Chapter 16
Two days later, the unsuccessful Hunt for Jordan was beginning to wind down. Not one of the searchers had found any sign of him, and even the Council feared that he had been lost in the fire. But despite the fact that his Master had made no mention of forcing them to resume their Hound forms, Malachi could not shake the feeling that something was still very wrong.
Even his Master had noticed. But Malachi could not explain, and Gabriel had not pushed.
In fact, he hadn't insisted on anything, other than to request--and it was a request, not an order--that they be very circumspect when they were in human form.
He had even allowed the others to shift as well.
But that feeling of unease never left. It was almost as if his mind struggled against something--something he did not know--and would not let it rest. It even haunted his dreams. Even Eri's attempts to engage him had not worked, and he had snapped at her on more than one occassion.
In that respect, it was no surprise that he had taken to avoiding the others these past two days. Even in human form he could not shake the feeling that something was wrong.
"Malachi?"
He jumped at Emle's voice, so intent on his thoughts that he hadn't heard her approach. "Milady?"
Emle settled down on the stone bench beside him. "Gabriel asked that I come out and keep you company. You are not yourself lately."
No, he wasn't. He was jumpy and irritable and confused. "I am sorry," he said aloud. "I don't know what's wrong. Perhaps it is the waiting for the Council's binding to expire."
"Perhaps." But she did not sound convinced. And in truth, Malachi didn't think that was the problem, either. No, it was something else. "Do you feel ill?" Emle asked. "If we called Sennet, do you think that would help?"
Malachi laughed. "I'm not dying. I have no wounds for her to heal." But she had healed him, two days ago. He had not told his Master of those wounds, and Gabriel had not remarked upon the fresh scars on his arm. Perhaps he had not noticed. Did they have something to do with the reason behind his foul mood? "I am sorry, milady. Perhaps it is merely the anticipation that something will go wrong."
He caught her stricken glance. "Not with you--but the binding. After living under the Council's rule for so long--"
"Lucas is an honorable man," Emle said. "I cannot see him forcing the Hunt into another binding."
"He is not the only one who will have to make that decision," Malachi said. He managed to dredge up a smile. "I am sorry, milady. I am certain my mood will pass, in time." I just wish I knew what was wrong. But he did not say that out loud.
Later, after she had left him, Malachi found himself at odds with the peaceful garden. With no thought but to find a bite to eat--a rabbit, perhaps, or a bird--he wandered into the forest, aimlessly roaming through the trees.
When he came across the clearing where the ruins of the Daulton house stood, he stopped at the very edge of the trees and stared at the destruction.
He had not returned to the site since the fire. Nathaniel had--and Seth, he thought--but he had stayed away. It had been bad enough seeing the house in flames and realizing that Jordan might be inside.
It had rained since then, and ash lay in wet clumps everywhere, staining the burned grass black and leaving its mark upon everything. The walls that still stood bore the angry marks from the flames, and here and there, bits of melted glass sparkled in the sunlight.
It was not a fitting monument for a ten-year-old child.
Malachi turned away from the carnage. But as he turned, a glint of something--metal? Glass?--caught his eye.
It was in a place no metal or glass should have been after the fire. Suspended in midair, with nothing to support it, was a window.
Malachi blinked. Yes, it was a window. Whole and unbroken, in the same spot as the parlor would have been if the house was yet intact.
Without even realizing he had moved, he found he had taken a step into the clearing. He froze, half-expecting some sort of alarm to sound, but nothing happened. The window stayed where it was, hanging in midair.
Only now--now there was a door as well. And as he watched, the rest of the house slowly appeared, in bits and pieces, until it was whole again.
He didn't realize that the bond was gone from his mind until he tried to contact his Master to tell him of this new wrinkle in Jordan's disappearance. For a moment, he froze in place, unable to comprehend the reason why the bond might be missing. Surely he hadn't been so distracted as to miss-- He took a step backwards, into the forest again and felt the familiar presence of the bond return. The house returned to ruins as well, much quicker than it had reappeared.
It had to be a spell, then, surrounding the house. Someone's spell. A dampening spell. If he knew more about magic, he might be able to combat it.
But if there had been a spell around the house as it burned, could Jordan have accidentally gotten caught in such a spell?
He owed it to the boy to find out.
Cautiously, he approached the house, watching as it restored itself again as soon as he entered the confines of the dampening spell. He padded up to the front door only after watching the house for a moment for any sign of habitation, and nudged it open with his nose.
