Chapter 10
Jordan did not intend to fall asleep. He had packed the rest of his things, which truly did not amount to much, and gathered his small store of clothing from one of the upstairs bedrooms, but waiting for Malachi to return had taxed his reserves, and he had fallen asleep.
He had also lied to Malachi and Emle. Lucas had told him to stay near the house and he had not ventured far from its safety, especially during the night.
In truth, he was a little afraid of the dark, especially this far from the comforting glow of streetlights and the normalcy of civilization. He would never last in town, of course; the din made it difficult to think, much less function.
That was how he had ended up at Darkbrook, after all. And even there, he had been treated with caution; almost fear. No one liked having their innermost thoughts exposed.
He stared at his pile of possessions, and then at his backpack and duffel bag, which was all he could carry at once. He would have to leave some things behind. He could only carry so much.
His leg hurt from his fall down the stairs, but he ignored the pain and packed half of his clothes, taking care to wrap his breakable supplies inside his shirt and pants.
Malachi and Emle had asked him to wait until dawn, but he knew they wouldn't return. No one wanted him. It hurt to admit that, but he should have been used to rejection by now.
He glanced out the kitchen window at the darkness beyond and shivered. Perhaps he should wait until dawn. In daylight, the forest was much easier to navigate. And surely Malachi would not return.
A soft sound in the hallway caught his attention, and he froze in place, his hands clutching the folds of a t-shirt as he stared beyond the door. The light of his portable lantern would give him away for sure--he had not thought to be cautious.
He quickly turned it down and off, just in case, and tiptoed to the door.
His night vision was next to nil in the darkness, but he had lived in the house for long enough to know the locations of most of the piles of debris. The chunks of plaster that lined the hallway were new, however, and he stubbed his toes more than once as he inched down the narrow corridor.
There was someone standing in the parlor. At first, Jordan thought the figure was a trick of the moonlight that shone through the shattered window frames, but when the figure moved, he drew back and struggled not to breathe.
"There are Council wards around this house." The voice that came from the darkest corners of the parlor held no warmth at all. Jordan shivered.
"We'll have to work around them," the figure standing in the moonlight said. "But that is all. This house has been abandoned for quite some time. And it is close to our--prize."
"But is it close enough to the Veil?" The woman appeared from the darkness, her gown sweeping across the glass-littered floor as easily as if she strode through a garden. In the moonlight, her hair was jet black. "It takes power to move the Veil, Stefan. And more power to fix it in place."
"It is less than a mile away."
They were obviously not human, Jordan thought, with their talk of the Veil. He knew there were elves in Faerie, of course; everyone knew that. And from their flowery talk, Jordan suspected that they were both elves.
"A mile may well be too far," the woman snapped. "I will not have my plans destroyed because you were not intelligent enough to find a dwelling close enough to the Veil for my purposes!"
"The only house that fits that purpose is the Hunt's lair, and that is unfortunately occupied." Stefan growled at her anger. "Do not blame me for losing your place in Faerie. I warned you. Many times."
The woman turned to stare at him. "It is only a minor setback to our plans," she said. "And this will do. For now."
"My Hunt needs to eat," Stefan said. "They will not be pleased to exist on humans. Elvish blood is like fine wine. Human blood is vinegar."
Jordan pressed one hand over his mouth to stop himself from whimpering. He was human, after all. And what Hunt? This man--this was not Gabriel. Jordan had seen Gabriel once before, at a distance.
The woman sniffed. "Exist on animals for the moment. We do not want the Council to get involved." She drifted around the room again, and Jordan scrunched himself into a tiny ball to escape her notice. "Are you certain this house is not occupied? I sense--" She vanished through the doorway into the kitchen and out of Jordan's view.
She would see the pile of his clothing, and the rest of his supplies, and then she would know that he was there.
He closed his eye for a brief moment to gather his courage, and then jumped to his feet.
