed off. But the blood stain seemed to have seeped into his flesh.

  There was a hard bang on the door. Luther craned his neck, with the whites in his eyes more red than white. “Get out!” barked Walcott’s voice. “You’ve stayed in there for an hour. We’ve got business to discuss!”

  Luther shivered in the cold water. He stared at his hands, the blood on his frigid, pale fingers. His eyes made a convulsive twitch as a tear trickled down. “No,” he rasped, “no, you’re the one who should get lost!” The pained wail turned into a screech. The gurgling bathwater whelmed and suddenly stretched out from the tub like a thousand fingers. The water was a tidal wave as it flooded tumultuously and burst through the door, leaking outside. Walcott’s voice was gone.

  There wasn’t a single drop of it in the tub. Then shadow loomed over the scene. The horrid, ancient cackling filled my dream. “Father, no… Don’t let me remember this!” Luther sat on his blood-smudged hands and wept into his lap. The darkness turned to me, its eyes glowing.

  I yelped and rolled out of bed. Shaken, I gripped hard on the sheet, my fingers digging into the fabric as if to tear it apart. I swallowed hard, but my throat was swollen shut as if it had been stung.

  Dawn broke. Streaks of sunlight leaked through the gaps of the thick drapes. I grumbled my protest. It was morning already, and I hadn’t even had a good night sleep. Thanks to my dream.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Uh. Come in,” I said with dragging voice.

  The door opened. Luther moved into my room and saw me gawking at him. “Don’t worry. It’s only me,” he whispered, voice shaking. He sounded like he was comforting himself. His eyes looked as shattered as ever, still rimmed with red. I wondered if the nightmare was true.

  “Yeah, it’s… only you,” I repeated like an idiot, still sleepy-eyed.

  “Here, let me help you up,” he reached out a hand, almost smiling. I stared at his out-stretched arm, still with the sloughed-off skin and the speckled blood. Instantly, he sensed this and snapped his hand back, face paling. “Really, I hate red ink. Hard to wash away,” he managed. For a second, I though his face was going to twist up for a whimper.

  But he continued. “Sir Walcott demanded further discussion with you on that topic…” Luther took a deep breath and eyed at me, his eyes a bit panicky, “the one we discussed yesterday morning, just the gathering and everything.”

  I opened my mouth to object but Luther coughed. “Don’t say it now,” he muttered. “Just complain at the dining table. Best if you ruin their appetite. I don’t have any today anyway.” I had to make a sneezing laugh.

  So I found myself having breakfast with the Walcotts. Having too much on my mind, I didn’t say a word, didn’t even try to fight when Rosamund pointed out my rude manners. Eventually, even she got bored.

  Luther, like me, scarcely talked. He lowered his head and stared at his plate the whole time. The food his plate was untouched, so he pushed it away.

  While we ate, Roth joined us at the table. She wasn’t teasing me like before, didn’t even glance at Luther like she always did. Her eyes looked dreadful like she’d been staying awake the whole night prying them. Maybe she’d cried. An uneasy lump rose in my throat. That girl was on the list of yesterday’s most unfortunate people, right behind Luther.

  Walcott placed down his fork with a ding. Knowing he was going to speak, everyone put on a sour face. Here it goes again. I folded my arms and leaned on the hind legs of the chair without falling. Walcott’s gray lips writhed like a worm.

  But he decided to ignore me and said with a pretense of cheerfulness, or what he believed was cheerfulness, “Well then. I believe we can begin our pleasant little talk. Yes… we should start with what we didn’t quite finish, for some babyish boy had a pitiful headache yesterday…” He mused.

  “I wasn’t the only one.” I muttered drearily, glancing at Roth.

  “Francis!” Being Miss Headache’s responsible daddy, Walcott suddenly rasped.

  No one should blame me when I jumped. Walcott didn’t usually address me properly. I was used to him calling me an asshole or something. It took me seconds to muster my defiance. “Yeah? What?” I picked my finger nails but was half listening.

  Walcott eased himself back into his chair. A murderous gleam crossed his eyes. “Now, tell me. The gathering? What’s your response, little bastard brat?”

  I’m going to explain how bad that word sounded. Luther started choking, even though he didn’t swallow anything. My veins bulged and my skin tightened. “What did you say? What did you say?” my voice thrilled. “I have a rightful lady mother who is… I mean, was not raped by any… any… men like you!” Panting too hard, I was out of nasty names to call him, but I thought he got the idea.

  “And my father…”I felt like saying something more, but swallowed. It had hit me like a pail of water that I knew nothing concerning him. My dad’s identity was unknown and mom barely mentioned him. What if she was abashed that…? I felt an urgent need to swap the subject. Noticing the stumble of my sentence, Walcott heaved out a dry sigh, feigning sympathy for me. That’s it. I thought. I had to counterattack. Turning to him with all the coolness, I knew what I said would strike him. “Your name’s an anagram of the word Salem, Melas Walcott, representing the Salem Witch Trials in 1692. Witches, and that’s what you are. All of you.”

  If the silence wasn’t so deafening, I might’ve laughed. Walcott’s face froze like iron, so he looked like a horse-faced, snarling gargoyle. Rosamund’s hands flew to her throat, as if tempted to throttle herself. Roth fidgeted with the hems of her dress, pinching them the way you pinch worms. My gaze fell on Luther. He tilted his head on an upper arm, raising an eye-brow. That was the strongest-affecting expression he’d made in a day. I knew he was listening.

  “What drew my suspicion were the servants. They were like… dream walking, all the time. And all of them had the same reactions, like zombies. Creepy? Now when I think about it, they’re in some sort of a trance. One of you hypnotized them.” I paused to see if any of the kitchen maids were paying any attention. None of them jumped out or screamed their objection. Still pacing, still serving, as if I had been talking about the weather.

  “That’s all with your nonsense?” Walcott suddenly chipped in, finally freed from that gargoyle-like expression.

  “No. Let me see… Oh, yeah. You, Walcott… You nearly exposed yourself, two times already. The first was in your office, the second during the last time we had breakfast. You nearly killed me both times, first with the choking, then with that anguishing pain. But no one saw you touching me. You barely curled your fingers and achieved what you wanted. I was your victim, so I figured this out. And then…” I felt a bubbling urge to tell of Luther, of how he injured my leg, of how his eyes glowed with red viciousness, of how he tormented poor Roth. But it was too much, either for me or for him.

  “Then…Guess what? I saw your gravestone in the yard, Walcott. I read the etchings myself, Melas Walcott. 1650-1692. You’ve been dead for over a hundred years, and you think that’s normal?”

  Walcott unsheathed his words like a hissing sword. “That doesn’t mean anything, does it, boy? That could’ve been one of my dreary ancestors, who knows?”

  I perked my eye-brows. “Not convincing. I’ve found a secret passage way hidden in the walls. There was a tedious row of portraits of your family. None of them was named Melas… all except you. That was your grave.

  “But that would be impossible, for you couldn’t be the walking dead, despite the fact that you do look like one. According to the grave, you deceased in 1692. Lucky coincidence, guess what event took place that very year. The Salem Witch Trials. Your darned history volume gave me that idea. If you were burned at the stake as a witch, or something like that, all of the hypnotizing craps would make sense.

  “Then, the little black marks. They’re not birthmarks, but symbols, totems, more like. And I recognize them. The shapes refer to the demons, the slaves that populated in Hell. Obviously, that means you, every one of you, works for the same master like the demons. This makes damn sense, because witches are servants of…” I ceased, saving the name at the end of my rolling tongue. Speaking his name aloud wouldn’t do me any good.

  “Leaving a hanging, are you? Go on, complete your speech, boy, we’re all listening.”

  I noticed the triumphant note in Walcott’s gravelly voice and swallowed. Was I afraid?

  My lips writhed, my tongue loosening, releasing the word. Out of nowhere, I felt an arm jostling me. “Francis… don’t say it. You can’t.” Luther knew what I was getting at. His voice was panic-stricken. If he hadn’t bit his tongue, I knew he’d scream.

  Walcott snorted. “Are you afraid? Speak it,” his voice was like the slithering snake of Eden, spiteful, venomous, but tempting, very.

  I bit my lower lip. “You’re all witches, servants of the…”my tongue made a tremor; the name sprang to life, “Devi…” I didn’t quite make the l sound. There was a spasm of pain on the tip of my tongue. I thought it was but a pulsed sensation and made a face.

  “Dev… De…” I was wrong. The word just wouldn’t slide with ease. I chewed the name, but it was like chewing shards of glass. Just the attempt of speaking it brought so much anguish. My taste buds went exploding, my saliva reeling, and the only thing I could savor was blood… and the dread.

  Luther’s voice sounded distant as the world double-dutched around me. “What did I tell you? You’ll be killed by the name! You and your… bloody arrogance…!”

  So I stopped struggling with the name. The pain wore off like the water sucking from the tide pools. My tongue slumped. I sank into my chair, my breath dawdling. Now I knew why mom stopped me from pronouncing that damn sacred name, and it wasn’t because of the desecration. She’d known all along. And I was a fool not to consider the possibility of me being a… being a… I felt a concussion of my brain as I languidly straightened up.

  Walcott applauded. That sarcastic, frenzied applause that matched his face… “I have to say, quite impressive, really. Yes, I was burned to death in the Trials. My corpse was seared, buried exactly in the tomb you’ve just mentioned. But my master rewarded me with a new body for all the tasks I’ve accomplished for him.

  “And… as for you, boy…” he suddenly appeared on my left, wrenching my arm. The mark scorched. “You can’t say his name, or you’ll lose your life. You’re just like the rest of us, a witch, who’s bound to kneel before our master. Attend the annual ceremony at his wishes, boy.”

  I turned to him, “I don’t know what I am, but I’m nothing like you. My only concern is that I’m a liberal and that’s enough for me. I won’t bow to anyone, especially not people like you or your so-called master.” It took all my energy to keep my voice calm.

  Walcott seized me by the corner of my shirt and clasped me. His breath stank. Yuck. “If it doesn’t humiliate Luther that much, I would’ve skinned you alive a thousand times already. You should be gratified that our master hasn’t decided to teach you a lesson, yet. Mark my words. It’ll happen, one day.”

  I tried to pry his fingers away from me, “I don’t care. I won’t bend the knee. EVER. So stop dreaming, you asshole.”

  “Shut up, both of you!” it was Luther, his voice broken like ceramic, “Just… stop it! Please, I beg you!”

  “Why on earth should I…?” I stopped.

  Everything went submerged in an unearthly silence.

  There was a violent jerk in Luther’s shoulders. He gripped a handful of his hair, wheezing. And then another stroke of invisible pain fought inside him, leaving his face dry and pallid. All color in his face drained away, his lips were merely livid, trembling lines.

  “What is it?” Walcott released his grip on me, face all grim and dreary. Though he was interrogating, I think he knew the answer.

  Pain coiled inside Luther’s ghostly eyes, “Our… our master… de… demands to… speak through m… me!” His voice cracked as if he had aged a hundred years. That hoarse breath of a warning was the only thing he managed before he collapsed in his chair.

  Even I knew what was going to happen. The Devil- the witches’ master- Luther’s berserk dad who was always renting the poor lad’s body… Gee, I just love making pleasant connections in my brain.

  Walcott exchanged looks with his wife, speechless.

  Roth looked even worse than Luther, like she was about to face the gallows. “On, no… No, no, no, no, no…” She slapped herself and stared at the unconscious Luther, stricken. I still remembered the last time she’d encountered the Devil. I couldn’t blame her. I wasn’t very excited, either.

  “Shh. Darling, be calm now, be calm,” Lady Rosamund gave her daughter a tight squeeze on the shoulders and tucked streaks of tangled hair from the girl’s face. Her voice was intermixed with shaky delight and fear.

  I gazed at Luther. He had been awakened again, now scuffling with himself. Those eyes darkened at first, then flickered with flames, while seconds later returning to its usual blue. He was fighting a battle he could never win. Some sort of sickness surged in my stomach.

  “Don’t fight, Luther. Let him come, allow him to come,” Walcott hissed.

  There was sudden movement beside me. Startled, I edged to the other side of my chair. It hadn’t occurred to me that I should actually be scrambling away for dear life, screaming my head off.

  Luther wasn’t writhing anymore. He stood and left his chair for the empty seat that faced the door. He made himself comfortable in his sitting, slightly twisting his neck. But I knew better. He wasn’t just adjusting to his rightful throne. He was adjusting to his new, young body of his son.

  His eyes churned with red, like blood. Let’s just cheerfully assume it wouldn’t be my blood, which was chilled at the minute. I thought I heard Rosamund squeal with panicky delight.

  That voice loomed over us, soft and smooth and foul. “What are you waiting for?” a smile crept up his lips. Painfully, I found that it was Luther’s smile, Luther’s face. But it was all twisted-like, as if someone was strangling him from the inside.

  The Walcotts didn’t need to be told twice. Instantly, they dropped to their knees before his feet. I still sat there, still with that numb, buzzing drone in my head, staring into the eyes of Luther’s father, the Devil. Period.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A Threat, a Betrayal and a Punishment

  The Devil twisted his fingers and gestured for the Walcotts to rise.

  I still had my body leaning on that chair. My blood felt like it was in Hell, only it had frozen over. Damn, I could’ve done something less heroic, but I just stuck there, petrified, waiting to be pinched like a pathetic bug. There was nothing I could do but dreading for him to turn to me.

  He did, his nightmarish eyes soaked into mine. I realized that this was the first time I studied them directly. There was more to those eyes than the vile color. They had this horrendous allure that drew me closer. It wasn’t long before I saw ghastly images in them, heard screaming and shrieking… of my mother…

  I had to gnash my teeth to snap myself out of it. Why hadn’t God seen through him from the start? It was too obvious. Those eyes indicated recklessness. Finally able to release his gaze, I looked down, fiddling. I didn’t know if it was his doing, but my scalp seemed to burn.

  He studied me with that smile still lingering between his pursed lips. Though he had the gentle face of Luther, the mannered features were just like a frail mask that failed to hide the dreadful thing that was truly lurking behind it. I forced myself with all my might no to scream helplessly. Just staring at him made my skin boil and sizzle like on a skillet.

  “Perfect,” The Devil had suddenly appeared beside my ear as if he stepped out of the shifting shadows. I nearly jumped out of my skin. His movement might be even quicker than the speed of light. His breaths were frigid like icicles against my skin. I could even smell a strong odor that hollowed my body as he got nearer. Blood, it was the scent of fresh blood. He was right beside me. Without even shifting my rigid neck, I knew that immediately.

  “Perfect,” He whispered again, he was beaming in Luther’s smile now, but the lines of the lips were curved in a brutal way. He seemed gloated to see my terrified expression. “I can taste the fear inside you like blood, my young lad.” He scraped his finger across my skin as he held my face to better examine me. His fingers were cold but sharp like talons, pricking under my flesh and seemed to stab into my bone.

  My muscles tightened uneasily. Sweat trickled down my brow. For a split second, I thought he was going to crack my skull into splinters with his fragile-looking but strong fingers. But then, he dropped his tight grip and shifted back to his seat again. I gasped and suddenly felt myself being able to breathe again. Blood flooded back to my face. I lifted my head with astonishment on my face and caught Walcott smirking at me.

  The Devil had a proud, satisfied expression on his face as he nodded at me, and the blood in his eyes surged and gleamed even brighter. “Now, I believe we shall all continue on what is interrupted just then, Shall we?” He tilted his head in a crooked way and waited for our response.

  The rest of us exchanged puzzled looks. I licked my lips because I suddenly found it very dry. Arguing in front of the Devil didn’t seem like a very reasonable choice to me, I might face even worse life and death situations. But even though, I was never giving up on writhing and struggling. So, I chose to seal my lips shut.

  After a long pause of silent, he finally lost patience. “Well? Sir Walcott?” He frowned and crossed his fingers together in front of his chin, “You claim to be my most faithful servant. Why don’t you say anything?” His eyes kindled and burned like coal.

  Roth and Lady Rosamund glanced worriedly at him.

  Walcott stood up and bowed low, “My master, I am your most loyal and faithful servant and we are absolutely honored that you’ve arrived at our conversation…”

  “Prove it! Prove that you are.” The Devil snarled, baring his teeth, twisting the features on his face together like wax. His voice became a low hiss that sounded like an angry serpent. Ripping sounds started to build up in his throat and rumbled like a storm. As his threatening words ended, all the light in the room dimmed out as if lightning had struck them down, leaving only darkness in the room. Both of his eyes burning red with rage, as if they could spit fire three feet away. They were the only eerie source of light.

  “Master, please, forgive me. It’s the boy’s fault; he refused to participate in the gathering.” Walcott apologized meekly. Because of the darkness, I couldn’t actually see his movement, but I guessed he had bent down and kissed his master’s feet.

  The lights flickered alive again. The Devil stood up and glanced at me briefly, “People who are not behavioral and doesn’t follow orders will be punished,” His crooked smile broadened at the last word, as if he was talking about an entertainment, “Francis, do you reconsider your answer for me?” He demanded as he raised his eye-brow. This movement was so close to Luther’s that I nearly gasped.

  Blood started to boil inside me like lava in a volcano and flooded to my eardrums. The whole world went blank. What was I supposed to answer? Agree for my life’s sake? Refuse to the dark evil plan? I could see images flashing, darting and colliding all the way down toward me in my head. I could see my mother, kissing me on the cheeks before the day she went and never came back. “Francis, my brave, brave boy… Promise me, you’ll be good and always stand on justice’s side. Promise me?” I could feel her gentle touch swiftly moving by my forehead. I could smell the aroma of her perfumed hair. “Yes, mother.” I had answered. “I’ll be good.” Then everything was over like a flash, my mother was gone, separated away from me, forever.

  Be a good boy, be a good boy, be a good boy…the words repeated itself in my head like a whirl wind, the images fading and reforming like liquid. I closed my eyes tightly. I couldn’t bear it any longer. A trickling line of icy water blurred my sight. I could see the Devil reaching out a hand for me to take it. His red eyes were radiant with fire burning. But I didn’t care. Why should I care about my own life! My mother’s gone and I couldn’t even keep her last promise! What kind of terrible son am I? I blinked furiously. My fingertips were trembling as if I had been lightning struck.

  “No…”I managed to say, my cracked voice was shattering like broken glass, all the hatred and misery was burning inside me like fireworks, building up in my throat to a scream, “No, never!”

  Walcott’s expression twisted in an ugly way at my answer, which I found pretty funny, because Walcott couldn’t possibly be any uglier. “You foolish boy!” He screeched sharply as he glared at me, his fingers twisting together like snakes as he lifted me in the air with witchcraft. “You unworthy…”

  But his curse was blocked by an even powerful one. I fell to the ground with a thud, a thump and a scream. The Devil had risen from his chair again, impatiently tapping his fingers, “Walcott, stop.” He ordered coldly.

  “But, master…” Walcott said, looking a bit confused. But he dropped his fingers instantly and scowled at me.

  “I understand your enthusiasm to punish the boy at my service,” He continued, pretending not to hear my snorts at his sentence, “But… but this time, I’ll be a bit… ah, merciful on the boy.” The Devil smiled at me as he relaxed himself back into his chair as if it was a throne.

  My eyes widened. Merciful? I thought that word never appeared in bad guys’ vocabulary. I glanced at Walcott. He was equally shocked.