The hallway beyond was restored as well, with shining wood floors, and furniture that would have looked right at home in a museum. The rugs on the floor smelled of silk and wool, costly things that muffled his footsteps as he inched down the hall.
Jordan had not seen him in the form of a Hound. Did he dare shift shape, just in case?
The house smelled strange. Empty, yes, but also filled with a presence that seemed to watch his progress, as if biding its time.
Strangely enough, somehow, he remembered seeing this house restored before.
"Now," a voice said, urgently.
Something peeled away from Malachi's mind. He screamed--yes, screamed--he had shifted shape in the moment between the spell's removal and the realization of what he had been forced to forget.
"I did doubt your word that he would return," Stefan said, and pulled Malachi to his feet before he could think to defend himself.
He saw two Stefans for a long moment--two Magdalens and eight black Hounds. His skin remembered the tear their teeth and the smell of blood on their breath.
He tried to think, but even that escaped him; he could not force his mind to hold any manner of sense.
"Hmm," Magdalen said. "A little too severe of a reaction, I think. Were you trying to escape my spell?"
She touched his face and he jerked back, a raw, animal reaction to her presence.
My lord--oh, please-- But the dampening spell still held, and he could not feel the bond in the back of his mind.
He had never felt this pain before, from any punishment he had endured. Had never thought to feel such pain. He whimpered, sagging in Stefan's arms, unable to reply to her question.
When she spoke the words of the truthspell again, he sobbed. He did not beg for his life. He knew she would not grant him absolution.
He could not fight her. Could not fight the spells, or her power. And yet, the knowledge he held about the Hunt--about Emle--
"How long will it take for your Master to realize your absence?" Magdalen asked.
"I don't know." Malachi did not recognize his own voice. Yet, even as he spoke, he realized that a piece of his mind was struggling to win free of her spell.
Perhaps it was the same piece of his mind that had managed to allow him to shift shape all these years. If he truly did have some sort of talent in that respect, he wished he had more control of it now.
"Why don't you know?" Magdalen asked. "How does it work, then?"
"H-He could open it at any time," Malachi whispered, his throat locking as he tried not to answer. "And he would realize I am gone."
"Did he miss you last time?" Stefan asked.
Last time, there had been another person in the room. Althea. Yes. A member of the Council. A traitor. "No."
"How can the bond be broken?"
"By--By the death of a Hound," Malachi whispered. Would he be that Hound? Did she intend to kill him?
Magdalen nodded, as if she had already suspected that reply. "Who created the wards that shield your home from the outside world? Gabriel is no wizard."
Malachi's mind hurt too much to even consider disobeying. "Josiah. Our Master asked Josiah to create them."
Inexplicably, Stefan began to laugh.
Magdalen spluttered, turned white, and spun away from him, the fury in her gaze even frightening the black Hounds. They slunk out of her way, as if expecting that she would attack at any moment.
When she did attack, Malachi could not defend himself.
She wrapped one hand around Malachi's throat. "Who did you say?"
"He said Josiah," Stefan said. "You heard aright." He released Malachi's arms, which put even more pressure on Magdalen's grip around his throat.
With an oath, Magdalen tossed him aside. He hit the wall and slid into a heap on the floor, gasping for air. Flee--you have to flee--but he could not sort out his arms and legs to make his way to the door. At least now he could think, though, and wonder why Josiah's name had thrown her into such a fury.
"Is Josiah a Hound?" She spat out the question, but didn't give him a chance to reply. "Is Josiah a Hound?"
Is? Malachi had only a moment to wonder before the truthspell forced him to answer. "Yes." He closed his eyes. Surely there had to be a way around a truthspell. Surely.
What if her next question was about Emle?
But now, it was Magdalen's turn to laugh. "Damn him!"
"I believe he is thrice damned already," Stefan said. "Are you certain Josiah Hunt is dead?"
Malachi struggled to comprehend their words. Did they mean--was Josiah alive? Even after the--the touch through the bond they all had felt, Malachi had not believed that Josiah still lived. Not after ten years.
"The spell was broken," Magdalen said, as if she had forgotten Malachi's presence. "So I'm not certain, no."
One of the black Hounds growled at Malachi. He stiffened, half-expecting another attack, but it just snapped at him on its way past.
It was only about ten feet to the door. If he shifted shape and ran for it, would the black Hounds hunt him down?