Stefan shouted, but Jordan had already passed the parlor doorway and was on his way to the front door--and freedom. He slipped on a chunk of plaster and fell against the wall as something dark and deadly flew past him and blew out one of the remaining windows on the door.
Glass rained down on the warped floorboards. The door itself burst into flames, the dry wood crackling in the sudden heat.
Jordan pushed himself away from the wall. He took a step towards the door and felt the woman's hand close over his arm--she'd appeared on his blind side--to pull him back. Panicked, he kicked at her and tried to twist away, but she spoke a spell that turned her fingers to writhing ropes that curled around his arms and legs until he could not move.
Then she let him fall, as if he did not matter.
"A human. A human child, Stefan."
"I--" Before Stefan could stutter his apology--if he intended to apologize at all--, he jerked back as if she had hit him. "Magdalen--"
"I did not give you leave to speak my name," the woman said. "Especially in front of our little eavesdropper." Ignoring the glass on the floor, she hooked one finger in between the ropes around Jordan's legs and dragged him into the parlor. "What shall I do with you, then?"
"Please--Please don't hurt me," Jordan whispered, his throat dry. He had wanted to scream, but no one would have heard him anyway. The house had no neighbors. A refuge had suddenly become an isolated prison.
"What are you doing here, child?" Magdalen's voice oozed with sudden warmth. "Did you run away from somewhere? Is anyone looking for you?"
Jordan struggled against the ropes. Her fingers had returned to normal, but if she could make ropes come out of them, then what else could she do?
"I--I live here," he whispered, and felt something slice into his shoulder.
Magdalen turned on Stefan, who had crept up behind her. "He lives here, Stefan! He lives here!"
Stefan's lip curled. "He--He wasn't here when I first visited this house." He was--almost--bowing now, as if he wanted to sink to his knees but didn't dare because of the glass.
"What is your name, child?"
Names were important. Jordan knew that, but he also knew that she would hurt him if he didn't tell her. "J-Jordan. My name is Jordan." His vision blurred with tears.
"Why do you live here, Jordan?" Magdalen bent down over him and cupped his chin in her hand. In the light of the fire, Jordan saw that her hair was dark red, not black. And her eyes--her eyes were cold enough to promise him death.
He would have rather faced the Master of the Hunt than be forced to look into her eyes again.
"I--I have a wild talent," he whispered. "The Council cannot help me, so they sent me here to live."
"And what kind of wild talent do you possess?" Magdalen asked, her voice still sweet.
Jordan bit his lip. "I'm a telepath." He couldn't read their minds; his talent worked only on humans. But he had a feeling it wouldn't matter to Magdalen, since she no doubt intended to kill him anyway.
"I see," Magdalen said, and released him. Jordan's head slammed against the floor hard enough to bring tears to his eyes.
"Ah, yes." Stefan had regained his composure now. His grin was full of sharp white teeth. "I've heard of him. The Council fears his talent."
"Then he could be useful," Magdalen said, and turned towards the parlor again. "We have a lot of work to do, Stefan. Put him somewhere safe."
By the light of the flickering fire--which had spread now to the front wall--Jordan saw someone else in the parlor. But this person's fate seemed to be sealed already. He sat in a battered wooden chair, bound hand and foot, his head lowered to his chest.
"No, wait," Magdalen said as Stefan hauled Jordan up by the ropes wrapped around his chest. "Wait. I want him to see this. I want him to know my power."
"Is that wise?" Stefan asked, dropping him again.
Magdalen shrugged, then seemed to notice the flames for the first time. Their reflection danced in her gaze as she watched them. "Hmm."
"If you burn down the house, you won't have much of a sanctuary," Stefan commented, following her gaze.
"I won't be burning the house in Faerie," Magdalen said, and called up a wind so the flames would spread faster.
Stefan dragged Jordan into a corner of the parlor and left him lying in the middle of a pile of debris. Jordan lay petrified for a long moment as Stefan and Magdalen gathered around the person in the chair, but they seemed content to leave him alone.