  “Master, do you mean, you’ll punish the boy yourself?” Walcott swallowed, he was apparently disappointed that he wasn’t the one to punish me. I rolled my eyes. Yeah, as if I was some sort of lottery prize.

  The Devil waved a hand, gesturing him to be silent. Then he turned to me, beaming his proud vicious smile, “If I was the one to punish you, Francis, I could’ve had countless ways to torture you. I could’ve hauled your veins right beneath your skinto braid cable stitches. I could’ve frozen every single drop of your blood into solid states to clog your blood vessels. I could’ve made a cobra slither across your body, using its venom to torment you like an invisible snare… But unfortunately, my status is still not at the ripe time to fully stand in this man’s world. I’ll leave this important job of punishment to my son as a task for him. I hope he won’t disappoint me, or else he’ll face even worse situations.” His smile widened and dissolved into sounds of cruel laughter that rammed my eardrums.

  His son, his son… That meant… I turned to him with a puzzled look. Instantly, the Devil’s eyes cleared up into a clean shade of gray-blue like limpid spring water. Luther toppled on to the chair as if his limbs went lose like a ragged puppet on broken cords of thread. He immediately realized what had just happened. His eyes were filled with remorse and guilt. He coughed hard to find his voice and whispered in panicky exhaustion, “Father, no… I… I can’t… It’s inhuman…” Luther stammered haltingly. He slid to the ground helplessly as if blown away from the chair by a gust of wind. His muscles twitched again as if poisonous venoms of a cobra had bitten him. Then, He led out a yelp of pain and agony.

  His eyes grew darker as if storm clouds had piled atop each other in his eyes, streaks of red light flickered inside the darker glooms of shadows like lightning bolts until the eyes were again filled with blood-red color. “Don’t be a coward, Luther!” The Devil’s eyes flashed dangerously, and his lips were drawn back into a furious snarl, “Do as what you’re told! I am your master, and you should always follow my instructions!”

  His body twitched violently again as if something wanted to tear him into tattered rags. He shrank back with an involuntary gasp and fell to the ground. He was Luther again. Tears started to fill the brims of his eyes. “No, father! Father, please, he’s only a boy, he deserves a second chance! Father, please! I beg you!” Luther grasped tightly on to his head and knelt down to the floor.

  But the Devil didn’t come back this time or respond to his son’s desperate begs.

  Luther waited anxiously and pleaded even harder, “Father, please! Don’t make me! Don’t make me!” He clutched his hair as if to haul them from his head in frustration, “I’ll trade anything, father! I’ll do anything for you! I’ll be your servant forever! Please, father! Just don’t make me do it!” He led out several desperate, helpless screams, bursting through his streaming tears. But there was no response. There was a sour, tight lump in my throat as I watched him. He was doing his best to save me from punishment. But what could I do to help either of us?

  “Get up, Luther!” Walcott snorted out his cruel order, “Fulfill the task now or else I’ll do it for you!” He went forwards and yanked Luther’s weak body from the floor and half-dragged him to his chair. “I believe that our master’ll understand my actions perfectly.” Walcott said, giving a wicked smile to me and curled his fingers in a readied position to torture me from head to toes, inside out. He seemed gloated about Luther’s feeble body status, which made me wanted to punch him. I snarled at him.

  Luther was clutching his throat tightly as if to spit out something. “No, Sir Walcott,” He tested his frail legs and tempted to stand up, tripping several times on his heels. Luther gave me and faint smile and staggered to my side. He draped his weak arms around my shoulder for support, leaned against me and grasped on me to stand up in difficulty. I didn’t refuse or showed any revolt to him. I grinned back at him with a broad smile.

  Luther glared at Walcott. Even though he was a bit groggy and shaky, it didn’t affect the sharpness in his eyes. “Do you hear me? No one can harm Francis,” He declared, glancing aggressively at the people in the room. The way he said it, so positive and firm, no one dared to argue with him. Even Walcott fell silent. I gave Luther a reassuring smile, encouraging him to go on.

  Luther turned to me. He had his usual bitter smile I didn’t really understand. I guessed it was a grin of relief. He studied my expression and then tucked a few strands of tattered blond hair from my eyes. His whole body was tightly clung to mine. “No one can harm Francis…” He whispered in my ears in a shallow, thin voice, “Besides me.”

  His last words ringed in my ears in alert. My eyes widened as I winced to shake him off and probably run away from the room. But too late, Luther had already yanked my arms behind me and twirled them with some sort of stout rope. He plunged down and pounced on me, shoving me to the hard floor.

  I wasn’t quite ready for his strong blow. He had a steadily strong body structure compared to my skinny, unhealthy figure. As I writhed hard on the ground, trying to kick him in the face, he knocked my head so hard I felt my brain was shattering. I wailed in pain as I stretched my body helplessly on the ground. He’d tricked me into believing him. He had made himself look like he was actually weak. “Luther, why did you do this?” I demanded angrily as I received another shove in the face by him.

  When he steadied me, he pressed his strong leg on my chest. I saw his eyes were glinting with something wet, “I’m sorry, Francis. It’s my duty.” Luther lifted his head to stare at the ceiling so that not to let the tears stream from his eyes. He blinked several times and looked away from me, but his leg kicked me harder. “Servants!” He screamed sharply as he choked with several sniffles of sobs, his eyes flashing as he spoke, “Take the boy to the basement!” He never did look at me again.

  Four of the kitchen servants rushed toward me at his commands. One of them made a grab for me but I sidestepped him quickly. But another seized my pinioned arms behind my back so that I couldn’t struggle. The other two gripped my shoulders so that I had no prayer of freeing myself. Then the first one kept a close watch on me. I could only squirm.

  Eventually, I gave up. I raised my head up to face Luther. I gritted my teeth and tried to spit at him. Unfortunately, I missed. “Luther!” I yelped, my throat was cracked with flames of fury, “You once said you want to be my friend! But you’re the one who betrayed me!” I swore the temperature of my glower could melt metal.

  Luther’s face twitched a little as he paced cautiously around me. “It’s for your own good, Francis,” He swallowed hard, not being able to make eye contact with me, “If you behave now, perhaps there’s no need for this…” He finally eyed me with a careful glance, pleading me to surrender.

  “Do you actually think I’ll bow to you?” I snarled and tried to kick one of the servants on the ankles.

  “Then there’s nothing to discuss between us anymore. I’m… sorry,” Luther said sourly. He folded his arms and hid inside the darkening shadows, not wanting me to see his face. Even though, judging by the uncertainty in his tone and the slightly shatter in his voice, he was forcing the tears back into his eyes.

  But that triggered my anger even further. I struggled in the servant’s tight grip and glowered at him. Smoldering fury grew and bubbled inside me, and I had no intension to stop it. I was distraught and let out a bellow of unstoppable rage at him. “COWARD!” I screamed, “Fight back! You are… the biggest coward… the world has ever seen!”

  Luther must’ve heard my words. With a burst of surrounding shadows forming and darkening around me, Luther appeared at my side. His eye-brows were creased together as if he was trying to curb the bursting anger inside him with a lot of effort. He reached out his hand and grasped my chin. Panting hard, he spoke. “It’s just for your own good, Francis, all of it. Stop fighting and you’ll end this quickly.” He muttered darkly. Every syllable of his was trembling, as if Luther was controlling his emotions hard not to let any slip through his words.

  “Well?” He asked, still holding my chin in his hands. The pain of his grip felt like burning coal, torching my cheek bones.

  As a response, I spat at him in the face. This time, I got a brilliant full mark. The servants gasped and grabbed me away from their young master. Luther smeared his face and glowered at me. His nostrils flared. “You’re impossible,” Luther muttered and let go of me. His eyes still focused on mine for several minutes, as if waiting for me to give him a positive response. But I stayed silent and tilted my head, so he turned to the servants holding me. “Take him to the basement.”

  “Master, which place in the basement?” One of the dreamy-voiced girls asked timidly.

  “The dungeon, you fool!” He screamed, finally peeling off his mannered mask. As his hands slapped the table in a commanding way, a cracking sound erupted in the room. All the Walcotts backed away from the table. Roth let out a squeal of horror.

  A deep crack had zigzagged across the mahogany table from where Luther knocked it as if someone had cut the table with an axe. The crack’s brim sizzled with hot energy. The dishes exploded into shards. Soon, the forty-foot-long table was ripped into two halves as if Luther had torn it like a ragged doll.

  Luther’s eyes widened, as if he, too, was shocked. He glanced at the servants and then stared at his own sweaty palms.

  I couldn’t shift my eyes an inch from the remains of the table. With that sort of power, Luther could tear me apart easily. I didn’t even have time to consider more. The servants dragged me away from the room quickly. My limbs felt a bit tired to struggle, but I kicked and yanked anyways.

  When I was dragged to the door of the dining hall, I saw Walcott placed an arm around Luther as if he was proud of his actions. “Now, now, Luther, you did great.” He smiled smugly.

  Luther looked as if he was more than a bit startled. He had a troubled look on his face. He glanced at me with what looked like remorse in his eyes. His lips trembled as if he wanted to say something. But then, the door closed before me, and I was escorted to the darkening dungeons in the basement.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Dungeon down the Basement

  I always thought I had explored thoroughly across the manor with the secret passage ways, but I hadn’t expected a basement, let alone the dungeon. I had been to various dreadful places in the world, some had weird odors like underground sewers, some were shrouded with nightmarish darkness that seemed to choke you to death, and some even had rats squirming and dashing across the floor.

  The Walcott’s dungeon was a perfect combination of all.

  It was only a little cell room surrounded by rough, jagged pit stones. Long, narrow and cramped, it looked like a gloomy coffin, opening its dark interiors for me. The cell was ready to engulf the last streaks of hope in my heart. There was only a tiny window with rusty bars. The few lit candles in sconces shivered in the damp, cold zephyr.

  The servants thrust me inside the room. They sliced my sleeves apart and untied the ropes on my wrists. I used this opportunity to kick one of them on the ankle. With a situation of four against one, I had a weak chance of escape. But it was all good fun, kicking, I mean.

  Disappointingly, the servant I kicked ignored me and reached for my arms. I could see something gleaming in a chilly light in his hands. I heard the distinct racket of clanging metal. Chains… My eyes widened with despair. “No…tell me you’re kidding,” I forced a dry laugh without humor. But the servant’s motion reassured me that this wasn’t a child’s game he was playing at.

  With one arm yanking me to the floor, he shackled my right arm with the heavy chains while I fought and screamed like an infant. I was doomed. With the chains as heavy as burdens on my arms and legs, I would never be able to escape this damn place.

  He locked the chain with a crisp, distinct click. The weight of the manacle was yanking me toward the damp, moldy floor, maybe even toward Hell. I collapsed, dropping to my knees with a screechy wail.

  “Let’s go, the master’s waiting for us,” The servants mumbled together, completely blind of my body’s horrid status. They hurried away with a husky creak of the gate that blew out the candles, leaving me in the darkened dungeon with the frightened squeaks of the mice. I sighed, bowed my head low and closed my eyes.

  For the next few of long, dragging hours, I tried tossing in the chains. The iron thorns on the shackles were torturing my active arms, gnawing into my skin like canine teeth. I tried to sleep and dream myself out of the dread place, but it was useless. I had too much on my mind.

  I shifted my left arms uneasily. I reached out one of my fingers with a lot of effort to grope my arm. Even in the inky darkness, it wasn’t a hard task to find the bulging birthmark. I pinched it hard, and the mark prickled like sparks on my skin in response. I gritted my teeth and was loath to think about it.

  I was a witch, the very thing I despised most of all. I ground my teeth and pulled my hair in both frustration and effort. How could I’ve been so stupid? I tried to recall any memories that could support this fact. It wasn’t hard. There had been the fire I caused to force Mrs. Tristia to back off. I finally knew why I had the ability to conjure fire with bare fingers, but I didn’t appreciate the answer.

  When I reconsidered all of it, it all seemed too obvious. I had been a witch, all along. I pinched myself again with my free fingers. The Walcotts must have known I was one, that’s the reason they adopted me from the orphanage, but what for? And what about the annual gathering they forced me to participate? What evil schemes were behind the background?

  I cuddled myself together with difficulty, warming myself as the frigid wind blew into my face like scraping knives. I gazed longingly out the window, and then my eyes droop. Dusk was dissolving into ashes of dark scarlet. The night had descended, like a cloak suffocating the whole sky. Cruel wind began to bang at the barred windows. The stars flickered like candle flames quivering in the wind, as if inviting me to the heavens. But my eyes could not leave the cold light reflect off the bars on the window.

  The bars… My fingers curled into a fist at the thought of the word. They kept me from the world outside, from the joyful feeling of freedom. I started clutching the walls as if trying to climb on the windows and crack the bars in my fists, and then I’d be free like everyone else out there. I ran my lips across my tongue. I hadn’t tasted freedom in weeks and was hungry for it like how a starved wolf longed for the taste of fresh blood.

  It was then when I heard voices down the stairs of the basement. My head twirled toward the source of the sound. My instincts and senses were a bit sharper in the silence. It had been long since I heard anything besides the squeaks of mice and the howling, furious wind.

  At first, I thought it was a servant who was going to feed me. I was hungry and extraordinarily thirsty. It seemed like decades since the last time I consumed anything. I had even considered roasting a mouse with fire down here in the dungeon.

  But as I listened again, the footsteps were treaded lightly, even more cautious than a dream-walking servant. I squinted into the darkness. A dim light flickered like a firefly in the blackness. Whoever came down here had a candle clutched in his or her hand. Because it was impenetrably dark here, even the candle’s dim light seemed dazzling as it reflected into my eyes. “Who’s there?” Even though my dry voice was cracked from lack of water, there was alertness in my tone.

  The figure didn’t answer. He quickly moved toward the dungeon door, whisked his hands, and it flung open as if a gust of strong wind had blown past. The candle gleamed in a rich-red light. Only did then, I recognized the face of the visitor through the blur. I swore if the heavy chains didn’t hold me back, I might’ve lunged at him and struck him with my fists. I growled as he stepped into the cramped cell. He reached toward me, with shadows shifting and darkening behind him.

  “Luther,” I spat out the word in utter disgust. My head burned with insuppressible wrath. I didn’t need to say more, for the six-letter word alone contained more detest and hatred than any word. I felt a surge of sizzling-hot energy flooding in my stomach, seeming to burst out with every deep breath I took.

  Luther gave me a quick look, and then lowered his eyes. He tried to reach for my hand, but I winced and led the heavy chains swing toward him like a whip. To my disappointment, He blocked my attack and just bit his lips instead of yelling at me. “Francis, please,” He muttered, utterly exhausted, but he didn’t show the attempt to approach me anymore, “It’s your last chance. If you surrender, I promise you you’ll never be harmed. You don’t have to stay in this dreaded…” He glanced around the dungeon with a scowl on his face, “Well, this place. Do you cooperate?” He gazed at me. Even though the boy didn’t add anything else, I knew he was yearning to persuade me.

  I pretended to consider this matter. Then I shrugged helplessly, “Well, I guess I don’t really have any other options, do I?” I grumbled. I carefully used the corner of my eye to peer at Luther.

  His eye-brows rose. Something looked like relief washed over his face. “Really?” Luther asked, utter surprise and suspicion was trembling in his tone, “You agree to the bargain?”

  I nodded quickly. “Yeah, I’ve had enough of these chains. This place rots. Could you just take them off?” I glanced at Luther, eager for his reaction. I couldn’t suppress the delight in my voice.

  Luther grinned with relief. “Sure, if you promise to surrender. Here, let me take them off…” He reached for my arm, ready to unlock the shackles on my limbs. Just as I expected… A mischievous smile spread across my face as I felt Luther’s fingers ran across my skin, his sleeve rustling against my thumb. It was time for action.

  Suddenly, I snapped my fingers. Rubbing my thumb with my index finger briskly, a burst of brilliant golden flames erupted through my fingertips. It lurked up Luther’s shirt sleeve like a twirling serpent of bright sparks. The magnificent firelight brightened the cell in a warm light. I felt the surge of energy inside me boiling again, flowing into every vein in my body.

  Luther gasped with the emotion of somewhat astonishment, panic and fury. He led go of my arms abruptly and stumbled backwards several steps. He quickly calmed himself and flicked the sleeve that was licked by crimson flames. The light slowly extinguished into sparks and disappeared. His sleeve was now burned by the fire, and I was glad to see several red bruises on his arm.

  I hadn’t even had a good laugh, and the following event struck me off guard. Luther flung himself toward me with something twirling in his eyes like crackling fire. He gripped my shoulders like talons. The air around him seemed to be sizzling with heat. His teeth were bared as he ripped the mannered mask he secured on his face for too long. He was now not much different from when the Devil took over him.

  “You simple-minded fool,” He breathed as he yanked the chains that attached to my limbs. The chains twittered a little. Then, it started to twist and coil around me by themselves like serpents, wrapping me tighter as if suffocating me. I screamed with a voice that didn’t sound quite like myself and struggled helplessly on the floor. But the harder I writhed, the firmer the chains wrapped around my limbs.

  Luther’s anger seemed to die out a little, because he yanked on the chains againto stop them from twisting together. I started to breathe normally again.

  “You know who my father is,” Luther snarled, “You know very clearly in some ways, we share similar traits. So stop challenging me. It’ll only cause you more pain.” He replied coldly.

  “Yeah,” I taunted with equal coolness, “Even though I took no appreciate in your father, but I know clearly he’s not a girlish crybaby or a coward like you.” I muttered darkly.

  That last sentence elicited Luther’s temper again. His features twisted together in a horrid way with rage. “Fine,” He muttered, “If that’s what you want, then I’ll have to obey my father’s orders.”

  Luther approached me. And in the dim light of the candle he brought with him, I saw what he was holding and twirling between his fingers. It was a black whip with a long handle and was strapped tightly with leather.

  I snorted. “You think a plain whip will let me bow to you?”

  “This is no ordinary whip.” Luther’s lips twitched as he carefully ran his fingers across the slithering leather, “It’s called the Serpent’s Tongue and is used by witches as a punishment to those who dared to challenge them. If the victim survived thirteen lashes, he is allowed to go free. That’s the challenge you’ll face if you chose to my enemy.” He showed no sympathy in his tone. But I caught the twinge of worry he tried to fight away in his eyes.

  “Well? What’s your choice?” Luther raised an eye-brow, “Most people can’t survive nine licks of the Serpent’s Tongue. Do you surrender, Francis?” His voice softened at the last sentence.

  “Go ahead with your destined duty,” I replied. I was glaring at him.

  Luther leaned closer so that his smooth hair swept over my face, “You might think you’re brave, Francis,” He warned, “You might think you’re doing the heroic thing. But that’s just plain stupidity.” He breathed deeply.

  “Just go on,” And then, to show my last struggle in my life, I added unnecessarily, “Coward.”

  Good job and a high five for me, because the extra word earned me the first lash from the Serpent’s Tongue. I hadn’t even got the time to prepare myself for the pain, let alone this much. The scream that escaped my lips faded in the flood of torture that came afterwards. The sensation spread fast from my back where he snapped the whip. It was piercing pain, as if someone stabbed me firstly on the back, and then wounded the rest of the parts of my body even fiercer.