"Who is Emle, Malachi?" Magdalen's voice was soft now, and he realized that in a roundabout way, this was the question whose answer she desired the most. His struggles redoubled, but the compulsion was there despite his efforts, forcing his mouth to open.
And then--something cracked. A gush of hot blood poured from Malachi's nose for a moment, and he choked on the answer to her question and struggled to breathe. When he opened his eyes, he saw double again, but the compulsion--the truthspell--was gone. Its destruction drove daggers of pain into his brain, but his mind was clearer now than it had been for the past two days.
"Whoi s Emle?" Magdalen demanded.
"An elf," Malachi whispered. He had to force himself not to embroider his telling; he didn't want to raise her suspicions any farther.
But at least--at least he could protect Emle.
"What relationship does she have with your Master?" Magdalen asked.
"I don't know," Malachi whispered. "She--" He bit back the rest of that sentence and waited for her to demand that he finish it.
"She what?"
"She--She is very beautiful," Malachi said. Which was the truth. Magdalen couldn't fault that, at the very least.
"That is strange," Magdalen said, her voice suddenly soft. "Because I heard that your Master and Emle's husband were one in the same." She stood over top of him now, her gaze burning. "And if that is truth--and I doubt the child Jordan would have dared to lie to me--then you are lying to me And that should not be possible."
She had spoken to Jordan. That meant--perhaps--that Jordan still lived, and--perhaps--was a prisoner inside of this house.
Malachi knew that he could not allow her to force him to forget again. If she let him go this time. She knew about Emle. And that meant Emle was in grave danger.
And if Emle was in danger, then Eri was in even graver danger. He had a feeling, though, that Magdalen knew nothing about Eri. Yet.
Before he could flee, she hauled him up and pressed him against the wall. "How did you break my truthspell?"
Malachi shifted shape and twisted out of her grasp. He hit the floor hard, his left leg buckling, but he forced it to hold his weight and ran for the door without any thought as to how he would get it open.
But before he could reach the door, Stefan's Hounds attacked, appearing all around him with snapping teeth and tearing claws. There were far too many for even a Hound of the Wild Hunt to fight and they showed no mercy.
Malachi fought far beyond the threshold of any pain. Dimly, over the din of barks and growls and snapping teeth, he heard Magdalen screeching Stefan's name--no doubt to call of his Hounds. But their lust for his blood had destroyed Stefan's control.
They were not like the Hunt, in this respect. If Gabriel had ordered his Hounds to stand down, he would have been obeyed. But Stefan's Hounds did not obey.
One tore a hole in Malachi's shoulder, another latched onto his leg, bearing him down under its weight. He heard something snap, and suddenly, his front right leg hung useless in a whirlwind of pain.
But when Stefan's teeth closed over his throat, Malachi froze, realizing that he had failed in his bid for freedom.
The black Hounds drew away, leaving Stefan alone with his teeth locked around Malachi's throat.
"Release him," Magdalen ordered, barely suppressing her fury. She spoke the truthspell again--with much more force this time--and Malachi moaned as it latched itself into his mind.
Stefan shifted shape and stood, wiping Malachi's blood from his lips. "Is that necessary? He'll just break it again. How do you know if you can trust anything he says?"
"He won't escape this time," Magdalen said. "Can you force him to shift into human shape?"
Each breath was an agony now, and when Malachi tried to move, his ribs grated together. He could no more shift than he could contact his Master.
"Of course I can't," Stefan snapped. "He is not my Hound."
Magdalen's fists clenched. "Damn him and his Hounds." When she reached down for Malachi, he flinched away from her, desperate to prevent any further pain.
But she only--only?--spoke her spell again, the one that made him forget what he now knew. What he had to tell his Master. He closed his eyes.
"What if he dies from these wounds?"
"Then he will die and the Hunt will be in chaos." Malachi heard the shrug in Magdalen's voice. "He broke my spell, Stefan! He broke my spell!"
"Perhaps the Hunt isn't as powerless as you think." A pause. "Do you truly want Gabriel to suspect your involvement in his death?"
An even longer pause. Malachi thought--at first--that he had gone deaf.
"If your Hounds had not attacked him--"
"Do not blame this on me," Stefan said quietly. "My Hounds prevented his escape. Nothing more."
Stefan. His name was Stefan. Somewhere through the pain, Malachi remembered that. Stefan. He recited the name like a mantra, forcing his mind past the pain.
Would he get a chance to say that name to his Master?
"Then what do you suggest? We cannot keep him here--"
"You made Josiah disappear--make him vanish as well. Can you suppress their bond?"