For now, at least.
Neither Stefan nor Magdalen seemed to have a problem working in the dark. The moonlight and the flames illuminated the parlor enough for Jordan to watch their actions, but he truly did not realize what they had done until Magdalen held a thin dagger up to the light and then plunged it into her prisoner's chest.
Jordan heard a high keening sound coming from somewhere, but didn't realize it came from his own throat until Magdalen turned and threw a spell at him that smothered his voice.
The spell was worse than a gag. He could still breathe, but no sound escaped from his lips.
Panicked now, he fought the ropes, struggling to win free before she killed him too.
"Can you read my mind, Jordan?" Magdalen asked abruptly, turning on him.
Her gaze was so--so scary that Jordan squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, not wanting to see the glittering madness in her eyes.
She laughed, a terrible sound. "So your talent has limits after all. I'm surprised the Council did not think to test it."
The fire was spreading now, across the front of the house, burning every inch of wood that had survived the test of time. A gust of hot air blew down the hallway and stinging embers settled on Jordan's skin.
Magdalen did not seem to notice, or care. Stefan glanced at the flames once or twice, but he, too, seemed unconcerned.
"My Hounds still need to eat," he said when Magdalen slit her prisoner's throat.
"You can have his body when I'm done with him," Magdalen said, and tipped her prisoner out of the chair. "There will be plenty of meat left on his bones for your Hounds."
"And the boy?" Stefan glanced at Jordan, who tried not to tremble at his gaze.
"He may be useful, yet," Magdalen said in a tone of voice that brooked no argument.
Stefan stepped aside, now, to let her work.
Jordan tried not to watch as she opened her prisoner's veins and let his blood pool on the parlor floor, all the while muttering something--a spell?--under her breath. Her long skirt trailed the blood all over the floor, but again, Magdalen did not seem to notice, or care.
The flames continued to spread. Jordan closed his eyes against the heat, unable to escape.
His first indication that something had changed was when the heat vanished. The flames were still there, but they were--fainter now, as if he saw them through--well, a Veil.
The house changed, too. The broken glass on the floor faded away and the windows were whole again. The plaster hanging from the ceilings repaired itself, and elaborate lamps appeared, hanging from the stripped fixtures on the ceilings and walls.
The floors regained their luster, and warped boards flattened and stabilized. There was stained glass around the front door now--the flames were gone. A beautiful Oriental rug appeared out of nowhere under Jordan's body, stretching the across the parlor floor and covering up what was left of the blood.
Outside, it was still nighttime, but the forest had a luminescence now, as if the very leaves of the trees glowed in the dark.
Jordan had never ventured far enough into the forest to cross through the Veil between the Human World and Faerie. Lucas had warned him about the Veil, and taught him how to notice the subtle signs that he had crossed the ever-shifting line.
He had not, however, mentioned that a structure could exist differently in the Human World and Faerie, as this house now did.
Quite suddenly, he realized that the fire still burned in the Human World, and that if Malachi did return, he would find the house in flames and Jordan nowhere to be seen. What would he do then? Give up? Return to his Master empty-handed?
Shadowy furniture had appeared in the parlor now, and as he glanced down the hall, he saw that the kitchen looked very different as well. On the other side of the hallway, the missing spindles on the staircase were back, and the whole dusty banister gleamed as if it had been newly polished.
"This will do," Magdalen said, and the transformed house shivered at her words.
"Impressive," Stefan said. He vanished from Jordan's sight for a moment, his footsteps echoing on a wood floor that shone in the lamplight.
Jordan shivered too. Would she kill him now? Or were there--things that she could do with a human boy like she had done to her prisoner?
If Malachi returned, would he think that Jordan was dead? Would he even bother to look for him? Would Lucas?
"And now, for you," Magdalen said, and suddenly, she stood over him, the glittering madness in her gaze muted now. "You cannot read my thoughts?"