  I collapsed in the pain, but I was facing Luther then, so it would look like as if I was kneeling at him. I struggled to get on my feet, which pained numbly as if thousands of needles were prickling on it. But I failed and fell with my face flat on the ground. The pain was like the venom of the snake, spreading across my body in a rapid speed. I had no doubt that I would lose my life on the fifth lash.

  I gritted my teeth and then heard a voice I wasn’t expecting. It was even more surprising than the first lash of the whip. It was the sound of weeping. My eyes flew open, and I double checked my eyes to make sure it wasn’t wet. It was perfectly dry, even though I had received so much torching pain.

  I turned my head with difficulty. Luther was biting his lips that were white without blood, pressing tears back into his eyes. The hand that held the whip was trembling violently. “Get up,” Luther ordered, biting back his streaming tears. His voice was cracked.

  The pain still hadn’t worn out from my flesh, gnawing my veins and skin like disease. For the first time in my life, fear took over me rather than stubbornness. “Don’t do this…” I grumbled, “Stop it… No, it hurts…” I bit my tongue to stop the growing pain.

  “Get up!” Luther screamed. The harsh scream was piecing through his trembling sobs. The tears were trickling down his eyes nonstop, as if he was the one who received the punishment, instead of me.

  Without waiting for me to stand steadily on my feet, he struck again. I felt myself separating into thousands of pieces. Some parts of me had stepped away from my body to watch the pain happen, cringing and cowering at the sound of the whip. The other parts continued to scream like echoes that rammed in my ears.

  “Stop it! Please, I beg you!” I screamed. The whip was lashing like a claw on my skin. I couldn’t hold the sensation back any longer. I couldn’t fight or struggle one bit. All the parts in me, all the arrogance and stubbornness shattered into shards of broken glass, leaving only the doomed and helpless me.

  “Do you think I want this?” Luther condemned through gritted teeth, half screaming, “Do you think I enjoy this? Put an end to this nonsense, Francis.” His threatening voice cracked. He then glanced at me for my answer.

  I opened my eyes with my heavy eyelids. “No…” I croaked, grasping for my breath, “I won’t… surrender…”

  The whip flew for the third time at my sentence, and the fourth lashed toward me like lightning bolt. I curled around the ground, bowing my head and twisting my fingers as if praying. Let it stop, let it stop… Something sticky and warm streamed from my back, burning my skin like molten gold. Blood, he had drawn blood from my back. My whole body was numb with the pain. There was so much torture that I could barely feel my senses. Pretty soon, I would reach the seventh and die in the most painful way.

  Luther was watching me intensely. His face was twitching with what looked like pain, pain that didn’t come in physical ways. “Idiot!” Luther cursed; the voice was followed by several gagging sobs, “Do you think I want you dead? What will your mother say if she knows you’re dead?” He demanded sharply as he approached me.

  That last sentence gripped on and loomed over me like an unshakable shadow. My heart pained as I thought about my mother. Fire leaped in my brain. My head started to sizzle and boil with numbness I wasn’t sure was anger or soreness. “Then stop it! If you know I won’t surrender, then stop it!” I screeched. I gritted my teeth hard as the pain over-whelmed inside me again like scorching-hot lava. The protests and screams that escaped my mouth sounded dreaded. “You don’t understand my situation!”

  Luther’s eyes widened as he suddenly dropped the whip he was holding. It burned down to shreds in a burst of flames. “Oh, I don’t understand? You think you’ve suffered enough pain?” He snarled, the ripping sound that growled in his throat like storms sounded inhuman. His face twitched with so much fury and annoyance that no one could make out his usual handsome features. He took a step closer toward me, “I’ll tell you what you don’t understand!”

  With one horrible cry, he gripped my arm and jerked me from the floor. The ground of the dungeon floor cracked and shifted as if something was underneath, clawing the earth to crawl out. Mice scattered away with horrified shrieks. Luther was only an inch away from me, “You want my pain? Then taste it.”

  His cruel fingers gnawed at my wound and bruises, causing my skinto sizzle up as if fried. A strong sensation flooded from his fingertips and rushed into my body like liquid flames. With his tight grip connected to my flesh, he unleashed a strong, vivid flood of his pain and anger on me.

  Suddenly, I retched and blacked out. But Luther’s last words still echoed in my ears like piercing swords. You want my pain? Then taste a bit of it. A surge of dark waves rolled off from where he gripped me and rushed toward brain. When the contorted feelings finally hit me, I almost stumbled backwards by the force. It was too strong, Luther’s feelings were too much for me to handle.

  My whole body trembled as images flashed through my brain. They were images that overwhelmed with hatred, sorrow and fear of Luther’s. I saw him receiving the news of his mother’s death from Old Man Graves. I felt the wave of shock and anger he had felt right then. He had only been a six-year-old boy; all of it was too much for him to take. Luther had screamed gutturally at Graves, with all his emotions seeping into every exploding word. At night, however, he had been sobbing and tearing his hair. His cherubic childhood ended that instant.

  I saw when Walcott first accepted him as a young boy. He had tormented him with strict rules, forcing him to receive punishments he did not deserve. I heard his heart ripping apart, his soul trembling as Luther’s original self shattered into shards of broken glass, crashed down and sank into his deepest memories, disappeared for ever. I felt his despair and hopelessness as he cried in his dreams for his mother who was certainly beyond the human world.

  I saw the Devil compelling and torturing him to let him attempt his first kill on human flesh. Luther had trembled and collapsed to the ground in horror as the innocent child in front of him screamed desperately. The hot burning blood had trickled down Luther’s arms as he was forced to snap the neck of the artless child like a straw in tearful sobs. I heard the Devil’s voice that rammed in his ears so often, “You’re a coward and a disgrace of your name. You’re not worthy to be my son…”

  Half a dozen images flashed through my head. They swirled faster and faster like a whirl wind, blurring together in my head so that I couldn’t catch a glimpse of any of them left. Suddenly, the images curled together and glowed bright red. They exploded into flaming sparks of burnt coal, trying to torch me with their despair and fear. The image dissolved quickly like a bolt of lightning as Luther ripped through it with his thoughts and yanked me back to reality.

  As Luther’s hard grip dropped me, I slid to the floor, my muscles numb with both astonishment and pain. The harsh emotions had left me, but now thinking about it made me stunned, unable to speak or move. The pain of the whip seemed extraordinarily insignificant compared to what Luther had thrust over me. I panted hard, trying to bring myself together.

  “The punishment’s over,” Luther declared. His eyes were cold and frosty and unreadable. “You only experienced a small amount. I know you’ll barely survive seeing the rest. You can’t take in anymore in one day.” He said coldly. As he stormed out of the dungeon, the door flung open with a deep growl, then slammed tightly shut again like the mouth of a beast.

  “Wait!” I croaked; my voice was sore with pain. Luther turned, apparently impatient. “What… What about my wounds?”

  “You’ll be cured tomorrow morning,” Luther snapped angrily, “Good night.” Then without even caring about my weak body status, without even giving me another glance, he disappeared with the darkening shadows. Darkness devoured him as his white shirt caught in a weak gleaming light, flipped and dissolved.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Visitor around the Dark Hours

  Night was isolated and drawn-out. I buried myself into the endless loneliness and darkening shadows of the dungeon. I had to endure the pain that tingled and crackled on the every cell of my body and conquer and fear of my future. Hearing the wistful, whistling cold threads of wind, my heart rippled. I felt my whole soul separating and reforming together, seeming to disappear in the vast and hazy universe.

  I shivered in the cold, cringing at every breath of the frosty wind. The pain wasn’t worse, but it wasn’t better either.

  I heard someone moving along the stairs, making the wooden structure of the stairs to creak gently. I saw no light glinting from the stairs. It couldn’t have been Luther; he wouldn’t have to sneak in here to see me like this. Someone or something was making his way down to the dungeon where they kept me. I hid in the shadows so that not to reveal myself to the unknown visitor.

  The figure moved hastily to my cell and leaned forward to the dungeon door. He fumbled in his coat pocket for something and brought it out. Judging by the sound, it was a loop of keys. I concentrated hard, squinting.

  The figure opened the door with a creak and stepped in. “Kid, you all right?” A hushed voice broke the silence. A candle flickered to life, lighting the cramped cell with a warm glow. Only then did I recognize Graves.

  “How…” I gasped and groveled to move forward, but the chains held me back. I fell to my knees. Blood tinted my knees. “Curse it!” I grumbled.

  Graves quickly held me up, with his rough hands brushing against my skin. He held a finger to his lips to silence me. “Just rest, kid, you need to save energy,” He forced a dry smile. But his furrowed brows told otherwise. He had seen how awful my condition was.

  He withdrew a pitcher and held it before my eyes. I saw water rippling inside it, glistening off the light of the candles. I licked my lips. I hadn’t even noticed how cracked my lips were or how badly my throat swelled. I eagerly reached out my free arm. But my hands trembled at the pitcher’s weight and nearly dropped it.

  “Shh.” Graves whispered softly, “I’ll feed you. Only the hell knows how thirsty you are.” He gently raised the pitcher’s brim to my lips, allowing me to guzzle as much as possible.

  The coolness rushed from my mouth to everywhere in my body, washing over the pain like a shower of clean rain. As the last drop of water drained from the pitcher onto my tongue, my tight nerves relaxed. Graves’s crinkly, warm eyes disappeared into the wrinkles of a relieved smile. “You look like that haughty kid who’s full of energy again,” He chuckled. I wiped my mouth with a lick of my tongue and he laughed again.

  Graves unwrapped something hidden beneath his crumpled clothes. My eyes widened as he lifted a loaf of warm, creamy bread into my sight. “I couldn’t take too much, or else that old horse-face would get suspicious. But I think it’ll do you some good, kid.” He gave me a faint smile that looked, somehow, familiar. He started to rip the soft, tender bread into tiny slices. The fragrance of it prickled my senses. I hadn’t smelled something so good for ages.

  I took the first piece. The muscles on my face were eager to move and my teeth took a full bite. My saliva seeped into the bread crumbs, the delicious smell popped in my mouth. I swallowed the bite full. I glanced at Graves, grateful but yet not saying anything.

  Graves laughed as he caught my expression, “Being quite silent, eh? What’s wrong, kid?”

  I grimaced with difficulty. After swallowing the second cube of bread, I finally replied, “No offense, Graves, it bothers me… Why are you being so nice to me? I’m only a nameless orphan. Why did you risk yourself to come here?”

  Graves was a bit confused as his brows furrowed, “Why, is it a crime carin’ for you, kid?”

  “No.” I answered with so much bitterness in my tone that I surprised myself. I looked up at Graves with a desperate twinge in my eyes. “It’s just that… it’s just that…” I swallowed again, as if unable to go on anymore. I took a deep breath, “Luther has told me once… that he cared about me,” I answered bitterly. “Now look what he’s done. He almost murdered me with that filthy whip.” I muttered darkly and spat out the last words with disgust.

  “A whip?” Graves’s eyes widened with dismay. “Where did he hit you?”

  I showed Graves my back. The turning was painful because it acquired my bones on my back to move but I bit my lips to avoid the cracking inside my body. Graves gasped and gulped for a deep breath of air. He traced my back carefully so that not to cause any prickle of burning pain, “He used the Serpent’s Tongue to punish you? It’s a relief you could still breathe, kid. But, why did Luther do that? He was just a…”

  “A villain and the Devil’s precious little boy who always listens to what he says,” I spat out my words. I immediately realized I made a mistake of saying the name out loud and started choking, retching and biting my tongue in frustration. When the scorching pain finally wore off, I said tiredly, “Graves… Just stop defending Luther or making excuses about his vicious crimes. We both know who he is now.” I said, sounding a bit annoyed.

  Graves sighed and crouched down on his heels beside me so that we’re both squatting on the ground. “They told me you know everything, about the mark, about our master and about the mark…” He reached out his goatskin coat’s sleeve and revealed his mark on his bark-like, wrinkled arms. My eyes widened, it had only occurred to me that Graves had once told me that he served Luther’s father, the Devil, that meant he was also a witch, like the rest of us.

  “But there’s this one thingy you don’t understand. You know what? Luther’s not a bad kid. He just…” Graves shrugged uneasily, “He just has an awful childhood. You ain’t blamin’ him for that, eh?” He glanced at me tightly for a response, but I just nibbled on the bread crumbs and was silent for a moment, so he continued on, “Kid, he does care about you, in a different I do.”

  “Oh and why should he do that?! What profit does he have for caring about me?” I snarled, finally let loose of my frustration. The pain had increased during the process of our conversation, probably driven by my uprising emotions. Staying in a cramped, dark place doesn’t really help me getting out of my nerves. As Graves saw my eyes clouded with storms of wrath, he quickly dropped the subject.

  We were both silent for a moment. “Graves…” My voice was a trembling as the paintook over me again, slicing through my flesh from the wound like a scythe ripping over me. “I’m… sorry. I’m just… a bit light headed. That’s all.” I stopped talking immediately, because the next surge of pain rushed through my muscles like gushes of scaling water. My face twitched again as I looked at Graves for a reply. I gave a forced smile to hide my pain so that no to upset Graves.

  He smiled and gently patted me on the shoulders, “It’s ‘right, kid. I know you’re having a difficult time here.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered in a low voice. Suddenly, a fresh bolt of lightning-struck-like pain ran through every bit of my body, forcing me to shut my eyes and squeal in the torture. I gripped on the chains for support so I won’t collapse on my knees. “The wound… Ahhh, it’s… hurting badly. Graves, can you… do something?” I gasped.

  Graves fumbled in his coat pocket and took out a roll that looked like bandages. “Lucky I brought something to heal your back,” he grinned thinly, but as he caught my face that was twitching with pain, quickly went to work. He gently took off my tattered rags of shirt and revealed my blood-stained back.

  As gushes of frigid wind blew by my wound, I felt the air squeezing and piercing into my back. I screamed with a timid, wheezing breath. Graves quickly apologized and smeared some liquid medicine on my back. I felt as if my whole back was cracking into half. The medicine wasn’t helping to ease my pain. At each touch of the cool liquid, I clawed at the floor to ease the stinging sensation.

  “My, you wound’s infecting fast,” Graves muttered. He carefully wrapped my worst wound with the bandage. I could feel his cautious touch against my wound, even though his fingers prickled my skin and caused stinging sensations bursting like sparks, I clenched my teeth to avoid myself from screaming out loud. But then, suddenly, he stopped.

  “What… what is it?” I asked breathlessly, grasping for a gulp of air.

  “I ain’t having enough bandages. You have too much bruises, kid. I’m sorry. But it’ll do for the night; at least it’ll stop it from infectin’.” He sighed.

  “Oh, right…” I grumbled. My breath was soft and shallow, drifting to a shuddering whimper as another burst of sharp pain stabbed at my chine. I toppled to the ground. “Graves, can you… could you please stop the pain?” I pleaded, trying to blink my eyes wide to catch a glimpse of him in the thrumming pain.

  “I’m tellin’ you, kid,” Graves shook his head gently, “I ain’t havin’ enough medical supplies.”

  “No, I mean…” I gasped for another breath of fresh air, also desperate to grip hold on Graves’s reply on my request, “You’re a w…” I caught myself mid-breath, cautious around the W word, “You have special abilities, right? Can’t you just… stop my torture with it? It’s… getting on my nerves.” I admitted.

  Graves’s eyes darkened. He didn’t say a word say a word as he quietly knotted my bandages. I felt his fingers as cool as the river as it gently stroke against my fever-burning skin. He seemed to be lost in thoughts. Then, he sighed, “I can’t do that for you, kid. I’m only an ordinary witch, with not much power for healin’. I might as well hurt you even more.” Graves muttered as he gave me a faint smile, the lines on his forehead seemed to be carved deeper with apology and shame, “Aside from our master, only Luther can operate surgeries and healings with witchcraft. I’m sorry. You can only wait until morning for him to cure you. I can’t do nothing about it.”

  “I’d rather die in this damn place than waiting for him to perform an operation on me,” I made a thrilling cry of undisguised disgust and rolled my eyes heavenward as I looked away, nostrils flaring with hot breaths.

  Graved chuckled weakly and gently stroked my tattered hair. For a moment, two of us were isolated by utter silence again. Then Graves whispered in my ears, “Kid, there’s something I wanna tell you about,” He murmured thoughtfully, his rough strands of beard prickling my ears.

  “What?” I asked, turning to him with eye-brow raised.

  The wrinkles on Graves’s face extended into a gentle smile that matched his warm, watery eyes. He traced his gentle fingers against my face. “I’m you…”

  But he didn’t have the chance to finish it, because his sentence was interrupted by a cruel sound of applauding. A burst of offending strong light pierced into the tiny, cramped cell and stabbed into my eyes that had adjusted to the darkness in the dungeon. It took a few minutes for me to steady my eyesight from dazing in the scorching light that blazed like sunbeam. Walcott and Luther were standing outside the cell door, spying at our every movement. A long line of servants followed at their heels, each clutching candles in their fingers and all had a dreamy, obedient look on their faces. Walcott was leaning lazily against a column, clapping with amusement in his eyes.

  I snarled and hissed out some dirty words as curses, trying to use my own shadow to block Graves from them. But it was useless; they already spotted him in the strong light.

  “Well, well, what have we here?” Walcott sneered harshly, unable to hide the gleeful joy on his face, “I told you, Luther, that the old man cannot be trusted. I always thought there is something suspicious down here.” His tone suggested that he had known about our movements all along, which made me want to tangle him with the chains.

  But Luther seemed less happy about this situation. He swung the gates open and stood at the exit of the cell with his arms crossed. His expression was stony and unreadable. It seemed as if he wasn’t able to conceal his flooding emotions. Seeing Luther, Graves quickly hurried forward, swiftly leaving me behind and kneeled down at him.

  “Why did you do this?” Luther demanded sharply, his teeth were bared into snarl at each of his trembling words. He glanced at Graves with a scowl on his face. His eyes were gloomed and shaded with what looked like veils of thick, steaming, gray mist. “You betrayed me and your lawful master. You disappointed me, Graves. I expected more than you to disobey my orders.” Luther said coldly.

  “It’s not his fault! It’s all on me. I called him here.” I protested, trying to protect Graves from getting into trouble. I glared angrily at Luther for a response. Graves was risking himself for me, and I was going to get to my wit’s end to save him from his now difficult situation.

  But Luther just brushed my words away with annoyance. “Stay out of this, Francis, you’re already in a dire strait yourself,” He hissed warningly, and then turned to Graves. His jaws tightened as he approached him. “You clearly know the consequences of your actions, so why are you willing to hazard your own life?” He yelled with frustration, “You know what I’ll be forced to do, so why did you do it?”

  Graves only bit his lips, tilted his head and said nothing.

  Walcott was unable to suppress his eagerness. “Luther, you take care of the boy, and the old man’s business will be my responsibility to in charge. Trust me. He’ll have a pleasant and enjoyable time.” He rubbed his hands together and had a wicked smile which showed all of his rotten teeth.

  “No, don’t! It’s not his fault!” I pleaded, looking desperately from Graves to Luther. “Please.” I squeezed out the word from gritted teeth with my most gracious manner, hoping Luther would have mercy on the old man.

