The Cursed Blood, стр. 74
I blinked and found I couldn’t move anything but my eyes. It was like I was weighted down by a super heavy, ice cold blanket. I knew what was going to happen, and my mouth wouldn’t even let me scream.
She smiled down at me from the foot of my bed, creepy ethereal yellow eyes on a pretty, familiar face that looked tired and sad as she just sat there. “I’m glad you made it, Ben. You were good to listen, though you had little choice in it, didn’t you, you poor thing?” She saw my terror and almost cried, but with a deep breath somehow managed to sum up the energy and will to control it, staring at me mournfully instead for a terrifyingly long moment that I was absolutely sure I was going to die in.
“I’m sorry, Ben, about so many things. I had to burn that ward about your door—I hadn’t a choice. I just had to talk to you one more time. Tell your grandfather about it for me, will you?” I couldn’t nod but she seemed to see in my eyes that I would, so she nodded happily. “You’re safe, for now. I promise I will do everything I can to keep you that way. So much depends on it…” She trailed off as if there was so much more she wanted to say as she sat there, wringing her lace gloved hands, her eyes dimming to a warm amber brimming with warmth, strength, and deep emotion.
“I’m being controlled, Ben. The woman you saw at the diner—she’s a Darkling like you. Well, not really like you as you’re special, aren’t you? Oh, she dearly wants you dead. She was very distressed that you escaped, you know. But she has no idea we are bonded, and she can never find out. She’s dangerous, Ben. Her name is Alicia Lancelot, and she’s not working alone. Tell your Grandfather about everything I’ve said. Free me, Ben. Promise me that?” she pleaded.
I don’t know why but I knew I absolutely would, and she seemed to know it, too. She gave me such a radiant smile that my heart fluttered before vanishing to black vapor just as my door crashed open. I awoke with a start as Aunt Milly, White Owl, Fazool, and Gramps were preceded by a growling Manx into my room.
Gramps took one look at me and cursed. “What did she say, lad?” He growled so seriously that I was immediately awake. I sat there in bed and quickly advised we weren’t yet in danger. Gramps cursed again when I told him about the warding about the door and gazed up at it sourly, running a hand over the burned-out arcane runes.
“She burned out a higher warding.” Fazool whistled. “For only a child this girl is quite an impressive young Warlock.”
Higher wardings are tricky things. Incredibly hard and expensive to make, they require the powers and meticulous workings of a Wizard, and are almost impossible to break once cast and forged.
It is designed to repel some of the darkest things spawned or summoned from the unearthly plains, keeping them from creeping out of closets (which definitely can be used as other worldly portals) and creeping under beds or worse. The warding makes intrusion of a magical, supernatural, or ethereal nature all but impractical to even the most powerful of Fey. To say breaking such a thing would be difficult is an understatement of cosmic proportions.
Gramps eyed the awed Halfling and scoffed. “She summoned demons and had them slaughter who knows how many people. That isn’t impressive—its evil, and dangerous,” he snapped as he continued to eye the scorched-out symbols and shake his head.
“She can’t help it,” I interjected, earning a sharp glare from Gramps and a long suffering one from Aunt Milly. “She is a prisoner. She’s being controlled.” I then went on to tell them everything else. The part about the woman who was keeping her prisoner’s identity seemed to leave Gramps unwell as he went grey and wavered where he stood and had to lean on the wall even as he clutched at his chest.
Panicked, Aunt Milly had White Owl manhandle Gramps to the sofa so Fazool, who evidently was quite an accomplished Medicus Arcanus—a Witch learned in medical magics—could give him a once over. I trailed after and sipped at the bitter herb tea White Owl insisted I drink as Aunt Milly hovered, pacing by the sofa watching and wringing her hands.
Fazool ran a glistening red oval crystal he had fetched from a black, old style leather medical bag he had conjured up over Gramps’ chest which Gramps kept complaining was cold. The Halfling, still in his pajamas sighed and shook his head. “He needs rest. It looks like a minor cardiac event—it’s really nothing serious if he sticks to bed for a day or so and drinks his potion like a good boy.”
He patted Gramps’ arm who was glaring at him from the couch and buttoning his shirt. “Seriously, Artur, at your age you NEED to be taking better care of yourself. The body’s a temple after all.” He giggled, much to Gramps’ obvious irritation.
“Oh, he will be following those instructions to the letter,” Aunt Milly assured. “Won’t you, Artur?” she demanded. She gave him a wickedly hard smile as she added, “Because I won’t be giving you any other choice.” At this Gramps groaned miserably.
Well before dawn, White Owl had driven me to his home. Before you think it, no it isn’t a “Kemosabe” like wigwam or teepee. It’s a nice little one bedroom cottage with window planters, a winding moss overgrown stone slab path to the front door which is painted bright red, and a nice four seasons porch out back overlooking the loveliest lake and dock that looked just perfect to fish from.
The cottage grounds even had