Jordan shook his head.
"Does your talent only work on humans, then?"
He nodded, desperately. Would she keep him alive for that reason? Did the elves have any dealings with humans?
"Hmm."
A black Hound appeared in the doorway, followed by four others and their Master--Stefan. The Hounds fell upon the body, growling and snapping at each other like a pack of wild dogs.
Magdalen watched them with pursed lips. "I would have rather they eat outside," she said. "But it doesn't matter now; we're beyond Council awareness at the moment."
She smiled at Stefan, who watched his Hounds with a hunger of his own. "Do not hesitate to shift on my account. I will take care of our guest."
Stefan took her words as invitation, and shifted shape into a large black Hound. Jordan watched with wide eyes as he approached--and the others slunk away, giving him top choice of the feast.
He saw the prisoner's face--as yet unmarked by the Hounds' hunger--and his delicately pointed ears, now stained with blood. An elf. It seemed wrong, somehow, that his first sighting of an elf would be this.
He could not watch when Stefan tore out the elf's throat.
Magdalen vanished for a moment, moving too quickly for Jordan to track her progress. When she returned, she lifted him easily with a handful of rope and dragged him up the stairs.
Which were, of course, magically restored. The bedroom he had been sleeping in was a girl's room now, with a canopy bed and light, airy wallpaper. A lamp burned on a small table beside the bed, and for a moment, Jordan thought he saw a small figure asleep under the covers.
It must have been a trick of the shadows, however, because when he blinked, the figure vanished. And Magdalen did not mention it.
There was a closet in this room, and it had been a narrow, dusty place choked with decaying clothes and mouse nests. He had left it alone, because the floor was rotten and full of holes. Now, it housed only air and a pair of old-fashioned shoes lying forgotten in the far corner.
Magdalen pushed him inside the closet and shut the door. A moment later--even though there had been no key in the lock--he heard a key turn and a lock engage.
And then, faintly through the thick door, the click of Magdalen's footsteps as she left him alone in the darkness.
Next Update: September 7th
He had also lied to Malachi and Emle. Lucas had told him to stay near the house and he had not ventured far from its safety, especially during the night.
In truth, he was a little afraid of the dark, especially this far from the comforting glow of streetlights and the normalcy of civilization. He would never last in town, of course; the din made it difficult to think, much less function.
That was how he had ended up at Darkbrook, after all. And even there, he had been treated with caution; almost fear. No one liked having their innermost thoughts exposed.
He stared at his pile of possessions, and then at his backpack and duffel bag, which was all he could carry at once. He would have to leave some things behind. He could only carry so much.
His leg hurt from his fall down the stairs, but he ignored the pain and packed half of his clothes, taking care to wrap his breakable supplies inside his shirt and pants.
Malachi and Emle had asked him to wait until dawn, but he knew they wouldn't return. No one wanted him. It hurt to admit that, but he should have been used to rejection by now.
He glanced out the kitchen window at the darkness beyond and shivered. Perhaps he should wait until dawn. In daylight, the forest was much easier to navigate. And surely Malachi would not return.
A soft sound in the hallway caught his attention, and he froze in place, his hands clutching the folds of a t-shirt as he stared beyond the door. The light of his portable lantern would give him away for sure--he had not thought to be cautious.
He quickly turned it down and off, just in case, and tiptoed to the door.
His night vision was next to nil in the darkness, but he had lived in the house for long enough to know the locations of most of the piles of debris. The chunks of plaster that lined the hallway were new, however, and he stubbed his toes more than once as he inched down the narrow corridor.
There was someone standing in the parlor. At first, Jordan thought the figure was a trick of the moonlight that shone through the shattered window frames, but when the figure moved, he drew back and struggled not to breathe.
"There are Council wards around this house." The voice that came from the darkest corners of the parlor held no warmth at all. Jordan shivered.