  Luther’s face softened. “I…” He glanced briefly at me, and then his eyes darted to Graves who was still kneeling on his knees, as if Luther was considering. Suddenly, his eyes twitched as if he instantly remembered something foul about the old man. He face shuddered as if something had shaken him. A bolt of red light crossed his eyes, and then darkened. He turned to Walcott and had a twisted expression on his face, “Sir Walcott, you go on,” He said carelessly, not even glancing at Graves anymore.

  “What?” I demanded sharply. I immediately saw a horrified look pass Graves’s eyes as his face paled. “You can’t do that!” I resisted fiercely, trying to draw anyone’s attention. But I couldn’t move with the shackles and chains attached to my limbs, I growled to shake them off. It was useless. I helplessly watched Walcott approach Graves with his disgusting smile.

  “Kid, don’t…” Graves muttered in his shallow breath, “I’ll be fine…”

  I struggled anxiously, trying to break through the chains. I gritted my teeth as I watched Walcott yank Graves up from the floor. But I had my own problems to worry about now.

  “Seize the boy,” Luther snapped his fingers and gestured to the servants. A few of them came to my aid and unlocked my chains with a distinct click. I dropped to the ground as if my limbs were like tattered rags, unable to prop up my whole body anymore. My muscles felt tight and sore. The pain on my back was kindled by the serious crash, sizzling to life. My body felt like it was bubbling and steaming in a cauldron.

  Two of them gripped my arm and wrapped them around their backs. They half dragged me from the floor, for my legs were like jelly and couldn’t afford to move an inch.

  “Careful,” Luther warned, “We don’t want any further damages to him.” As he heard my snorts of disgust, his face twitched, but said nothing.

  As I was carried out side the cell, I shifted my head with difficulty. I saw Graves was chained with the shackles they had used on me. He gave me a weak smile and a courageous nod. I managed to grin back. We both will survive our harsh circumstances, for us, and for each other.

  Chapter Eighteen

  An Abrupt Decision

  The servants hauled me into a circular chamber that looked like a regal bathroom. There was a marble bathtub the size of a small pool in the center of the room. Weak gurgles of bath water issued from the tub in the silence.

  What were they going to do to me? I wondered. Swing me into the bathtub? That didn’t sound like much of a threat. Though I figure the frigid water could seep into my bandages and made me suffer much more pain. I craned my neck with a slight moan to see if anyone had any attempts on me.

  One of them peeled off the frayed straps that were the remains of my shirt. The tattered rags were soaked with dried blood and seemed to be bonded to my skin. I cringed as he did so. He didn’t even feel the shudder of my body and tore all the rags away until I was half-naked. My upper body was only covered with the loose bandages.

  Luther suddenly stepped inside the room from nowhere. He didn’t startle me this time, due to all the fright I endured. “Who bandaged you?” The boy sneered scornfully, “Graves… I suppose.” He muttered with a disgusted scowl, “Who does he think he is? Challenging me?”

  His whisper was rough against my ear and prickled the spark inside me. I gritted my teeth as I saw Graves in my mind, struggling to break through the chains that gripped him like claws. “He cares about you, you ungrateful thug!” I screamed back, unable to stop my emotions, “Does it harm you to be concerned about him one bit?” My voice was shaking. I was unable to tell if my voice was shattered by my anger or the fear for Graves.

  “I’ll never drop my grudge for the damage he had done to me. He was capable of stopping that murder!” Luther’s voice flared as he glowered back at me.

  “He even believes that there’s good in you,” I squeezed those words out of my clenched teeth syllable by syllable, pressing every drop of irritation into the sentence.

  Luther’s face darkened, but I saw a twinge of uncertainty in his eyes. “There are no choices left for me. I’m doomed to bow before my destiny. He’s wrong. I’m sorry.” He said bitterly and dropped his gaze, “I shall fulfill my future.”

  And with that, he reached out to my back. Without being able to flinch to avoid him, he ripped the bandages from my bruised skin with a fierce tag. All of my stinging scars and bruises were exposed to the cold air. Paintore from my skin and pierced into my bone. I screamed as I felt blood flooding to my back, burbling to break through the slightly dried wound.

  “Toss him in,” Luther ordered.

  Several hands reached for me, grabbing me by my struggling limbs. There was a loud splash, and I felt myself sinking clumsily into the chilling water. The strong gravity tugged me to the bottom of the tub with a yank. Waves were screaming, my eardrums felt as if my blood was boiling, my nose was filled with a pungent sensation. My limbs were tired to fight and wavered limply around me.

  I felt the water rip my bruises apart. Blood tinted the water. It was now a light shade of scarlet, still spreading endlessly from where I had fallen. The water was still rising up. My back, which was soaked in the frigid water, seemed never to be able to heal. My bruises stabbed with pain, gurgling with fresh blood that still had heating temperature.

  Let me die here, it’ll end the pain. The voice rammed in my ears.

  Suddenly, I felt a shadow hovering above me. I could only squint at the handsome blond hair that was now like a taunt to me, the gray-blue eyes that pierced at me like shards of ice. “No,” I tried to show my defiance, but only led more water into my numb mouth. He would only make things worse. He always did.

  “Calm down,” Luther muttered warningly. As his fingers stroked across my back, I tried to flinch. I expected more pain. It didn’t come, so I waited with full precautious. Strangely, his fingers didn’t give me the icy touch as they always did. Instead, it was warm and mild as he touched my back.

  A current of warmth trickled from his fingertips like honey and poured into every bit of my muscles. My cringing body loosened a little. As the warmth streamed to my back, the throbbing pain turned to itchy stings, then into numbness, until finally, it disappeared, and like other parts of my body, it was soaked in the heart-melting warmth.

  I had the strength to open my eyes at last. And with a gasp, I sat up and leaned against the brim of the tub, unable to steady my breath from the shock of the experience. The frigid cold water around me, no, the water that used to be frigid cold, had puffs of hot fumes swirling above it. The vapor even suspended in midair for a while. I stared.

  I turned and almost stumbled backwards. Luther was right beside me in the water. He was only inches away from me. Staying in the same place with him, especially with such an intimate body contact made me feel both angry and frightened. I winced to avoid his touch.

  He looked a bit taken aback, but dropped his hands with reluctant and moved a bit farther from me. Water rippled as he did so. The glowing warmth disappeared from my body, but the pain never came back. I looked away from him and bit my lips hard.

  “I healed your wound early than planned,” Luther whispered, raising an eye-brow, “Aren’t you going to say something?” His tone was sour but taunting.

  I blinked and reached to my back. Sure enough, the flesh on my back was smooth, as if no bruise had ever taken place on it, as if nothing had happened, as if Luther hadn’t whipped me and almost hurtled me to my dooms. But I knew it had. I’ll never forget that painful experience. “You hurt me in the first place,” I snarled, “Do you expect me to thank you?” I retorted fiercely.

  Luther’s eyes lost its focus. “I’m sorry,” He muttered. He tried to move toward me but I glared at him.

  “Do you think a simple sorry can change the feelings I have about you?” I yelled with a twinge of feverish shake in my tone. I hadn’t attempted the anger to be so fierce, so I steadied my emotion and used a rather cooler voice, “I’m getting out, and no one’s stopping me.” With a splash of sloshing waves, I leaped out of the tub. I didn’t attempt to turn back to glance at Luther. But unfortunate, I made a mistake by doing so.

  There was something shattered in his eyes I couldn’t quite explain. A kind of pity rose in me that made me want to punch either Luther or me. The clattered servants immediately grouped around me, waiting anxiously for their young master’s commands. But Luther just waved his hand in reply, “Let him go,” He said bitterly, he didn’t even look up as he pursed his lips even tighter than before, “Prepare a good meal for him, he must’ve been starving.” Luther gave me shrug, as if he thought that I would forgive his doings.

  I twisted my lips. I turned away scornfully, allowing the servants to dress me properly. When I looked at Luther again, his expression faltered as he caught the hatred stretching in my eyes. His hopeful grin curled into what looked like a cold, wry smile. Those teeth were gritted tightly as if they would gnaw at something. His eyes, too, turned as frigid and stony as mine as we continued to stare at each other.

  Finally, we let go of each other’s glower as the servants accompanied me out of the room…

  When dusk fell, I snuck out of my room. The night was tranquil with sighing wind and dim stars caressing the velvety sky. I groped around the secret corridors. I didn’t dare light a candle to expose myself, even if the passage was almost always deserted.

  I was at the end of the winding passage way, so I knew I must be in the right place. There was only a rusty iron gate blocking my way. It looked feeble enough to be snapped like straws. It was the entrance to the gloomy dungeons, I was positive of it. Just thinking of what I had been through last night made my skin crawl. I breathed hard and ran my fingers across the gate. Have courage. I thought. You’re not here to be a coward. And with that thought in my brain as my only strength, I swung it open and broke in without daring to glance behind me.

  Inside was dark and damp, just as I remembered. As I approached the cell, I could see tiny figures of mice scattering away into the shadows. I leaned against the door of the cell, whispering through the key holes, “Graves, you there?”

  There was silence at first. Then, an uneasy shuffling sound arose as if the old man tried to inch toward the door. I waited anxiously. He finally spoke up, “Kid…?” His husky voice sounded exhausted. Of course he was. Suffering a night in the dungeon had already sapped all of my vitality, what could happen to an old man? Even though, all that drowsy tiredness didn’t cover the surprise in his tone. Apparently, he was overjoyed to see that I’m in fine physical conditions.

  “Come in… Won’t you?” He whispered. Then I saw the door of the cell was actually left open, and I quickly slipped in. Through the light that streaked into the cell, my eyes widened and forced myself not to back away.

  Graves was leaning against the wall, no, he was almost paralyzed. His limbs drooped by his injured body like rags of flesh. His clothes were only tattered pieces of fabrics, with dark stains and scarlet blood seeping through the rips. Scars, bruises, wounds, cuts… they zigzagged over his poor body. Had I look so bad when Graves had come to see me? I wondered.

  I approached the old man and squatted by his side. “What did he do to you?” I asked. My voice trembled unsteadily.

  Graves moved his lips and smiled weakly, that must’ve hurt the nerves on his face because he quickly dropped the expression. “Cuts… nothing more,” He sighed, “Don’t worry…kid. That old horse-face w… wouldn’t dare hurt me much...” He coughed a little.

  “Will he come back tomorrow?” I couldn’t suppress the anger that boiled in my head.

  He paused. His tangled beard trembled a little. Slowly, he craned his neck to doubt my suspicions, as if to say no.

  “You’re lying. Graves, you’re a very bad liar.”

  He chortled a bit. His care-free laughter brushed against me, comforting me a little. His conditions weren’t as bad as I thought. Graves studied me, “You look well now… Don’t worry about me. That horse-faced git only punishes me because y…” His voice trailed off like a slope as he caught the furrowing of my brows.

  I gritted my teeth, “It’s because of me, isn’t it?”

  “No,” Graves muttered darkly, his voice slightly trembling to build up louder, “Don’t give up fighting…kid. It’s not your fault.”

  “Yes, it’s my fault!” I shouted self-accusingly. Noticing that my voice had risen, I lowered my voice again, “If I had agreed on that stupid bargain, you don’t have to suffer this… this… aargh!” I growled. What was I supposed to do? Then, an idea flashed in my mind. My fingers balled into fists and bit into palms. “I’m going, Grave.”

  “Where…” Graves asked, frowning, his voice shaking a little with concern.

  I pushed myself out of the cell, “Saving you, Graves. I’m going to Walcott’s office.”

  “Wait, kid, don’t…Don’t you dare do that for me!” Graves’s lips curved as he bit back a curse, “My daughter wouldn’t want you to give up…” He lifted his head with difficulty and stared into me with those warm gray eyes that looked so, so familiar.

  “Wait, what?” My eyes lost focus at his words. I glanced at him with bewildered eyes. I blinked several times to make sure I had heard him right. Did he say that he had a daughter? I locked my eyes on him again, “What did you say, Graves?”

  “Kid… Your mother, Eliza Pavilion’s my daughter.”

  There was a bang in my head. I stared numbly into the old man’s eyes. Though they were stressed with wrinkles and blood streaks, the warmness in his eyes were utterly familiar. I was gazing into my mother’s eyes, the pair that always glittered in my dreams like spring water and often made my eyes fill with water, too. Why hadn’t I seen it before? Graves shared the same bony face structure of my family. I bet if he was twenty years younger, his hair would be blond and curled like my mother’s and mine. Every inch of connection stitched into a net that connected the three of us.

  My eyes were prickling. My nose went from numb to sour, as if at any time, it’ll get runny and watery all over again. I snapped my eyes shut to force the feeling out of my mind. I hated crying. But I couldn’t stop it. I had a family again. For a moment, I had the urge to fly my arms around the poor old man.

  “Your mother didn’t choose this… my dear Eliza and I… we never had choices. We’re bound to be witches… It’s in our blood, kid, we can’t change it… And you as well…” Graves swallowed as his eyes flashed between our left arms.

  I said nothing and just stared at him, unable to figure out what to say and how to express myself.

  “Don’t you go, kid…” Graves continued, chewing his thin, trembling lips, “for you mother… Stay with me…”

  I tilted my head slightly and laughed drily, “Not saving you for my own good? That’s not going to happen,” I tried to swallow the uneasy lump in my throat, so my voice dropped to a slope, “You’re… you’re my only family left.” That last sentence hollowed my heart. Graves shifted uneasily as if he was about to say something, but stopped, cuddling back to his original position.

  “Good… goodnight,” I smiled sourly, my eye sight was blurring, so I turned away, “Grandfather.”

  Minutes later, I was in front of the office. I still remembered my first experience here when I accidentally burned the whole door down into murky ashes. Calling to mind the struggles I committed and how unyielding I was, it was almost unbelievable that now I was here to compromise. I almost choked with a sour laugh.

  Finally, I adjusted my shallow breath for the following event. Slowly, I tugged my fingers against the door. The door to the office creaked with a jarring noise. “Who is it?” My fingers dug into my sweaty palms as I heard Walcott’s sly, gruff voice.

  I bit back a scowl. “Francis.”

  There was a moment of hesitation. Hushed voices broke through the door, as if people were bickering but didn’t want me to eavesdrop on them. But then, the moment I was waiting so anxiously for came.

  The door cracked open with a trembling thud]. The person who greeted me at the door was Luther, panicked, and haggard. He had a forced smile curling on his lips. “Francis? What a pleasant surprise. Are you… are you here…” He pulled to a stop and studied my expression with a hopeful gleam dancing in his eyes.

  “Don’t be self-sentimental,” I growled, “You’re not the reason why I’m here. Stand aside.” I tried to thrust him out of my way, but his tight, bony fingers clung on my body, which disgusted me. I quickly shook them off, glowering at the boy.

  “Sir Walcott’s busy, anything you want to tell him, you can tell me,” Luther blocked me away from the room again.

  “Why would I want to ask you, of all people?” I laughed with spiciness in my tone, “Let me in now.” And then, not even considering the consequences of my harsh actions, I lunged on him, risking breaking in. But he wasn’t an easy target to wrestle with. I almost, almost brought him down and had a step in the office. But, lucky for him, he scratched my skin, leaving a burning sensation. With a last struggle, I swung my feet and hit his legs with the hardest strike I could manage. The two of us lost balance and topple to the ground.

  “Why in the name of hell did you…” Luther glowered at me and cursed. For a split second, I thought I saw a spark sizzling in his eyes, but then he bit it down with a grimace when he met my desperate expression. “Fine,” He dropped guard and struggled to squelch a growl at me. He swung the door open for me. “Just this once,” He shrugged against his will.

  “Freak,” I muttered. But when I shifted around, Luther was gone, melted into the shadows. The hair on the back of my neck perked up uneasily. I swallowed and forced myself to face the office. Slowly, I walked in.

  Walcott was sitting by his desk, scribbling over documents of some sort. He heard footsteps and looked up with a mocking snicker that wasn’t affected by the exhaustion on his face. “What do you desire, boy?” He dropped his quill and stared directly into my eyes with a look that made me want to puke. But I couldn’t run away from this. Graves needed me, anxiously.

  I looked down, not looking up to face his proud expression. Walcott was expecting me, I knew that. The coward in me began to take over. I paced my feet around.

  “What’s the matter? Not being so arrogant now, are you, boy?”

  His sentence annoyed me. Yeah, as if I wasn’t right now… I braced myself to face the matter at the time, to face him. I lifted my head and bit my lips. I felt a taste of blood on my tongue. “I…I…” I stuttered, but then straightened my back for courage. I couldn’t let my only family down. “I agree on the bargain we had sometimes ago.” How long had it been? Yesterday…? The day before it…? It seemed much distant than that.

  There was a gasp. My keen senses made me whirl around on my heels. Luther was leaning against the door with his eye-brows perked up. So he hadn’t gone anywhere, that coward. I snorted and turned back to Walcott. He had an ugly smile curling his lips, “under what conditions…?”

  I blinked. How did he know that I was up to something?

  “A boy like you, I was surprised that you’ve decided to compromise.” Walcott eyed me.

  I scowled, was it that obvious? “It’s about Graves.” I admitted, grinding my teeth.

  There was a moment of stiffness when Walcott and Luther exchanged looks, the ones that made my teeth chatter like crooked dices. “Go on,” Walcott urged, the eagerness and the darting hunger in his eyes made me uncomfortable. My sensation was scalding and chilling at the same time. I thought my tantrum was at its bottom line, ready to cross and erupt.

  “Stop pushing me, I said I’ll compromise!” I screamed. Hot tears welled in my eyes like boiling water. Why did I have to cry? But when my vision blurred, and I saw that dungeon again with my grandfather in it, suffering, withering… I couldn’t hold myself together. Oh, just let the damn tears fall! My voice cracked as I looked up again, with both tears and enmity brewing in my eyes. “Only if you led my grandfather go.”

  Another pause… Walcott’s eyes squinted as he eyed me, which made me realize that his slit-like eyes could be much uglier. Luther stayed amidst the shadows; only his frigid whispers could be over-heard, “Your grandfather? So you know. That old man told you, didn’t he?”

  I simply ignored him and gnawed my own lips, “Well?” I glared at Walcott.

  “Certainly,” Walcott replied smoothly with a nasty smile. He took out a hand and held it before me. I could see the ghostly gleam from the crest of his thick golden ring, a black winged animal. Glaring at him, I took it stiffly. A bolt of shocking lightning-stroke sizzled through my fingertips. I wheezed and instantly yanked my hand back as soon as the burning ended.

  “The bargain has been agreed,” Walcott simply grinned at me, as if he didn’t know what had happened.

  “I only agreed it because of my only family left!” I muttered darkly, rubbing my numb finger tips.

  To my astonishment, he laughed. The choking chortle startled me. And more eerily, I heard another snicker. I shifted to gaze at the shadows that formed and reformed in the darkening corners of the room. Luther was leaning lazily against the wall in the hazy light, with a proud sneer I had never seen before lingering on his face. His eyes were pale but taunting. My blood chilled and seemed to stop flowing. Had I done the correct thing?

  He caught me looking at him, smirked meaningfully and dissolved into the blackness, leaving that smile haunting my dreams.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Guests at Dusk

  Blackness swathed and choked the sky like a thick layer of veil. Stars struggled through the thickets of shadows to show their glimmers, but failed and only left droplets of dim tears. The moon glowed with a frigid light like a distant tale full of grief. Nothing’s fine on this day of the gathering. How could it be and how dare it be?