No! Malachi wanted to shout the word, but he couldn't find the strength. A tiny voice in the back of his mind asked, She made Josiah disappear?
"The dampening spell suppresses the bond," the woman--Malachi could not remember her name--said. "But it's visible as well, and I don't want the Council poking around here just yet."
Stefan snorted. "Then you've failed. I may as well tear out his throat and put him out of his misery."
"No. If he survives, he will return here. We still may need the knowledge he possesses."
Malachi sensed a Hound's approach, and he tried to brace himself for another attack. He opened his eyes and tried to shift into a better position to defend himself, but the Hound stopped a few feet away--on the floor, not the rug--its manner unthreatening now. Wary, yes. But staring at him steadily, unafraid.
He had no idea if he could communicate with such a creature. Help me--
The Hound blinked. Its gaze darted towards its Master, who had not noticed a thing; Stefan's argument with the red-haired woman had not abated.
Can you teach me how to shift shape?
Her voice was strong for a Hound, clear and unwavering. In any other situation, Malachi would have demanded to know where she had learned to speak this way; he'd sensed nothing from the Hounds during the attack.
I--I can try, he said, and wondered if the others could hear their conversation. Wouldn't they inform their Master? Can anyone else hear this?
They are Hounds, nothing more, the Hound said, almost dismissively.
And you are not? He closed his eyes as a shudder twinged through his body, and he had to bite his lip to keep from shifting shape. If he shifted shape, she would ask him another question, and--
No. She hesitated when her Master approached, but he only bent down to press his fingers against Malachi's throat to make sure he still lived. I would try to help you escape.
He noticed that she didn't promise him anything, and he liked her for it. She could no more promise to help him escape than he could guarantee he would be able to teach her how to shift shape. She still had to obey her Master, after all.
Before Malachi could reply, Stefan grabbed both back legs and pulled him into the parlor.
"No one would question his presence here, and the dampening spell could be a result of the fire," he said.
When Malachi opened his eyes, he saw that Stefan held a dagger in one hand. The red-haired woman watched from a few feet away, her eyes bright.
Panicked, he tried to rise, but his broken leg buckled, sending waves of pain to smother him. He snapped at Stefan--a useless pursuit--but Stefan evaded his lunge without even trying.
When he sliced along the edges of Malachi's wounds, making them less like bites and more like gouges, Malachi collapsed, unable to bear any more of the pain.
"This will work?"
"He was investigating something--perhaps even the dampening spell--and he fell through a weak part of the floor. If Gabriel finds him in time, he won't become suspicious. I can assure you of that."
Stefan pushed his hand through the floor and emerged with a handful of ashes mixed with bits of glass, which he rubbed into Malachi's fur and lathered into his wounds.
"The basement is filled with water," the red-haired woman said, musing.
"Then he will drown," Stefan said calmly.
When the acrid stench of wet ash intruded upon his senses, Malachi knew he was back in the human world. He tried to stand, to struggle to his feet or, failing that, to crawl to the edge of the forest where the dampening spell did not reach, but he something snagged his back leg--and his front legs refused to support his weight. Before he could try to free himself from the obstruction--and what had he done to deserve this pain?--the ground opened up beneath him.
He fell--badly--tumbling down into brackish water filled with choking ash and chunks of debris--and sank like a stone into darkness.
A fitting grave. He only wished he could remember what he so desperately wanted to tell his Master before he died.
What had he done to deserve this pain?
Something tore at his shoulder, then latched onto his broken leg. It pulled, but even that held no hope to rouse him. He drifted now, in a raging inferno that would not be sated.
Breathe!
The voice seeped through the fog that surrounded his mind, tugging him back from the brink of death. He choked and shuddered and drew in a breath that made his broken ribs grate together.
He lay entombed, in darkness. His rescuer was gone, vanished, perhaps never existing. He had no strength to rise and find his way out of the dampening spell and into the forest, which meant he would die here, alone.
A shiver wracked his body and left him weakened in its wake.
When he shifted shape, it was in agony, his lips drawn back in a silent scream. But even that did not help him; despite the oppressive heat and the whine of mosquitos, he shivered in wet clothes, his wounds burning from the ash in the water.
In the end, spent and weakening, he curled up in the midst of the debris, closed his eyes, and gave himself up to the darkness. He had no strength left for living.
Next Update: October 2nd (2 chapters!)
House St. Clair Home
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