"We'll have to work around them," the figure standing in the moonlight said. "But that is all. This house has been abandoned for quite some time. And it is close to our--prize."
"But is it close enough to the Veil?" The woman appeared from the darkness, her gown sweeping across the glass-littered floor as easily as if she strode through a garden. In the moonlight, her hair was jet black. "It takes power to move the Veil, Stefan. And more power to fix it in place."
"It is less than a mile away."
They were obviously not human, Jordan thought, with their talk of the Veil. He knew there were elves in Faerie, of course; everyone knew that. And from their flowery talk, Jordan suspected that they were both elves.
"A mile may well be too far," the woman snapped. "I will not have my plans destroyed because you were not intelligent enough to find a dwelling close enough to the Veil for my purposes!"
"The only house that fits that purpose is the Hunt's lair, and that is unfortunately occupied." Stefan growled at her anger. "Do not blame me for losing your place in Faerie. I warned you. Many times."
The woman turned to stare at him. "It is only a minor setback to our plans," she said. "And this will do. For now."
"My Hunt needs to eat," Stefan said. "They will not be pleased to exist on humans. Elvish blood is like fine wine. Human blood is vinegar."
Jordan pressed one hand over his mouth to stop himself from whimpering. He was human, after all. And what Hunt? This man--this was not Gabriel. Jordan had seen Gabriel once before, at a distance.
The woman sniffed. "Exist on animals for the moment. We do not want the Council to get involved." She drifted around the room again, and Jordan scrunched himself into a tiny ball to escape her notice. "Are you certain this house is not occupied? I sense--" She vanished through the doorway into the kitchen and out of Jordan's view.
She would see the pile of his clothing, and the rest of his supplies, and then she would know that he was there.
He closed his eye for a brief moment to gather his courage, and then jumped to his feet.
Stefan shouted, but Jordan had already passed the parlor doorway and was on his way to the front door--and freedom. He slipped on a chunk of plaster and fell against the wall as something dark and deadly flew past him and blew out one of the remaining windows on the door.
Glass rained down on the warped floorboards. The door itself burst into flames, the dry wood crackling in the sudden heat.
Jordan pushed himself away from the wall. He took a step towards the door and felt the woman's hand close over his arm--she'd appeared on his blind side--to pull him back. Panicked, he kicked at her and tried to twist away, but she spoke a spell that turned her fingers to writhing ropes that curled around his arms and legs until he could not move.
Then she let him fall, as if he did not matter.
"A human. A human child, Stefan."
"I--" Before Stefan could stutter his apology--if he intended to apologize at all--, he jerked back as if she had hit him. "Magdalen--"
"I did not give you leave to speak my name," the woman said. "Especially in front of our little eavesdropper." Ignoring the glass on the floor, she hooked one finger in between the ropes around Jordan's legs and dragged him into the parlor. "What shall I do with you, then?"
"Please--Please don't hurt me," Jordan whispered, his throat dry. He had wanted to scream, but no one would have heard him anyway. The house had no neighbors. A refuge had suddenly become an isolated prison.
"What are you doing here, child?" Magdalen's voice oozed with sudden warmth. "Did you run away from somewhere? Is anyone looking for you?"
Jordan struggled against the ropes. Her fingers had returned to normal, but if she could make ropes come out of them, then what else could she do?
"I--I live here," he whispered, and felt something slice into his shoulder.
Magdalen turned on Stefan, who had crept up behind her. "He lives here, Stefan! He lives here!"
Stefan's lip curled. "He--He wasn't here when I first visited this house." He was--almost--bowing now, as if he wanted to sink to his knees but didn't dare because of the glass.
"What is your name, child?"
Names were important. Jordan knew that, but he also knew that she would hurt him if he didn't tell her. "J-Jordan. My name is Jordan." His vision blurred with tears.