  I reached the front gates of the manor. It had been swung wide open. A gust of wind billowed by, as if to invite me to the outside world, to freedom. But I shook my head, not letting any doubt affect my decision. Graves’s life depends on me. I’ll have to cling on.

  Luther and Roth were waiting for me. I noticed that the pesky girl wasn’t sticking with her ideal boyfriend, but stayed a distance away from him. My eyes almost twitched with pity. That incident must’ve still been a sorrow for Roth. But remembering that she once tried to poison me for fun, I stiffened my face.

  “You’re late. They’ll be here at any time,” Luther muttered, apparently not pleased of my late arrival. He eyed me with what looked like suspicion in his eyes, as if he suspected me to escape right now through the entrance.

  I almost laughed but forced myself to scowl. When I passed him, I caught a chance to punch him elbows with my shoulders. “Oops,” I bit back a mischievous grin. Luther’s eyes looked as if they could kill, but finally, he decided to ignore me. But I still sensed his eyes darting with me as I stood far away from the two of them.

  We stood numbly by the gates for what seemed like hours. Didn’t he say the guests will be here at any minute now? Just as I began to grow impatient (as usual), vibrating sounds like distant rumbles of low thunder came to my ears. I looked up, but I couldn’t see anything. I turned to the other two. They were both gazing at the blurring horizon, waiting as if somewhat particular event was going to occur.

  I squinted hard. Something bright blinked on and off eerily in the distance like lures of wisps in the murky shadows. Were they fireworks? I wondered. Then I quickly doubted my guesses. They were emerging from where the down-fell night sky met the darkening lands, moving in a rapid speed, too fast for any regular firework. There was a winding line of sparks. The rumbling sounds got louder. Dust began to rise.

  That was when I realized the sounds were not from thunder. They were hoof beats, made by a team of carriage horses. That also explained the fuzzy, ghostlike light that moved in a line. They must’ve been oil lamps on the traveling coaches. The witches are here, just as Luther has predicted.

  I swallowed. I hadn’t had any time to prepare for the following event. The carriages were darting so fast that the light of the coach lamps blurred and flashed by. The carriages hurtled in such a tremendous speed that I hoped they’d crash. But the whips started snapping on the carriage horses. The horses reared slightly at the touch of the fiery-pain whips, but snorted helplessly, stopped galloping and started to stroll in careful paces across the muddy road. My heart twitched.

  The first of the carriages dropped speed, pulling closer to where we’re standing and stopped. A footman of some sort in splendid livery jumped down from the carriage. I noticed that his eyes were blurred and misty as if in a trance, no he was in a trance. He’d been hypnotized for sure. He opened the door and bent down respectfully, “Welcome, master,” He muttered and nodded sheepishly, as if dream-talking.

  A man swathed in filigree-patterned silk cloak stepped down. I looked away with bitterness; even his walking-stick was tipped with glittering platinum and diamonds. Why are these people all this wealthy? Where did all their fortune come from? I could almost see the schemes they plotted to earn their riches.

  The man approached with paces so smooth that I wondered if he was drifting. His velvety cloak barely touched the ground, which made me gulp. He stopped before Luther. His thin, gray lips curled into something that could’ve been a delighted, but looked more like a grim smile. “Ah, Luther… It’s been long… You’ve grown, my boy…” His voice was barely a shallow breath, as if something was yanking his throat. He reached out his icy-white fingers that looked like wax, as if he was to touch the boy’s face.

  Luther caught his hand in mid-air and changed the tempting movement into a perfect hand-shaking. “Yes, it’s been long,” Luther gave a smile even I knew was forced, as if his facial expression had hardened by the frigidness of the man’s hand, “Sir Walcott’s waiting for you in the manor.”

  The man scoffed as if what Luther said amused him. He started to shift away but stopped abruptly. He turned to me as if he spotted me for the first time. His pale eyebrows wavered as he studied me. I captured a twitch that seemed rare on his stiff face. “That’s…”

  I yanked my head away immediately. I didn’t have any further interest in what he was going to say next. Besides, the hollowness in his eyes that glanced upon my face made me lose my nerve.

  When I gained my courage to look up again, the pale man had swiftly passed us by the gate, completely ignoring Roth. Her tightly shrugged shoulders drooped with ease, as if she was actually glad that the man paid no attention on her. I couldn’t blame her, anyway. I wouldn’t dare figure out how I’ll feel if his skeletal fingers clutched my face. The idea made my skin crawl, so I quickly shook it off.

  This process repeated several times. More of them got off their sumptuous coaches. There weren’t just adults, also children, teenagers. Most of them, I recalled, I had seen their faces in the portraits along the secret passage way. They aren’t just a group of regular people, this fact is quite notable. One of the little kids, about three years old or so, accidently forgot to let down the sleeve of his sweat shirt. The black mark was vividly visible on his babyish tender skin. He caught me gaping at his arm and gave me a defiant smile way beyond his own age. His mother quickly cupped the boy’s arm and hurried inside with him. That’s when I realized what a group of people I was greeting. Witches, all of them… I was expecting this.

  The strangest thing of all is how they treated the three of us. All of them made Luther’s acquaintance like they’re close old friends who were separated for years. The way they shook hands and nod at him with due respect somehow made me sick. The son of the Devil… Ha, like that’s such a big deal. The witches were trying to leave good impressions to Luther only because of his inheritance.

  They completely ignored Roth as if she was invisible. Only a few noticed her, but turned their heads away from her smugly and snorted with cold chuckles. I eyed Roth several times to check if that annoyed her. Apparently, the answer was obvious. The haughty girl swept her tresses around to look away, not even glancing at the people who jeered at her with her pointed nose raising high. Even so, I noticed that her face was burning red as if she was choking on hot steam. Why was she treated this way? I wondered.

  But that wasn’t the most peculiar part yet. None of them seemed to be able to ignore me, which was very frustrating. The witches passed the other two and stopped as they approached me, as if I was some kind of rare possession. Some pointed me out and muttered something under their breath. “It’s him…” One of the little kids gasped and stared at me with his mouth gulping with astonishment. He still gazed at me with those disturbing eyes as his parents dragged him away from the spot. This was the first time in the history of my life did I want to evaporate into thin air. I felt that my hands were sopping with cold sweat. I could even hear my heartbeat thudding on my eardrums with rippling pain.

  Luther caught my expression and coughed thornily. Even I knew he was struggling to muffle a laugh. He quickly hardened his face as he received my hot glare, though and turned to hail a gentleman.

  I was relieved when the major crowd had finally passed. My shoulders sagged with ease. Roth looked pleased as well as I am with her usually tightly-crossed arms draping by her side.

  The last carriage hurried to a halt at the gates. The horses tossed their enormous head around and glared at me with fearsome eyes. Their nostrils flared at me as if they smelled something unwelcome. I gulped. These aren’t regular horses like the other ones dragging the previous gharries. Their eyes burnt red like coal. Their massive size could be recognized just by staring at their hooves, which were larger than dining plates.

  I shifted my eyes away from the mutant horses and quickly set my eyes on the gharry. Something told me the guests on this carriage weren’t just ordinary witches. A maid opened the door of the carriage, “We’re here, my mistress,” The young maid murmured and pulled a set of delicate stairs from the coach.

  A woman with slender and willowy figure stepped down. She was in her thirties and dressed appropriately in an elegant black gown with delicate lacework. A pair of long black gloves was pulled to her elbows. I heard Roth’s gulp as she saw the graceful woman. She technically cursed something and didn’t even bother if the woman heard it or not. I turned to the girl and found that her throat was tightened with nervousness.

  The woman softly stepped toward Luther and smiled warmly as if she saw her own child. She took off her gloves and held her hand forward with poise. Luther took it and kissed the back of her hands gently. “Lady Grace Gallagher,” He whispered and beamed back. He had an expression I’ve never seen before on his face.

  “Luther, you always have such graceful manners,” The lady crooned heartedly, “I wonder if my children will ever be like you.”

  “That’ll never happen, mother,” a snort cut short on Lady Grace Gallagher’s sentence. A teenage boy about Luther’s age leaped down from the carriage, completely ignoring the twenty delicate sets of stairs. He was even taller than Luther and had a sallow, bony face. The black suit he wore looked completely out of place when compared to his tousled ebony hair. He wore a perfect smirk on his face but his eyes were serious and unreadable like the down-fell night sky, matching his mother’s.

  The lad strolled toward Luther directly. He held one hand up in the air as if to do a high-five greeting with him, “Luther, it’s been ages, you…” His grin broadened as the two boys were face to face to each other. He opened his mouth as if to blurt out his thrill, but he stopped abruptly.

  Luther didn’t show any actions of enthusiasm. He was a bit overwhelmed at first with his eyebrows knitted together, but then gained confidence again and merely shrugged at the other boy, “Parsas Gallagher, it’s a pleasure to see you.”

  The boy’s hand lowered as he blinked with puzzlement. Briefly, the two shook hands significantly. As their hands fell, Parsas still looked dazed. His dark eyes darted suspiciously from where they touched each other’s hands to Luther’s expressionless face. His eyebrows formed an unamused scowl. For a stiff moment, the two just stared at each other blankly, apparently speechless.

  Grace’s lips twisted, “Parsas, you know what to say, don’t you?” She nudged her son gently by the shoulders. Her son grimaced.

  “Yes, mother,” Parsas muttered darkly, his enthusiasm apparently drained away, “It’s… my honor, young sire.” He quickly dropped eye contact with Luther.

  He turned toward his mother, “Mavisie’s still in the carriage. She said she was… rummaging with her dolls.” He scowled to stifled a smug sneer, the brightness that had shown on his face was nowhere in sight anymore. He yawned lazily and glanced back, “Oh, look, she’s here, with that trunk full of… dull dolls. Now that’s so like Mavisie…” He snorted scornfully.

  A girl had stepped down the carriage, trudging with a trunk pulled behind her. She was about my age, with pale skin and glossy black hair swept elegantly by one side of her shoulder. Her face is more adorable than the doll’s she cuddled in her arms, even though as long as I could tell, she’s way too old for stuffed toys. She might’ve looked like a perfect little angel, but the doll she was embracing ruined the whole image. The neck of the angelic doll was snapped, so it hung loosely and tilted sideways. I felt my finger nails crunch into my palms. The girl probably cracked the doll’s neck by herself while grinning proudly to herself, not shedding a single tear. Something told me this girl was even worse than Roth.

  Mavisie Gallagher approached with measured paces and dropped to a curtsy when her eyes met Luther’s. Luther held her up, “Greetings,” He forced a dry grin, “It’s been long.”

  Mavisie smiled slyly, “Yes…it’s been long…” She winked with a glint in her dark eyes, “my doll’s neck hasn’t even healed.” She muffled a snigger with her hands cupped on her mouth.

  I distinctively heard Parsas’s louder snorts. Roth’s muttered curse wasn’t even a whisper this time, so I knew she muttered something like immature. Yeah, right, like she isn’t.

  Luther glanced back into the darkness. “I don’t think there’s anyone left behind,” He shrugged, “Francis, let’s go in with them.”

  That’s when I was exposed from where I was hiding behind Roth. I nearly whacked the idiot boy on the head. All three of the visitors turned their heads on me as if they spotted gold or something. With a smug smile, Roth stepped aside so they could have a better glance on me, “Oops, let the cat out of the bag, did you?” She stepped on my toes and moved away.

  I didn’t even have the time to pinch the girl back because I felt a hand gripping on my chin, forcing me to gaze forward. Grace had her gloved hand seizing my face, studying me at every angle. Her eyes flew to my left arm, even though I didn’t roll up my sleeves. Her gaze drifted between Luther and me, considering what he had said. Her two children exchanged mysterious glances that I had difficulties figuring out what they meant.

  “Your name’s Francis, isn’t it?” Grace asked with a gentle tone, the encouraging smile on her face urged me to speak the answer.

  “Yes, so what?” I replied arrogantly.

  She released my chin. I felt blood racing back to my face again with burning hotness. Grace turned to Luther, “That’s why this gathering is so different from the ones we had before, isn’t it?” She had an eerie fire lighting her eyes. “That’s why this time the Grand Rites will definitely succeed?”

  Luther nodded, “We adopted him a month ago from a local orphanage. It was quite easy, once we knew who we need.” His eyes locked on mine, not even blinking.

  “Kidnapped, more like it,” I glowered at him, not resigned to playing second fiddle.

  Grace smiled, biting her lips back to show her white teeth as if she was amused by my answer. Parsas and Mavisie glanced at me with an odd look on their faces, something between respects and despises, I’m not sure.

  It seemed like hours before Grace moved her focus off my face. I felt myself able to breathe again. “Let’s go rest in our rooms, shall we not, children?” Grace dropped her arms on her two kids’ shoulders, giving Luther an apologetic smile, “Excuse us, young master. It’s been a long journey.”

  “I understand,” Luther nodded. The smile on his face seemed too solid to melt. I rolled my eyes. He’d been smiling without any emotions this whole night. Wouldn’t he get tired of faking?

  Grace passed the gates, without saying another word to anyone. But she did glance back at me, hiding a self-righteous smile, increasing worries to my thrumming mind. Her children were left behind her trail. But they didn’t have any attempts of following their mother’s paces. Only when Luther and I set our feet to leave the gates, they seemed to realize that they should’ve been going.

  I walked ahead of them. My legs staggered as I hurried, but I kept on. I knew that once I stopped, the others will race on to catch up with me, probably wanting to catch another glimpse at me.

  Their voices blurred behind me like fog, but I still caught a few distinctive words. “My family’s the most honorable, we were asked to host the Grand Rites, so don’t you make any critical comments, Mavisie…” The sharp voice was from Roth. But her voice slightly wavered at the end, as if she was about to burst into tearful cries. Her voice stopped at a sniffle.

  “Oh, shut up,” A taunting laughter burst out stridently, “everyone knew that it’s because of Luther’s staying at your house. He’s the one who’s in charge here.” Parsas’s shrewd jeer prickled in my ear drums. I felt something stuck in my throat, burning with feverish heat and freezing with frigid cold at the same time.

  “Besides,” Mavisie’s gentle purring voice echoed from the distance, “Once our master found out what your family did… We’ve got a charming show to see. Won’t we…?” She giggled teasingly.

  “I…” Roth apparently wanted to retort, but was cut short by the merciless laughter of the others. The sound echoed several times in my mind, so that I thought there were hundreds of them laughing. I felt a swelling pain at my chest. My stomach lurched. I plucked my ears, away from the laughter, afraid of what I would hear next…

  Chapter Twenty

  The Late-Night Talk

  I swung myself on to my bed, stressed and exhausted. It was dark, so I had to light the candles. But unfortunately, the warm light didn’t calm me down but made my vision dim and weary like I was seeing mist. I ripped the pillow with my gnawing fingernails, not even worried about the flying fluffs of feather.

  “Idiot… Aargh!” I growled, impatiently brushing the feathers off my bed. Why couldn’t I figure out anything? What were the witches up to? Why are they all staring at me as if I was a part in their so-called Grand Rites that couldn’t be ignored? I tangled my strands of hair in frustration. What were the Grand Rites, anyway? The only person I could rely on was my grandfather. How dare I ever consider tricking him into telling me his secrets? Graves suffered so much all because of me. Anyways, he’s completely not in the state of talking. Luther didn’t have the generosity to heal him. He was too honorable, that git. I cursed.

  I heard voices echoing from the corridors in distant low thrumming. I was surrounded by my enemies with them spying and monitoring my every move and detail. I could even feel sharp stares of the witches glancing at my back like stings of pins and needles. An ineffable fear captured my heart. The pounding blood of rebellion that had rushed in my veins heavily and had caused an immense power of vivid energy in me was… was now retrieving, no longer supporting me. I had to cower for their force and resist the gurgling feelings in me. But, who was I? What had I become in this mere month? How could I even consider giving up my freedom?

  Without the vigorous mood of revolting for liberty, I felt hollow, unlike myself ever before. I have to find out what they’re up to… I kept telling myself, repeating these inspiring words that used to lift my rebellious spirit. But Luther’s growing crudeness, Roth’s spoiled indifferences, the acrid cynicisms of the Gallagher siblings, all crushed down on my weak flames of vitality like gushes of turbid cold water.

  The candles shivered, and the flames whispered to an end, leaving me intotal darkness. My egos and worries were suffocating me so much that I had to stop thinking. Sometimes, it’s just good to feel nothing with sleepiness, drowsy sleepiness. Dazed, I closed my eyes with my mind stopped envisaging a plan for survival…

  It was the third time I had a dream that seemed so real. This time, I hadn’t seen that fierce, aggressive girl with that knife dripping with blood or my mother who made me full of grief. Ha, now that’s a total relief. But I’ve exulted too soon.

  I was still in the Walcott Manor, in a room, to be exact. A bed supported on massive pillars, hung with a canopy of pale white damask stood out by one side of the bedroom like a foggy sepulcher. The large French windows always had their blinds and festoons drawn down, only few streaks of moonlight sadly pouring in. This room was frigid-cold, because it seldom had a fire crackling in its fireplace. The whole room was shrouded in endless darkness like a basement, not even any feeble candle light shone within.

  My skin felt even chillier than the atmosphere in the room. My heart stopped cold. This was the only room I haven’t paid any attention in the mansion. Even though, I recognized it immediately by the gloomy furnishings. It was Luther’s room.

  The owner of the room was silently lying on bed with his head angled toward the glistening moonlight. Nervously, I flexed my numb, stinging fingers. Even I, who regretted ever meeting him in my whole life, was used to admitting his good appearances and feeling jealous of him. But at this moment, he looked weary and even a little exasperated, not a bit attractive or handsome. His eyes were clouded with a gloomy gray, even more depressive than when they were stained with the scarlet color.

  Something reflected off the light of the miserable moon. My eyes widened as I saw something that was clutched tightly in his fingers. It was neither an ordinary kitchen knife nor any normal weapon. The metal that crafted the blade was red enough to bleed. The knife was curled on the rusty edges, as if it was hungry to have a strike. It was exactly the same as the knife I’ve seen in my first dream here. I still remembered the burning sensation that built heat upon heat which the fierce girl had given me.

  I heard an ear-piercing scream ripping my frail eardrums. That was when I noticed that my mouth was wide-open and the trembling voice had been slipped from my own mouth. But Luther paid no attention on me. He didn’t even glance toward my direction. That was when I realized that I was dreaming. A relieved sweat trickled down my head. Sometimes, it’s good to know that you’re dreaming.

  I focused my eyes on Luther. Why did he have that knife? Perhaps, “what was he doing with it?” was a better question to figure out.

  “Idiot,” Luther muttered, “He thought he could hide this from me…” His words surprised me, caught me in shock, even. Luther’s manners were always cold but decorous. I’ve never heard him say a dirty word, especially when he was spitting his disgust out better than I ever will.

  He curled his bony fingers around the leather hilt, feeling its weight. A satisfied smile curled his lips. Slowly, he raised it to the moonlight where it glistened in a hungry light. He held the deadly weapon in a skilled way, as if he’d used it many times before and mastered the technique wondrously. He was ready to strike the weapon as a scorpion’s sting, but to whom?

  The next thing happened in a quivering second that I couldn’t even realize what had occurred. He scraped the knife across the frail skin, exactly where a blood vessel was beneath it. Blood, scarlet strings of blood started from drops, trickles to gurgling streams. Whose arm did he strike? His own! My mouth dropped open. I couldn’t use any descriptions to depict my emotions then.

  Luther didn’t stop the blood as his calm breath turned to shallow gasps. On the contrary, he gazed at his own bleeding arm with his eyes as peaceful as the grey water, as if he was enjoying the moment. He closed his eyes, allowing the warm blood to flow and stain the snow-white mattress on his bed. But I noticed his teeth were biting his lips. The color drained from his face, which made him more ghostly than ever before.

  Suddenly, there was a crisp snap of fingers, and the room lit up in a warm light of candle flames. Luther gasped and quickly yanked the knife away into his pillow. He cursed something under his breath. Or maybe he had casted a spell, because the gurgling blood stopped, but the wound was still there, clear as ever. He dropped his rolled-sleeve and hid his wound under the cuff.

  Luther did it exactly on time, because Parsas came into the room just after he buttoned his shirt. “Why do you come?” Luther demanded, apparently annoyed, “You know it’s my sleeping hour.”

  Parsas frowned, but he continued to approach Luther’s bed. “I know, that’s why I come,” He whispered, there was a doubt in his voice as he hesitated, “to check on you.”

  Luther laughed, but that sounded more like a scornful snort, “You? You’re not my… nanny or anything,” His laughter dissolved into a fearsome glare. “I’m independent enough to know when to sleep.”

  Parsas swallowed hard, as if he wasn’t sure what to say, puzzled, even. He was a totally different person when he treated Luther, not that arrogant, hyper-critical lad when he teased Mavisie and Roth, “You know, when we were young, we used to fool around with each other, causing troubles around this manor. We used to share this same room, and…” His sour grin dissolved as he glanced around the gloomy room and finally focused his eyes on the exasperated Luther, “And we’re friends. At least we used to be. You… you’ve changed.” His voice skidded to a slope at the last sentence, as if he had to pluck his courage to say this.

  Luther scowled, “That’s when we were young. We don’t know anything, Parsas Gallagher. We don’t even have any sense of hierarchy.” He muttered uncomfortably and he thrust the draping curtains that blocked his view away, “I’m sorry, Parsas. I’ve changed, yes. But unfortunately, you still have to face me.” He snapped coldly. For the first time, he turned his face directly toward Parsas, not even concealing the aggravation that sizzled in his eyes. His face was paler than usual as it was caught in the candle light, probably because of blood loss.

  Parsas probably noticed that, too. His eyes quickly flashed around, inspecting Luther. Then, his gaze locked on the blood stain on Luther’s left arm. Luther didn’t even have the time to flinch or wince before Parsas grasped his arm, yanking him closer.

  “You cut your arm?!” Parsas yelled, “Do you know you could be dead if I didn’t come in on time?” He tried to roll Luther’s sleeve up to inspect the wound, but Luther attempted to shove him aside. Their arms knocked against each other’s. There was silence as Parsas panted hard to trim his emotions through his colleague’s glacial glare.

  “Get off me,” Luther finally managed to mutter through gritted his teeth; his breath was trembling with heat, “I know the differences between veins and arteries…”

  “The last time I came to your room, you were leaning against the frame of that window, with only your heels grabbing you from the ground. Do you expect me to disregard this?” Parsas’s eyes darted daringly to face Luther’s, apparently showing no fear. Then, his gaze softened and lost its aggressive glint, “Stop hurting yourself, please. For me…” He bit his last words hard.

  But Luther just snorted sarcastically. “Very funny,” He replied with a taunt without humor, “don’t pretend to pay heed to me. We’re no friends, not even equal colleagues. The only relationship we bare is…” He stopped abruptly, as if he had to skip a nasty word, but Parsas’s keen ears caught every word he said.

  “Oh, yeah? Then I believe, according to the relationship between your father and my family, I should’ve been cowering at your commands and kneeling down to kiss your robes! I’m right, aren’t I? Oh, great and invincible leader…” Parsas mimicked the servants’ hazy voice, but he had worn on a lazy slouch and contemptuous sneer.

  The next thing happened so quickly that my dream wasn’t being able to capture it all. I felt the edge of my sight blurring as if I was blinded by fog. But there was a vivid clang of metal as if something had been collided to hit the bull’s eye of a target. What happened? I squinted hard, but the only thing I managed to figure out was a pair of indignant wrath-red eyes.

  “How dare you insult me, you filthy little…?” That was Luther’s voice, so wrathful and raspy that it took me several seconds to calm my boiling blood which seemed to rip my ears. I tried to bury ears with my numb, stinging fingers but they were too shaken to obey. The image cleared a bit. That’s when I realized Luther had just pinned his colleague on to one corner of the room with that fatal knife. I couldn’t even breathe because my breath was too trembled to work regularly.

  Parsas cringed as he sensed the razor-sharp blade that was just inches from his left arm. He turned toward his attacker and swallowed hard. Luther flexed his fingers. And with a flick of an arm, the knife moved slowly toward Parsas, its pointed edge slicing through his clothes and almost scratched his skin with a smoldering point. Parsas stared directly into Luther’s eyes, his now filling with ghosts of horror.

  “Luther! Your eyes are turning red!” Parsas’s cracking voice managed to warm. Luther blinked and backed away, as if he had been poured by a gush of frigid water on the head. His eyes turned into its usual color and the muscles on his arms relaxed. The knife that had gone into the wall quickly dropped to the ground, leaving the wall crawled with zigzagging cracks.

  Luther collapsed, but Parsas caught him by the waist. “I’m… I’m sorry,” Luther stuttered as he coughed with a shivering breath. His whole body sagged and he let go of an impotent sigh, “I shouldn’t… I…”

  But Parsas stopped him with a thin grin, “No, it’s nothing. I’ve been through more than one of your tantrums. I know you more than anyone else.” While Luther didn’t answer, he added quickly, “Let’s discuss about the Grand Rites. What’ll you do to that boy…?” His voice lingered for several minutes like echoes. My sight became blurry.

  Suddenly, the dream faded. I woke up as if someone had thrust me into the deep waters and yanked me up again. My mind skipped fast, digesting what had I just experienced. When I recalled the last sentence Parsas had said, I grabbed for my clothes and opened the cracks that led into the endless passage ways. Well, I hope my dreams were true and that they were more like forecasting rather than moldy-news-repeating. That was actually the first time I was glad I was a witch. Hahaha, go ahead and laugh.

  I skidded through the winding paths and traced the way to Luther’s room in my dreams. I slid the secret door open and pressed my ears against the crack and my eyes squinted through the gap.

  “Let’s discuss about the Grand Rites. What’ll you do to that boy…?” Parsas’s voice rose on the other side of the door, exhausted but anxious. Perfect, my dreams were right. I felt my blood racing through my veins. They’re discussing my future, whether I’m going to spend the rest of my days though misery in this world or down hell to suffer more pain will be controlled by them.

  Luther paused and a weird smile rose on his pale, stressed face, “Francis’s the key part to success. He’s arrogant, rebellious and defiant.” He didn’t say more for a few seconds, as if he knew I was listening. I almost laughed for that compliment. Even though Luther was my ultimate foe, he knew me well enough to support this title.

  “That’s important,” Luther swallowed, “My father has brilliant strategies. He’ll use Francis’s arrogance, even though this disloyalty maybe against us, it is the essential part of the Grand Rites. If a disobedient soul like him surrenders, more power will be added to our master. So Francs will be… He’ll be…” The smile on his face wavered as if he twitched at the last sentence. I waited apprehensively, pressing for the answer. But it didn’t come, as if the response was an uneasy bump in his throat that couldn’t be spat out.

  What, you diabolic teenaged schemer? I thought. Why are you using my pride as a piece of chess in your game? My fists tightened anxiously that my knuckles clicked. Even though, Luther just gave Parsas a shrug, “You… uh… you can ask the Walcotts, they’d be glad to boast their resources.” At that moment, he himself burst into apologizing chuckles.

  Parsas laughed brutally as well. “I understand. You don’t have to say it. Like I’m asking Roth, that immature missy…” He ribbed, and then a crafty smile curled his lips. Moments later, he asked, “You have feelings for that boy, don’t you?”

  “Only remorse and despise,” Luther answered so briskly that he surprised me, when he seemed to realize that he’d been a bit shrewd, coughed and forced a tiny grin as he clutched his throat thoughtfully, “You’ll help me at the Grand Rites, won’t you?” His voice quivered a bit and immediately added, “Colleague?”

  Perhaps the other boy had nodded briefly but I never got to know. Something moved behind me. I noticed the swift but peculiar movement of shadows from the corner of my eye. Was someone coming? I quickly retrieved from the trap door. I listened. I searched. My neck moved around numbly, but there was nothing, only the stretching, limitless darkness.

  For a moment, nothing happened, as if the thing that was veiled in the shadows was also alarmed. I didn’t dare to move, hoping the darkness would conceal me as well, hoping the two villainous boys in the room would not feel my presence. I was starting to believe my senses had abandoned me. I was anxious to grope for the unseen movement… And then…

  Then I saw something flashing near the floor. The candle light bopping from the room and streaked through the crack reflected them. They were two beady, black eyes, at least, what looked like miniature versions of normal human eyes. Then there was another hustling sound, as if something else was approaching. More of the creatures were coming, as if surrounding me for invasion. Shadows wobbled and rippled as if a pebble had hit the dark waters.

  My skin crawled. Something was spying on me, or spying on the boys. I felt my heels being bumped on to something and felt the heft of it. I didn’t wait before I could scream with pathetic panic, so I sprinted. I sprinted away from the sickening conversations, away from the hidden creatures in the darkening corridors… But I didn’t feel safe when I finally crushed into my room. I felt exhausted and paralyzed by fear, as if the conversation had haunted my head. And what were those things hidden in the corridors? Somehow, I doubted they were mice. Even those hairy rodents would’ve been more adorable.

  Panting, I managed to steady my breath and my rapidly racing mind. I hadn’t yet figured out how I was going to end up, but I had certainly obtained a piece of valuable information: the Walcotts knew. Luther had simply slipped me the clue without realizing that I was eavesdropping on him. All the Walcotts… that phrase hovered in my mind like a flock of prowling birds. Well, looked like I was going to make another welcoming acquaintance with Little Miss Cry Baby.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A Welcoming Breakfast

  “What are you going to make of me now?! Coward…?” I bawled disdainfully as the door to my room was dangled open with a forceful blow, trusting the tall-figured teenager to be my ultimate antagonist. Surprisingly, the boy who leaned against the door wasn’t Luther, but a sallow-faced, sneering Parsas.

  “Get up,” He muttered lazily, “and can’t you stop whining for Luther as if he’s your lover or something?” His thin lips curled wryly at his cold humor, as if that was the best amusement he could afford.

  I merely sat up straight, but didn’t even show the attempt to dress. I fought to press my annoyance away but failed as always, so I ground my teeth at him with a long, cold look on my face. Parsas smirked at my attitude. “Your friend was right. You are an ignorant little git, aren’t you? Oh, well… let’s see what Walcott will do about that, won’t we, little hero?” His dark eyes briefly passed my haunted eyes and I could almost figure out a sardonic smile curling his lips.

  I quickly steadied my emotion and hardened my gaze. But my heart was thumping when I thought of my retribution ordered by Walcott. No, don’t you dare suggest I feared him. It’s just that… It’s just that he made me tense sometimes, that old worm.

  I must have winced at the name I thought of it, because Parsas had a pleased expression which seemed rare on his face. “Walcott is expecting you to attend the first gathering. He won’t be glad if you ruined the most important chance in his life. And what about that old chum of yours…? Graves, is it? And…”

  His sly voice hissed silkily, but they were like sizzling lightning to my eardrums, especially the mention of Graves. “Fine, you’ve won, I won’t forget my oath,” I snatched for my clothes with exploding irritation. Parsas grinned wryly and folded his arms as he watched me lazily.

  Minutes later, we were trailing down the hallway that seemed to be deserted compared to yesterday’s thicket of crowd. My jaws tightened. The witches must’ve gathered somewhere, waiting for me,

  “This isn’t the Rite yet? Is it?” I swallowed hard as if that would help ease my nervousness. I realized I forgot to add any spicy arrogance into my tone. I wasn’t in the mood for a fight, not yet. The lean, gangly youth beside me laughed but didn’t reply, probably because I asked a stupid question. I hadn’t found anything amusing so I chose to ignore him with the best glare I could afford.

  When we reached the door, Parsas half shoved me inside with a violent force. I didn’t feel his skinny fingers press on my back, but once I heard his snickers behind me, I knew he’d thrust me in with his magical touch. I cursed under my breath, but I had a trickier situation to overcome. The dining hall was swarmed with people, once spouting or chattering, now all of whom silent as dead as they saw the person who had just stumbled in.

  They had seated along the long dining table that had now been laid with embroidered tablecloths. The seating was just like I what I had in mind: with the Walcotts and the Gallaghers sitting at the very back of the hall and near the center chair, the other witches were carefully seated down the table, as if they’d been organized like this for thousands of years, maybe even aeons. And Luther, with his usual crooked smile that he used to greet me these days alit on his face… he took the seat on the left hand of the center chair, just as I expected, that snob. He thinks he’s that important…

  My eyes flew toward the chair nearest me, and my mind skipped a beat. The other witches seemed to fade unimportantly in my mind as I saw him. Graves was curled on his chair, giving me a weak smile. I knew that must’ve ripped open the scars on his face. But he was there, alive and healthy, even though he still had bruises of red marks. Walcott maybe cruel and full of malice, he was a fine oath keeper. Graves blinked one of his eyes as if he was hinting that I looked stupid just standing there.

  I managed to grin back and sought my possible seats. With Parsas slid to a chair beside his mother, there were only two seats left, the center chair, which was the one that was at the end of the room and faced directly at the door, and the other seat… the other seat was between Luther and Parsas. I knew I had no choice. If I was thick enough to just slightly touch the center chair arranged for their so-called master, all the people around this room would probably go very pleasant on me. Frankly, I’d rather go dead than sit between the two treacherous lads.

  But it was no time for hesitation. I really didn’t want to taste the wreath of a coven of fuming witches. I didn’t glance at anyone directly in the eye as I walked straightly toward that specific chair. I found my heart throbbing in my weak chest, but I kept my face calm and expressionless. Think of Graves, think of Graves… I straightened my back and bit my lips hard as I sat. Luther eyed me through the whole process as if he was inspecting me, afraid that I’d ruin his glorious moment with my rebellion against the bargain. Frankly, I do. For all the misery and misfortune he had given me, I pray for his failure… but I also pray for the life of my grandfather. I stiffened in my seat and didn’t even try to give him a friendly smile.

  Luther finally took his eyes off me and stood up. Even though I was staring bitterly at the floor, I knew Luther had all the witches’ attention. They must be focusing their eyes on him, afraid to let slip of anything he was saying. Ha, pleasing the Devil’s precious boy… I wanted to ignore what he was saying, but it was a tricky task. I looked up and heard every single word that were like needles piercing though my eardrums.

  “It’s an honor for all of us to be here after so many tiring years of waiting. Every one of us has made sacrifices, painful ones. But never regret it. Out golden age is approaching. Very soon, we’ll succeed in the Grand Rites and all that blood will pay off eventually,” Luther had a satisfied smile on his face as if he was counting gold coins that was finally his. I ground my teeth hard.

  One of the witches, an arrogant and combative looking man called out from the back roll, “How come you’re so certain, young sire?”I heard sarcasm seeping in his oily tone.

  Luther bit back his lip to form a wry smile, as if he was waiting for that question all along, “As you should’ve guessed, sir, I wouldn’t be so conceited if I wasn’t positive.” He looked up to all the witches, “last night you have all encountered a boy who was standing beside me. And he was late to this meeting. And he’s sitting right next to me.”

  As if Luther’s sentence had triggered a bolt of alert lighting perhaps, Walcott, who was sitting across from Luther, knocked on the table. Immediately, I felt a force rushing inside me, urging me to stand bolt upright. I sprang to my feet like a spring, cursing under my breath. A band of pressure and uneasiness tightened around my head as I felt the keen eyes of witches focusing on me. Fine, let them stare, just stare at the pathetic orphan boy who was about to face his doom. My fists tightened.

  “Usually, I wouldn’t have ruined all the fun. But I suppose…” Luther shrugged and gestured toward me, “That boy’s the one we require, Francis Pavilion.”He skidded to a halt at his last sentence, as if my mere name would explain everything. But I guess I’m famously well known, because gasps and snickers rose in the room, like when a gust of wind had blown the silent dessert sand. Even though I was lowering my head and gritting my teeth, I could still make out the pompous smile on Lady Grace’s face as she slowly nodded. Her annoying children, Parsas and Mavisie exchanged glances and confusing sneers.

  Luther seemed satisfied by the shock and exhilaration. “I suppose that explains everything,” I swore he gave me a victorious glance that suggested I won’t be slipped with any fragments of information. “All the other customs of the Grand Rites will be according to the past ones. I won’t say more. Enjoy your first meal.”Luther sank down to his seat. As if organized before, a group of servants and kitchen maids rushed inside, preparing us with dishes of sweet meats and delicacies. Laughter and conversations exploded in the room.

  I pushed my plate away in disgust. Even the thick layers of pancakes which I used to take pleasure in seemed dull and slimy. I studied the witches who were dining with gushes of excitement and immediately regretted it. They glanced at me every few seconds or so, sneering. I was very relieved that I hadn’t eaten anything, because I felt my stomach flipped by a smoldering sickness. I glanced toward Roth, suddenly realizing that I had planned to talk to her about the Rites. The girl wasn’t eating, either. She was fiddling with the delicate laces on her peach-colored satin dress, lost in her own thought. She looked up once or twice at Luther. That’s when I noticed, with concern, that her eyes were swollen and brimmed with red. Had the Gallagher siblings’ teases bothered her so much? Aargh, I’ll never understand girls, let alone asking them for any pieces of information.

  “I’d show some respect if I were you,” The smug voice was definitely from Parsas so I didn’t even bother to tilt my head toward him or glare at him. I just narrowed my eyes, showing that I’m listening with despise.

  “I thought you’ve been taught to have manners. If you’re going to continue your arrogance, I hate to think what our master will deal with you,” He hid a wry smile of dark humor. Even thought his voice was low, but I could figure it out over the loud harangue.

  “What do you…” I sucked my lips nervously because it suddenly went very dry, “He’s down in Hell, trapped there.”I bit on my last sentence with firm, even though I was feeling less positive. Mother had told me legends before, of how the Devil, once one of the God’s most trustworthy angels, had been cast down from the Heaven after he rebelled against his master. The Devil had been spell bounded there ever since, his powers weakening and suffocating him. Even after eons, no witch had ever succeeded in releasing him from his prison. Was Parsas brainwashing me？

  “Soon though, that’ll change,” Parsas turned away, leaving me to struggle with the suspense by myself. A shiver went through my spine. The Grand Rites, were they targeted to bring the Devil back? I quickly fought to extinguish that thought, but it had grown steady and poisonous roots in my mind.

  The breakfast feast dragged on boringly. When the last dish, puddings served with something that looked like gooey blood, had been enjoyed, the feast finally ended. The guests returned to their room. Soon, there were only the Gallaghers, the Walcotts, Luther and me. I knew I had to be patient if I wanted to talk to the pesky girl.