"Why do you live here, Jordan?" Magdalen bent down over him and cupped his chin in her hand. In the light of the fire, Jordan saw that her hair was dark red, not black. And her eyes--her eyes were cold enough to promise him death.
He would have rather faced the Master of the Hunt than be forced to look into her eyes again.
"I--I have a wild talent," he whispered. "The Council cannot help me, so they sent me here to live."
"And what kind of wild talent do you possess?" Magdalen asked, her voice still sweet.
Jordan bit his lip. "I'm a telepath." He couldn't read their minds; his talent worked only on humans. But he had a feeling it wouldn't matter to Magdalen, since she no doubt intended to kill him anyway.
"I see," Magdalen said, and released him. Jordan's head slammed against the floor hard enough to bring tears to his eyes.
"Ah, yes." Stefan had regained his composure now. His grin was full of sharp white teeth. "I've heard of him. The Council fears his talent."
"Then he could be useful," Magdalen said, and turned towards the parlor again. "We have a lot of work to do, Stefan. Put him somewhere safe."
By the light of the flickering fire--which had spread now to the front wall--Jordan saw someone else in the parlor. But this person's fate seemed to be sealed already. He sat in a battered wooden chair, bound hand and foot, his head lowered to his chest.
"No, wait," Magdalen said as Stefan hauled Jordan up by the ropes wrapped around his chest. "Wait. I want him to see this. I want him to know my power."
"Is that wise?" Stefan asked, dropping him again.
Magdalen shrugged, then seemed to notice the flames for the first time. Their reflection danced in her gaze as she watched them. "Hmm."
"If you burn down the house, you won't have much of a sanctuary," Stefan commented, following her gaze.
"I won't be burning the house in Faerie," Magdalen said, and called up a wind so the flames would spread faster.
Stefan dragged Jordan into a corner of the parlor and left him lying in the middle of a pile of debris. Jordan lay petrified for a long moment as Stefan and Magdalen gathered around the person in the chair, but they seemed content to leave him alone.
For now, at least.
Neither Stefan nor Magdalen seemed to have a problem working in the dark. The moonlight and the flames illuminated the parlor enough for Jordan to watch their actions, but he truly did not realize what they had done until Magdalen held a thin dagger up to the light and then plunged it into her prisoner's chest.
Jordan heard a high keening sound coming from somewhere, but didn't realize it came from his own throat until Magdalen turned and threw a spell at him that smothered his voice.
The spell was worse than a gag. He could still breathe, but no sound escaped from his lips.
Panicked now, he fought the ropes, struggling to win free before she killed him too.
"Can you read my mind, Jordan?" Magdalen asked abruptly, turning on him.
Her gaze was so--so scary that Jordan squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, not wanting to see the glittering madness in her eyes.
She laughed, a terrible sound. "So your talent has limits after all. I'm surprised the Council did not think to test it."
The fire was spreading now, across the front of the house, burning every inch of wood that had survived the test of time. A gust of hot air blew down the hallway and stinging embers settled on Jordan's skin.
Magdalen did not seem to notice, or care. Stefan glanced at the flames once or twice, but he, too, seemed unconcerned.
"My Hounds still need to eat," he said when Magdalen slit her prisoner's throat.
"You can have his body when I'm done with him," Magdalen said, and tipped her prisoner out of the chair. "There will be plenty of meat left on his bones for your Hounds."
"And the boy?" Stefan glanced at Jordan, who tried not to tremble at his gaze.
"He may be useful, yet," Magdalen said in a tone of voice that brooked no argument.
Stefan stepped aside, now, to let her work.
Jordan tried not to watch as she opened her prisoner's veins and let his blood pool on the parlor floor, all the while muttering something--a spell?--under her breath. Her long skirt trailed the blood all over the floor, but again, Magdalen did not seem to notice, or care.
The flames continued to spread. Jordan closed his eyes against the heat, unable to escape.
His first indication that something had changed was when the heat vanished. The flames were still there, but they were--fainter now, as if he saw them through--well, a Veil.