  “Melas,” Grace said smoothly, pulling on her black leather gloves with poise as she addressed Walcott, “I have to say, congratulations to your family on ah… adopting both of the boys.” She took a quick look at Luther and me, a sweet, poisonous smile lit on her lips. I scowled. I hated it when anyone mentioning me with Luther in the same sentence.

  Walcott gave the elegant lady a toothy laughter, “The Gallaghers are always proud and possessed with jealousy. I’ve seen generations and generations of your family, Grace. And I’ve noticed that quality hasn’t changed a bit,”he pursed his lips in a proud smile and squared his shoulders as if to show his importance. I snorted.

  A flicker of anger passed Grace’s dark eyes, but she forced a sincere smile, “And the Walcotts’ loyalties are very well known, so loyal that our master himself chooses the Walcott’s manor as witches’ headquarters. Our master even allows you to raise his son here. So charming… So loyal…” She chirmed softly as if she was singing a lullaby to a naughty child of hers. I noticed that Grace was constantly glancing at Lady Rosamund with a mysterious smile. Lady Rosamund just looked away to her daughter, stroking Roth’s smooth, chestnut brown hair, avoiding Grace’s silent mockeries.

  Just as Walcott was about to rose to his feet to protest, Grace wrapped one arm on each of her child’s shoulder, smiled warmly but sarcastically, and disappeared as the shadows devoured them.

  Roth looked startled. She squirmed in her Lady Rosamund’s gentle arms, “Mother, what does she mean? Why’s she looking at you that way?”

  “That woman…”Lady Rosamund sniffled like she was about to whimper in dismay. But the lady managed to steady her cracked voice. She looked at Roth and smoothed her hair again, managing a fake smile that must’ve looked convincing enough to fool the na?ve girl, “Nothing, my Rothie. Now, go on to your room, don’t worry about anything.” Lady Rosamund kissed her daughter on the cheeks.

  My heart twitched. The way Rosamund cherished her precious daughter; it strangely reminded me of my mother. I knew it sounded ridiculous, because Rosamund Walcott shared not many similarities with my dear mom, Eliza Pavilion. Seriously, my mom wasn’t as cunning or as mean. But still… I felt awkward and uncomfortable. I noticed that Luther looked away as well, his face darkening. That’s when I recalled that Luther, despite his villainous immortal father, had a painful memory of his mother as well. That thought made me even more uneasy. Why do I always have to connect myself with someone I seriously despise?

  Roth slowly moved her way out of the dining hall. I stood up as well, hoping not to lose track of her. It might take me some time to find her again. My anxiousness still dug inside my brain.

  “Francis,” Luther breathed, whispering my name.

  “What?”I snapped aggressively. He annoyed me as much as Walcott and I’ll never forget the way he whipped me and how he poured his wreath at me.

  But Walcott interrupted by snorting loudly, “Let the boy go, Luther. We’ll have a private meeting on the Grand Rites. We won’t want anyone like him eavesdropping on our conversations.”Luther looked like he was offended because he scowled with his brow furrowed together, but decided to drop the subject.

  I steadied my breath and pretended to be calm. But actually, my inside was boiling with pride and victory. Ha, thanks to Walcott, I finally got to hook a piece of information from Little Miss Annoying. I skidded away from my seat and sprung toward the door. Roth was only paces away from me. I called her without hesitation, “Roth!”

  She turned with her nose highly stuck in the air, even though her eyes were swollen with red, she made no efforts giving me evil looks. “What do you want?”She asked, hands on her hips, twisting her lips.

  “I need to know the truth about the Grand Rites. I thought you would know,” I replied. I felt sweat burning on my skin. The instant I said the words, I pitied myself. How ridiculous I was to even consider that Roth would help me?

  As I had envisaged, Roth smirked at me with that insufferable giggle, “Oh? And why do you think I would help you? What would you exchange with me for that life and death information?” She picked her nails and eye at me in the way her mother had always did.

  My bit my lips hard and considered her request. What did pesky, annoying girls like Roth like? Hair brush, jewelry, chocolate, red roses, valentine letters, Luther’s kiss…? Oh, gods, if I was going to and brainstorm those sorts of stuffs, I’d probably die with disgust. But then, suddenly, I got the most brilliant idea. A mischievous glint flashed in my eyes as it used to. I hadn’t prank with anyone for a long time. “How about…”I grinned, “If I play a prank on Mavisie, what would you say?”

  Roth’s eyes widened in shock or delight I wasn’t sure, but she didn’t hesitate, “Deal.”I thought she was going to laugh with anticipation.

  “Deal,” I laughed. Imagining Mavisie shrieking and yelling her head off really was quite entertaining. Usually, I don’t tease girls. But this time, it was different; I knew I couldn’t play gentleman-like. I hadn’t laughed and enjoyed myself for weeks. Mavisie, prepare yourself, the Boy King’s descending.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  An Accidental, Genius Prank

  I spent an entire day searching and rummaging in the kitchen. It was easy enough.

  The kitchen maids and servants were all bustling in and out, handing out spices and passing out delicious-looking goods. They completely ignored me, dozed off in their trances, I guess. I pitied them, somehow. Being bossed around but unaware of the treacherous people they’re serving, that wasn’t their fault, at all. If I had time and wasn’t in loads of troubles myself, I would’ve provided an escaping plan for them.

  Anyways, I had paid many visits to the kitchen, so it took me no effort to borrow the equipments and supplies that my pranks required. I also slipped into the dungeon, despite the nasty experiences I suffered in there. What did I collect there? Well, I guess that was a matter to find out for you. The more supplies I amassed, the more I wanted to laugh with pride. Mavisie, I wouldn’t keep you waiting for long. Nightfall, it was.

  I waited in my room, keeping a watchful eye outside the window. When darkness fell, Mavisie would be joining with her family in the dining hall. The distant mountains gradually became faint outlines that silhouetted against the blood-red, setting sun. The light of the day dissolved and melted away. I didn’t wait until the crescent moon to fully set. I felt my energized breaths tugging and heaving my lungs. I seized my heavy bag of equipment and slid the trap door open, to reveal the secret passage way that I commonly used now.

  I hurried through it, searching my way amidst the gloomy place. I didn’t bring a candle with me. Being the coward I used to be, I still hadn’t forgotten the shadowy little figures, which I had friendly encountered last time I eavesdropped on the boys. The idea of flames awaking the creatures that inhabited the corridors disturbed me, even intimidated me.

  But it cost me no effort to wander through the passage way, as if those pairs of suffocating dark eyes that belonged to the creatures hadn’t spotted me, yet. What a total relief, I already had a burden of troubles on my mind, thank you very much.

  After sliding open some trap doors and scanning several rooms, I finally located Mavisie’s room. I totally relied on my sixth sense, because Mavisie wasn’t in her room. But it wasn’t a risky challenge. According to Mavisie’s indifferent characters, she had a room prepared exactly like what I had brainstormed. Laced black drapes, elaborate dark-colored furniture, a silky black canopy that looked like it would be veiling a decayed corpse or something… Gods, the room was decently arranged for a formal funeral.

  But what really confirmed my guesses was the jewel-crusted portrait frame. It depicted several familiar faces whom I could spit their names out with disgust. I spotted Lady Grace, younger and more charming, had the poisonous kiss on the tip of her lips; I saw Parsas, merely eight or seven years old, already had that scowled arc for the eyebrows; Then Mavisie, cuddling her precious strangle-necked puppet. She must’ve been young when she received the portrait drawing, because there were scribbled lines of descriptions under each person. I thought I saw the word shelf-important idiot smacked on Parsas’s face. I bit back a grin, even though Mavisie misspelled the word and was a snob herself, I still approved her judgment toward her brother.

  No surprise there, the next person to tab those words on Parsas’s face besides me, must be Mavisie.

  Triumphed over my first task of finding the correct room, I quickly scanned the place, adapting to my surroundings. I knew I don’t have much time before Mavisie returned, so I quickly embarked on my business.

  I rummaged in my workbag and fetched out some of the fillings. Maple syrup and honey cones, these gooey flavors would be even more excellent than the stickiest glues. I thrust Mavisie’s blanket away and evenly smeared the sticky stuffs on the sheet. I made the bed again, concealing the golden-clear liquid. My fingers quivered unconsciously with unbearable laughter and glee. Sorry, couldn’t help it… The thought of Mavisie struggling to break free from syrup really cracked me up. I dribbled some of it on the floor as well, just in case the girl was too cautious.

  I was busy at my work. I linked several strands of thin yarns across the room, fiddling cardboard boomerangs o the end of the snare-like strings, which were activated by vibration of the yarns. I managed to dangle several water balloons to the ceiling and come up with a simple device, which allowed the water balloons to drop on the victim’s head when the lamp switch was turned on. I borrowed my most genius plans I had used against Mrs. Tristia when I was in the orphanage, and didn’t forget to add some of my innovations. I concealed the prank devices very carefully, so as not to arouse Mavisie’s suspicion.

  I thought my work had drawn to an end when I felt something squirming anxiously in my pockets. I grinned and ruffled in my pants pocket, bringing out two balls of fluffy brown fur. Brown mice, freshly caught in the dungeon, they might as well thank me for allowing them to leave their miserable habitat. One of the mice wriggled hard, and when found it hard to escape my fingers, it gnawed my flesh. Ow! So much for the gratitude, I grimaced.

  The mice were still fidgeting in my closed palms, but I managed to shove them into the wardrobe where they nestled in the thick layers of velvet and warm fur. Wait until Mavisie found out what kind of cuties shared her wardrobe. I recalled the time when I slipped stuffed mice into an annoying little girl’s shoes back in the orphanage. Gee, they weren’t even real, just downy balls with a long tail and black studs for fake eyes. You should’ve seen her scream and faint right there at the spot.

  I laughed but the smile on my face faltered. Suddenly, guilt overwhelmed me and welled up in my heart like boiled water on a cauldron. Mom was afraid of mice, wasn’t she? My eyes lost its focus and I was drowned in my own thoughts. But I managed to harden my face and convinced myself that I had no choice but to do this to get the information I need, which could save my life, which was why I was fighting and struggling all along.

  When I noted all the pranks on my mental list with proud checks, I looked around the room, inspecting my masterpiece. I turned my way toward the trap door, totally relived that I was about to leave this funeral-like, grim bedroom. When…

  Suddenly, I felt frigidness bolting up my shivering spine, the way it always did when I felt somebody’s watchful eyes narrow toward me. I froze, petrified with sick anxiousness, and immediately focused my attention. I managed to twitch my numb neck and angle it toward the door. Was someone spying on me? I got that uneasy feeling, but proved myself wrong when I saw no one entering the room. Had my senses gone wrong? Still wary, I didn’t dare return to the secret passage way. My fingers dug deeply into my palms until my flesh scorched with pain. My eyes flashed around the room.

  Then, I saw them… Those beady, black and creepy eyes that I’ve seen in the secret passage way… that had haunted my most dreaded nightmares… that had made my skin crawl whenever I think about them… They belonged to… They belonged to… Mavisie’s angelic, adorable-looking puppets…? There were scores of them, all seated on the shelves, with unfaltering innocent smiles and curls of stunning blond hair that swirled like stardust. They were a group of perfectly normal-looking, harmless dolls. Well, despite the fact that some of them had loose, strangled heads and torn-apart limbs. Nothing was horrifying or even the slightest peculiar.

  I felt my breath steadying and my nerves mocking my cowardice and my over cautious. Puppets, seriously…? Am I out of my mind? I was about to make fun of myself when I studied those eyes again. Another shudder shook me like a gust of frigid wind. But they were unmistakably the exact eyes that spied on me in the secret passage ways, only less eerie when they were exposed in the candle light. But how could that be possible? Dolls don’t wander through corridors or eavesdrop on other people, as far as I knew anyways.

  I wanted to further inspect the dainty dolls, but those plastic, empty eyes kept staring at me, squeezing my nerves. I felt Goosebumps rising on my shoulders like tiny ripe berries. My teeth chattered. “Well, good day then, I’ll leave all of you alone…” I mumbled stupidly, as if warning the dolls not to do any uncanny stuff. Yeah, like they were listening. I was prepared to leave, again.

  Then, in the next few seconds, a sequence of following events happened between the blink of an eye. The hugest doll in the room, which had its back on me, quivered a little, as if it had been shaken by an invisible hand. Somehow, its neck managed to twist as if it had its own life, and angled toward me. Its plastic, lifeless eyes fixed upon me, not even blinking (well, if they did wink at me, it would be even worse). I didn’t have time to gather myself together to embrace this, or even squeal with fright.

  The next thing I knew, all the puppets, some had been showing their profile to me, some had been taking their backs on me, now all of them had their heads bobbing with vibration, squirming like struggling mice. In a split of lightning-quick second, their necks twirled toward my direction, where I was standing, petrified, with my legs hanging loosely under my body like shriveled leaves.

  There were dozens of them, all with their beady eyes examining me. The dolls still had their angelic smiles that beamed like sunshine, but their half-fallen heads that dangled in the eerie candle light wavered, and wavered… Their eyes never blinked with life, their cherubic smiles never lost its lust… wavered, and wavered…

  I swore all if it would’ve been better if I screamed or hollered of even whimpered with tearful eyes. But I didn’t do any of the things above, unfortunately. I was hollowed inside out by my worst panic and dread. My instincts shrieked in my ears but I didn’t dare twitch an inch. My audacity vanished. I felt my insides boiling at an awful point and exploded. Fear was released from me, like flocks of darkening shadows that were urging to be freed. But the dread hadn’t been sent loose by a dismayed screech or my black-outs. I lost control of my inner powers. Oops.

  As if responding to my fear, there was a volcanic flare-up around the room. The blast of it was so powerful that it swung me aside and forced my eyes to squint. But I still could figure out the snarling red sparks between my tightly pressed eye-lids. I gagged in the smoke, choking hard on the fire that had been accidently caused by myself. The smoke was suffocating me, burning my eyes like salt water. My vision blurred, even though, apparently, I didn’t open my eyes. Flames smoldered in my chest.

  There was a shatter, as if glass had been broken to tiny shards and fragments. I managed to angle my head toward the window, where the distinctive racket had taken place. In the matter of fact, the glass was wrecked, I realized, gasping and opened my sour eyes. The splinters of sharp-edged glass had splattered everywhere by the explosion…and what about the explosion?

  The smoke hovered around the room like dark mist and the air smelled like scorched gun powder, but I still saw what had happened. The dolls were burnt to pitch-black like charcoals, every single one of their heads aflame, still spouting golden tongues of fire. Smoke poured out of their necks, as if to swallow the blazing flames. The scene looked brutal, as if it had experienced a tough battle. Well, at least I wouldn’t be stared at by the creepy puppets anymore.

  But still, I… I stared at my hands, as if not convinced that I could cause such a chaos. I snapped my fingers, testing whether I still had the energy or not. I concentrated. Maybe if I imitated the moves I just did, I could amass more magic in me. My finger nails scratched my skin with an itch, a spark emerged and a small fire licked my palms with shivering warmth. It was weak and was quickly extinguished by the wind. I staggered backwards, feeling more exhausted than any time before I had conjured flames. Maybe the explosion was triggered by fear. I decided. But unfortunately, I couldn’t rest in peace for a while.

  Footsteps echoed from the hallway. I heard shrewd laughter that sounded like choking and screeching at the same time, “Mavisie, you room’s on fire! Ha! I didn’t know you’re stupid enough to cause an accident at this part of time!”Parsas’s voice was full of teasing glee.

  “Shut up! Parsas, you know it’s not funny!”Mavisie growled at her brother with a shrieky sort of voice. I could taste the annoyance in her tone.

  I flinched each time their footsteps got near and quickly sprang myself for the trap door. I thought I stepped on something gooey. Gods, I forgot everything about my syrup. I managed to pry my shoes from the sticky, mushy liquid before the door to Mavisie’s room was swung open by a blow. I hid behind the trapdoor, only with my eyes pressed against the gaps, panting hard.

  The Gallagher siblings appeared at the door way but didn’t enter the room. Apparently, they were shocked and dazed by the explosion. That wasn’t a surprise; the original gloomy bedroom was now in chaos. The windows had shattered by the explosive force and the puppets and the books and the wooden shelves were all burnt and scorched, sizzling with heat even though the fire had dimmed out.

  Then Luther came, with his white robes swooped behind his back like the Devil’s wings. “What in the name of hell…” He cursed with a scowl on his face but didn’t even attempt to approach the room. Coward, I muttered balling my hands into fists.

  Finally, my attended audience hurried to Mavisie’s room, with a stunned look on her face. Roth was leaning against the door, apparently speechless by my accidental work of art. She finally recovered from her astonishment and found that Mavisie had a difficult time dealing with her own emotions. Roth sniggered but quickly caught herself in time when Mavisie turned to glare at her in irritation. I sighed with relief; Little Miss Annoying would better not blow my cover.

  After several frozen minutes, Mavisie was the first to react. “Who did this?” She demanded, her lips curling like the way her mother did, “Well?” Her voice was frigid cold but also fuming with disgust and annoyance.

  “Oh, drop it, will you?” Parsas rolled his eyes and sneered again with taunt, “Stop acting like you’re mother. Besides, no one’s going to be boring enough to sneak into your room. Don’t you look at me like that! If you’re so intelligent, why don’t you go in by yourself?” He urged his sister with a crafty grin, but didn’t even show any interest in getting into that room himself.

  Mavisie’s eyes narrowed suspiciously toward Parsas, as if to test whether he had a trick of some sort. Then she stepped into the room, looking cautiously around and saw her ruined puppets. Her mouth gaped open and I almost laughed when I saw how astonished she was.

  “I spent years to collect those…” She muttered darkly, a deep ripping sound building up in her throat, which sounded like the purrs of a mad pussy. She pushed her way in, not even alarmed when she knocked a few things over, and not even noticed when her feet were glued to the syrup and the honey. She stumbled to the floor, gritting her teeth to get up but tripped over her satin layered dress… and… pulled on the threads of yarns…

  I thought I was about to belch with hideous laughter but managed to caught myself from making any sound. Unfortunately, I failed and made a weird grumbling noise with my hands muffling my mouth. I thought tears would burst any moment if I didn’t have the chance to explode my gleefulness. I bit my lips to avoid the laughter-shook tears, hoping against hope no one had heard me. Fortunately, no one paid any attention to me. I didn’t exactly see what happened, because I too busy entertaining myself. But I’ll describe the sounds I heard for you.

  Swoosh! There was a swift sound passing the room like a hurricane, which I knew was from my boomerangs, sprang to life. I heard what sounded like clattering sounds against the lamp post and desperate screams. Then, the most pleasant explosion sound in the world corrupted in the room. Boom-baaaang! Splish, splash! I fell to my stomach and was twitching with gloat and hilarity, laughing until I could spit blood out of my mouth. The water balloons had dropped down, each making a gurgling noise like when a rock hit the ripples in the lake, then exploding on the ground, splashing Mavisie. The girl made a desperate panicking sound and screeched as if mice had bitten her… Well, they hadn’t bitten her yet, I assume, or else there would be a lot more fuss.

  I crawled to the trap door, managing to support myself with my numb arms. I peeked through the gap again and couldn’t help grinning again. Mavisie was right there in the middle of the room, with her hair all mangled together with golden syrup and honey. The water balloons hadn’t fallen directly on her head, but still splashed her gown, which was now dripping with cold water. Her eyes looked like she was about to strangle someone with her bare hands just like what she did to the puppets. But the group of three audiences was no help to the poor girl.

  Parsas wasn’t better than I was. He was laughing so hard that he couldn’t even breathe properly. I guess he had to bend to his ankles and gasp for lungs full of air, so to prepare for another hoot.

  Roth was leaning against the door again, but this time with tears welling in her eyes. She was trying to play royal-lady like, but her strength had leaked out of her so she had collapsed to the floor, panting hard with giggles. “Oh, my… Oh, my…!” She held her stomach as if it was going to burst with glee.

  Luther looked like he wanted to help, with his thin eyebrow pressed together with concern, but his eyes blew his cover. They were gleaming brightly in a familiar way, and lit up by a mischievous glint. His mouth twisted in an odd behavior, suggesting that he wanted to burst out laughing, joining the maniac group but then caught himself on time and had to swallow the thrill.

  “Um… Mavisie, I assume you’re not fine, are you?” Luther’s voice was weary and trembled slightly with what looked like a chortle. He looked like he drank something nasty but I figured he was just struggling to stifle his cackles.

  “Do I even look fine?” Mavisie glowered sarcastically, but the two others just laughed even louder. She probably realized whom she was talking to, and hastily addressed, “Young sire?”

  “Right,” Luther grumbled with a muffled grin. He stepped across the room, perfectly avoiding every trap I set. I narrowed my eyes with annoyance. I was praying that Luther might trigger one of my prank gears. No one had ever predicted my pranks so correctly. But when I saw he was approaching the wardrobe, my smile returned. “I’ll get you some clothes, so you can…”He opened the wardrobe, completely unaware of the racket the mice had inside.

  There was a scream when the two rodents escaped from the thick layers of clothes. I guess mice just didn’t adore narrow spaces. They scrambled around, chasing each other. Maybe their sensitive noses caught the fragrance of maple syrup, because they followed the track of the sticky liquid came scurrying toward Mavisie. The girl looked like she would faint, her face white as a sheet, despite the fact that she had been fuming with rage a second ago.

  Parsas burst into gloating chortles, his voice ringing harshly, “Oh, that’s genius! How did they know Mavisie’s afraid of rodents?” His companion, Roth, couldn’t help it anymore and joined Parsas, laughing till their teeth chattered like crooked dice from all that hilarious laughter.

  Luther pursed his lips into a distinctively broad smirk, as if he couldn’t resist it anymore. He half laughed, half shook his head doubtfully as he helped Mavisie shoo away the crawling mice and fix her hair with his witch’s touch. Moments later, the girl returned to her normal appearance, despite the fact that her face contorted with irritated wrath.

  “Let’s just say some one around here has a brilliant taste for humor,” Luther tilted his head and smoothed the last strand of Mavisie’s glossy black hair. He had a roguish smile on his face that was vaguely familiar to me. The other two responded Luther with continuous titters.

  When Mavisie stormed away from the room, the laughter slowly died away. The others left, leaving Luther still hesitating in the room. Something told me I had to stay, or else I’d be caught dead. I swallowed the humorous laughter and decided to back away from the light that seeped through the gaps of the trap door.

  That’s when Luther turned and caught me off guard. I stood there, frozen dead. His eyes flashed toward me and focused on my eyes. He must had had a bad eyesight or something, because his dangerous eyes locked with my for a few seconds, I swore he knew I was hiding there. But then, he left, as if he hadn’t noticed me. My heart rate slowed down and with a relieved sensation tugging my limbs, I loped down the passage way.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Dreadful Truth

  “You’re such a genius,” Roth giggled with a syrupy smile as she led me down the hallway. Apparently, she still hadn’t gotten over my prank on Mavisie. I rolled my eyes, but inside, I was boiling with pride. True, Roth was annoying, but you just couldn’t help it when a fussy, picky girl praised you on something.

  She continued babbling, “How did you know that wretched girl would go nuts if you ruined her dolls?”

  To be frank, I knew nothing of the sort. The puppets had blown up, only because I was frightened by them when they yanked their heads around. They totally made my skin crawl. But I wasn’t going to admit that I was a total coward who was frightened by a bunch of dolls, so I changed the subject in time, “They were just plain dolls, why did Mavisie cherished them so much?” As you could notice, I left out the spooky part in which the puppets turned their faces toward me.

  Roth scowled and snorted with her cheeks puffed up, “They were just her tools to eavesdrop on somebody. She could control the puppets’ moves and command them to do anything she willed. Boring things, don’t you agree?”She tried to look casual by tugging her chestnut-brown tresses behind her ears, but I easily caught the jealousy that burned in her tone.

  So that was true, Mavisie had used the puppets to eavesdrop on Luther and Parsas that particular night. The clattering sounds and the disturbing eyes I had overcame, really were from the puppets. A shudder blew across my skin. I was actually glad that I burned the eerie dolls down to shreds now.

  “Where are you taking me? I thought you were going to tell me everything. You promised,” I muttered, reminding the girl that she had to carry out her duties. Roth had led me around the manor, taking the hallways instead of the secret passages. If she told me the destination, I’d be arriving there in a minute. But I kept my mouth shut about that part.

  Roth paced around uneasily, fiddling with the laces on her dress. The girl had a flushed expression but didn’t want me to notice it. “You see,” She bit her words cautiously and had a playful smile twisting her lips, which was beginning to make me uneasy as well, “Well, I don’t exactly know about the Grand Rites, actually…But I didn’t break the vow, either. I never told you I know all the details, did I?” The smug smile on her face was pushing against my limit.

  I was about to throttle her. But she suddenly stopped before an ancient wooden door, blocking my way so I almost tripped, and didn’t have the nearest chance to strangle her. “I do know where to find them, though,” Roth added hastily, as if afraid I was going to blow her up like I did to the puppets. “We’re going to scavenge in there.”With a gesture toward the wooden door, she sniggered again, as if challenging me to march in. I groaned. I recognized it and it was the best place to squeeze boredom in you.

  “The library, is it?”I crossed my arms and rolled my eyes at her. Frankly, I had a strong urge to blow her up, but that’s when I realized I couldn’t even skim a line of words without yawning. I had thought of researching in the library before, but I had quickly extinguished the idea. My mom had always adored reading, but flipping through those giant chunks of bricks only made my eyes sore. They were more like a pressure to me rather than a pleasure.

  Roth nodded and hesitated for a moment, studying my expression for a long time.

  “What?” I snapped with frustration. I hated it when girls gawked at me.

  “Nothing,” She giggled annoyingly and with my help, slid the heavy door open.

  The library was huge, with a high ceiling and a hallway that stretched on and on like an endless labyrinth. Chunks of brick-like, old books amassed each shelf, and every shelf pressed against each other like bookends. There were hardly any spare spaces left for walking. The whole room was soaked with the scent of old parchment and the odor of over-aged ink. I stared at the bookshelves that were high enough to kiss the ceiling, and my eyes went watery with soreness.

  I singled out the thinnest book I could find and carried it with both of my arms wrapped around the dusty cover. With a heavy grunt, I slapped the thicket of pages and flipped though them. When I barely read the overview, I dropped the book immediately, treating it like a total nuisance.

  “This book… is only about… Aargh! The brief history of… herbs and fungi… Aargh…! Gods, these things are impossible to read,” I grumbled with pure disgust, panting as I shoved it back on to the shelf.

  Roth smirked at me self-righteously. “I thought you couldn’t read…” She purred with scornfulness in her tone.

  “My mother taught me when I was young,” I muttered darkly. I didn’t return to rummaging any more books, but I didn’t want to face Roth as well. Seeing her still giggling at me like a typical idiotic girl, made my stomach growled with sickness. I glowered at her, forcing all my exasperation to well in my eyes, “What, Roth?”

  “Nothing,” Roth muffled her mouth, but apparently she had something springing up her throat because she continued to gibber, “My mother told me something about her, your mother, I mean… Something…” She narrowed her eyes so she’s facing my fuming glare, “Not very pleasant…”She used this sugary, slithery tone that made me want to strangle her for the second time (… or was it the third?).

  “What did Rosamund say about my mother?” I demanded sharply, eye-brows rose with suspicion. The anxiety to hunt for the information of the Grand Rites was completely erased from my mind, replaced by the pressure that was heavy and smoldering in my brain and as reckless as a disease.

  But Roth had drifted away, apparently ignoring what I had just demanded. “Research time, Francis, I don’t have all night chatting with a boy like you,” She batted her eyelashes, as if she was admiring her own reflection through a looking glass. Well, she had a point; I don’t have all night gossiping with a girl like her, either.

  I was about to sank myself into the mass of dusted books, when a loud racket drew my attention. Gods, now what was that dim-witted lass tempting to do? I shook my head with distaste and turned around the corner. There stood Roth, whom had whacked several books off a shelf, but what she also had done, was causing that bookshelf to quiver and corrupt to the floor, and nearly knocking other shelves down as well. The girl herself was now sinking into the pile of books and dust. I yanked her out before she could be swallowed in even further by the riot.

  Roth climbed out with her delicate fingers tightly clutched in my hands. Her other hand was gripping tightly on a thick chunk of book, apparently the one I had requested. When she got out, she quickly snapped my hands off as if they were stained with filth. Then she almost fell, tripping over her own feet, I suppose.

  “I know you’re an idiot, but do you have to act like one?” I snorted, nostrils flaring with displeasure.

  Roth smacked the chunky book she was holding right down my head, but her face was reddening with embarrassment. “Do you want this book or not? Maybe I should swing it back into the pile, so you can sort the books out by yourself. Then we’ll see about that!” She mumbled, her breath panting excitedly as if that was the longest talk she could manage.

  I spit out my tongue but didn’t bicker with her. I knew arguing with Roth wouldn’t be an option. “Just give that book to me,” I demanded.

  Still scowling at me, Roth dropped the moldy-looking book, which slumped to the floor with a thud, causing dust and grime to flutter around like blurs of haze. I quickly grabbed it, assuming if I didn’t, it would be thrown away. I flipped through it with difficulty, because the bind had fallen off, the pages were merely connected by loose sets of thread.

  This was seriously, the oldest book I had ever seen or heard of, probably even older than Walcott the living dead. The pages were torn and dog-eared. With the book’s yellowed sheets and faded words, it was almost unreadable. But when you squinted with real effort, you could still make out a few familiar words. The rest of the words, well, either they were too complicated to understand or they screwed together like ancient runes. Well, duh, since all the English alphabets seemed like runes to me, it didn’t make any differences. I wasn’t expecting much.

  The whole book was on the witch subject, literarily. There were lots of hand-drawn illustrations on it, mostly un-pleasant, the rest absolutely dreadful. There was this picture with a burnt witch pinned on a cross, whose skin looked like it was a nightmarish blur. Some other illustrations were about various witchcrafts, and one of them, I remembered distinctively, was of a witch shoving a snake down a poor man’s throat and forcing him to swallow it whole. I managed to flip on, but I felt like vomiting with all that sickness lurching in my stomach.

  Finally, I stopped to a halt, locating my eyes on an image that looked exactly like what I had visualized. A bunch of witches in cloaks was enclosing on a bonfire… My heart surged with thrill. My eyes skipped to the title of the chapter. The Grand Rites… Fingers twitched with excitement, I read on greedily. That was the first time I was anxious to pick up a book.

  Roth, who had been silent for a long time as she watched me scan the book, spoke up with boiling interest as well. “What does it say?” She asked, forgetting to extinguish the curiosity in her sugar-dripping voice.

  I cleared my throat, holding up the book with difficulty, in case the loose pages would scatter around. “The Grand Rites,” I announced, proud with my discovery, “are a series of rituals performed by the witches, in order to transport their master, the D… Um, whatever, I’ll skip that idiotic part.” I saw Roth sniggering at me with disapproval and swallowed hard. Inside, my mind was racing fast. Parsas wasn’t joking when he said that the witches were nearly succeeded in bringing the Devil back from Hell. I recalled his dark mutters that were full of hungry desire. Soon though, that’ll change… I felt a band of pressure pushing against my forehead. I felt dizzy-drunk and sick more than ever. If the Devil was about to break loose from his prison and roam the earth one day, what would our world become? The Hell, probably, full of chaos and ruins…

  I was so caught up in my dread that I didn’t even notice Roth creeping behind my back and snatched the book from me. “Gosh, you’re hopeless. I’ll read the rest, in case you’re too shocked,” she giggled annoyingly and read on. “…in order to transport their master, the…, from Hell… The Grand Rites are a three-pronged ritual, which means they require three ceremonies. The Blood Sacrifice was the first and the most essential ritual. This sacrifice is dedicated to the…um, our master, to give him the strength to rebirth in a new body. It requires all witches to unite at midnight and brew a Sacred Bonfire. All witches must sacrifice their blood during the ritual. But no witches have yet completed this process, because the basics of a Blood Sacrifice are tributes. The right tributes can amass enough powers for the witches’ master but are very rare to seek. The key to use the tribute is to slit his artery and…”

  “Stop it! STOP IT!!! STOP READING!!!!!”I screamed, cutting Roth off. I didn’t know what occurred to me but my blood was boiling and suffocating in my temples, almost burning me to death. The pile of books suddenly exploded into flames, as if triggered by my complicated emotions. Roth gasped and dropped the book she was reading immediately. The unfortunate chunk of pages fell into the blaze and was torn apart by the licking tongues of flames, dissolving to dust and steam in a frantic hiss.

  “What are you…?” Roth yelled in astonishment with her sharp, demanding voice, but her words failed her as she saw the expression on my face.

  “I don’t need that book anymore,” I muttered, staring at the corrupting flames that leaped to the ceiling, my mood reaching its worst. I realized I was cracking my knuckles the same way Walcott did when he cursed with a spell, and quickly stopped myself. The fire died away, leaving a pile of ashes and half-burnt books. The odor of smoke was suffocating.

  “What do you mean you don’t…?” Roth’s voice was whiny and weary as if she was afraid I’d blow her up. She studied my grave expression and this time, even Little Miss Annoying wasn’t in the mood for teasing me. She staggered backwards as she realized what I was thinking, “Oh, no… No… that’s not true… I thought it was someone else! Francis, I’m… I’m… sorry, for dropping that poison into your juice…” Her voice drained away as I caught the ghost of horror on her face.

  “Too late,” I grumbled, my voice ramming with the wrath that wasn’t referred to anyone in particular, “You don’t have to apologize, anyways. I might’ve died a less painful death by taking your poison.” A pause, silence, and then suspense… My voice suddenly went cool and emotionless, “We’d better leave, Roth, before someone else find out something suspicious about our disappearance,”

  I took the secret passage ways while Roth, who was probably afraid of tight and narrow spaces, silently chose the main corridors and went away with a pity look toward me. Pure pity, nothing sarcastic or smug… I shook my head as I walked on, threatening myself to focus on the main issue. “I’m going to die.” But as soon as I mouthed the sentence, I regretted it. It was obvious, any fool, even any fool like Roth could figure that out. Why did Luther and Walcott snatch me from the orphanage? Ha, I was the rightful tribute whose artery was going to be slit. That makes total sense. Why was I the specific one? If a disobedient soul like him surrenders, more power will be added to our master. Those were Luther’s exact words. Oh, I was so happy to figure that out all by myself. So happy that it made me want to suicide!

  Suddenly, I felt tears blurring my sight. I hated crying, it made me look like a baby, but at the moment, it seemed right to sob with tearful snivels. I let the tears come naturally, until I realized I was even a better crier than Roth was.

  I pushed against the familiar trap door, entering my room with my eyes brimmed with red. Unmistakably, I heard a voice. “You’ve made an excellent progress on pranks, Francis.”I almost gagged when the person said it, too shocked to believe this was happening. Then, I forced myself to bite back the tears and wear a glare on my face. Luther was in my room, merely glancing at me as he saw my scowl and my wet eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” I muttered darkly, my fingers quivered with irritation as I spoke. Luther, who hoaxed me to be his friend the first day we met; Luther, who punished me with a whip and released his fury on me; Luther, who was even more evil than Roth (well, if you count her evil, that is). The girl had been numb first to hear my misfortune and then pitied me, as if dropping poison in her drink had been nothing but a joke. And what was the Devil’s boy doing now, while he had known my destiny all along? He was leaning against my bedpost, tilting his head, staring at me with an expressionless face. I felt a surge of anger boiling inside me, flames smoldered in my chest. But the magic of the fire didn’t slip out this time, as if it was afraid of Luther’s presence. I was dismayed to admit that while Luther was around, he had an effect on my powers. So all I could do was glower at him.

  Luther laughed his usual cold chortle, as if I had told a joke. “What am I doing? I’m asking you the same question. You think I won’t recognize your masterpiece?” He added absolute sarcasm in his tone at the word, “You think I won’t realize that you’ve been tempting to escape all along?”

  I didn’t flinch when Luther’s eyes bore into mine and raised my eye-brows, unable to press in the sizzling rage in my tone, “Cautious now, are you? Is it because you’re afraid I’ll ruin your glory by escaping? Or is it that you’re so eager to slice my arteries?” I was a bit alarmed that I led the last sentence slip, but when I caught the flustered look in Luther’s eyes, I was very fond of my interrogation.

  There was a pause, a long pause, while the two of us just glowered at each other. Then Luther ambushed me into the corner of the room by merely snapping his fingers. His voice had a frigid tender as he spoke to me, “You’re always bright, like your mother,” And then he repeated those word again with unmistakable bitterness in his voice. He shrugged and dropped his twisted fingers. I was able to move from my cowering position again, so I leaped up, facing him directly as Luther continued to pace around the room. “But unfortunately, that only brought you hurdles and difficulties, and to me as well.” He hissed at the last sentence.

  Imagined it or not, I saw a glimpse of red crossing his eyes like lightning. But I feared nothing now, and the arrogance had given me infinite energy whether it was foolish or not I didn’t care. I laughed with plain disdain, “Your annoyance is enough for me.” I mocked, my ears perking as I spoke.

  “You’d better change your attitude. The ritual starts tomorrow,” Luther bit his lips as his cold eyes flew over me.

  I snorted loudly with a bitter laugh, as if afraid he wouldn’t notice, “Is that a threat? You can’t harm Graves anymore, can you? The powers of the Rites will decrease if you dare to do so. That what will you do? Give me a more painful death?” I was playing my words with more fun, watching carefully as Luther’s face fell to frozen point, enjoying the moment.

  “No, it’s just… a sincere warning,” He finally struggled to squeeze those words out, probably deciding not to strangle me or rip me apart. Then he left, locking the door with five distinct clicks and extinguishing the candle flames, finally leaving me alone in the darkness.

  I listened carefully until his footsteps faded. Then I grabbed my jacket and fastened the buttons. I was leaving, right now. If the Rite was tomorrow evening, I wasn’t going to wait for my death like some particular coward. Even if I couldn’t manage to break through the gates like last time, I was going to hide. I looked around the room, checked around and turned for the trap door.

  Then my heart sank, deeply down my weak chest, which was now rising and falling in panic and fright.

  The gaps that previously formed the shape of the trap door had vanished. Not a single trace was left, as if the wall itself had sealed the cracks, swallowing them. I was trapped inside my room, as helpless as a roach, waiting for death’s paces.