The house changed, too. The broken glass on the floor faded away and the windows were whole again. The plaster hanging from the ceilings repaired itself, and elaborate lamps appeared, hanging from the stripped fixtures on the ceilings and walls.
The floors regained their luster, and warped boards flattened and stabilized. There was stained glass around the front door now--the flames were gone. A beautiful Oriental rug appeared out of nowhere under Jordan's body, stretching the across the parlor floor and covering up what was left of the blood.
Outside, it was still nighttime, but the forest had a luminescence now, as if the very leaves of the trees glowed in the dark.
Jordan had never ventured far enough into the forest to cross through the Veil between the Human World and Faerie. Lucas had warned him about the Veil, and taught him how to notice the subtle signs that he had crossed the ever-shifting line.
He had not, however, mentioned that a structure could exist differently in the Human World and Faerie, as this house now did.
Quite suddenly, he realized that the fire still burned in the Human World, and that if Malachi did return, he would find the house in flames and Jordan nowhere to be seen. What would he do then? Give up? Return to his Master empty-handed?
Shadowy furniture had appeared in the parlor now, and as he glanced down the hall, he saw that the kitchen looked very different as well. On the other side of the hallway, the missing spindles on the staircase were back, and the whole dusty banister gleamed as if it had been newly polished.
"This will do," Magdalen said, and the transformed house shivered at her words.
"Impressive," Stefan said. He vanished from Jordan's sight for a moment, his footsteps echoing on a wood floor that shone in the lamplight.
Jordan shivered too. Would she kill him now? Or were there--things that she could do with a human boy like she had done to her prisoner?
If Malachi returned, would he think that Jordan was dead? Would he even bother to look for him? Would Lucas?
"And now, for you," Magdalen said, and suddenly, she stood over him, the glittering madness in her gaze muted now. "You cannot read my thoughts?"
Jordan shook his head.
"Does your talent only work on humans, then?"
He nodded, desperately. Would she keep him alive for that reason? Did the elves have any dealings with humans?
"Hmm."
A black Hound appeared in the doorway, followed by four others and their Master--Stefan. The Hounds fell upon the body, growling and snapping at each other like a pack of wild dogs.
Magdalen watched them with pursed lips. "I would have rather they eat outside," she said. "But it doesn't matter now; we're beyond Council awareness at the moment."
She smiled at Stefan, who watched his Hounds with a hunger of his own. "Do not hesitate to shift on my account. I will take care of our guest."
Stefan took her words as invitation, and shifted shape into a large black Hound. Jordan watched with wide eyes as he approached--and the others slunk away, giving him top choice of the feast.
He saw the prisoner's face--as yet unmarked by the Hounds' hunger--and his delicately pointed ears, now stained with blood. An elf. It seemed wrong, somehow, that his first sighting of an elf would be this.
He could not watch when Stefan tore out the elf's throat.
Magdalen vanished for a moment, moving too quickly for Jordan to track her progress. When she returned, she lifted him easily with a handful of rope and dragged him up the stairs.
Which were, of course, magically restored. The bedroom he had been sleeping in was a girl's room now, with a canopy bed and light, airy wallpaper. A lamp burned on a small table beside the bed, and for a moment, Jordan thought he saw a small figure asleep under the covers.
It must have been a trick of the shadows, however, because when he blinked, the figure vanished. And Magdalen did not mention it.
There was a closet in this room, and it had been a narrow, dusty place choked with decaying clothes and mouse nests. He had left it alone, because the floor was rotten and full of holes. Now, it housed only air and a pair of old-fashioned shoes lying forgotten in the far corner.
Magdalen pushed him inside the closet and shut the door. A moment later--even though there had been no key in the lock--he heard a key turn and a lock engage.
And then, faintly through the thick door, the click of Magdalen's footsteps as she left him alone in the darkness.
Next Update: September 7th
House St. Clair Home
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