Under a blind-man and deaf-man’s spell that covered the four students as well as Mike’s Jeep, they drove into the high school parking lot. It was 12:56 a.m., according to the bank they passed en route. Mike pulled in through the first west entrance on the south side of the school and slowly came to a halt. In amazement, they stared at a new structure glowing in the center of the west lawn where the marching band practiced during the day hours.
Ordinarily, a large wood and metal structure referred to as the band tower loomed over this area. From atop it, the marching band instructor could watch the progress of his students as they choreographed their simultaneous maneuvers. Used to this fifteen-foot high framework day after day, it was only remarkable in that it now towered over a marble edifice that had never been there before. A small, squat building, white and glowing in the night as if lights were trained on it, stood firm, looking like a detailed and expertly carved mausoleum. The image seemed appropriate to Samantha as she eyed this new building, shining in the night like a beacon to the underworld.
“Well, that’s new,” Mike drawled.
They gaped at the obvious invitation laid before them.
“Apparently, they have their own way in and out of the cavern,” Serena said.
“Look at that thing. How come there aren’t more people showing up to gawk at it? It’s like a spotlight advertizing a new store.”
“Because, we’re the only ones who can see it. To everyone else it’s still invisible. It looks like they’ve decided to show us the front door.”
Samantha turned back to Serena. “Would you mind checking it out as Grimalkin? Take a quick look around and let us know what you find?”
“Reconnaissance,” Mike said.
Serena leapt from the Jeep a beautiful young lady, but landed on the dark macadam as a black cat. Samantha and the others tracked her as she darted across the lawn toward the mausoleum. She paused, sniffed around the entrance, then stalked between two Doric columns, before finally disappearing inside.
Samantha leaned back in her seat with her eyes closed. “Okay, she’s inside. There are several vestibules to the left and right, but at the far end is a large marble staircase.”
“What’s Samantha doing?” Andrea was still sitting in the back, but was no longer encased in an air cocoon.
“She and Serena have a telepathic connection,” Mike explained. Then he shushed her.
“She’s started down the stairs, but she can already feel magic invoked. Her hair’s on end. Smelling something sulfuric; that’s not good. She’s at a turn; it’s dark but leads down a long way. With her feline eyesight she can still see, but it’s very gray, almost black. She’s stopped for a moment; she thought she heard something. She just asked me if there is a spell that allows witches to see through the blind-man. I told her no such spell exists as far as I know. She feels like someone is watching her. She’s moving on again, darkness except for a faint glow up ahead. She’s descending… descending.” Samantha paused.
“Up ahead, the glow is…torches. There’s a crossways tunnel at the base of the stairs. She can see the cavern.” Another pause.
“Grimalkin!” Samantha screamed bolting upright. “Someone just about grabbed her! She’s running back up the stairs. She can hear someone chasing her, as well as a skittering sound, like hundreds of rat claws scratching against tile. The skittering noise is faster than the person chasing her, but she’s faster than the claws—by a bit anyway. She’s making headway; she’s way out in front now. The skittering is heading back down and away from her.” A pause, then, “Whoa!”
Mike jumped. “What is it?”
“Stunning spells are ricocheting off the walls, falling all around her.” Samantha gazed through the windshield. Mike and Andrea turned their attention toward the west lawn as well.
A small black form darted out of the mausoleum and sprinted toward the Jeep. Seconds later, Grimalkin jumped up on the back bumper, and Serena joined them in the Jeep. She breathed hard as she took her seat beside Andrea. “Somehow they can see through the blind-man,” she panted.
“If there was a counter-spell, Aunt Clara would have told me. Some witches have spells we don’t know about, but I’ve never heard of anyone seeing through a blind-man other than a Warder.”
“Okay, so they’ll be able to see us,” Mike said. “But, I’m thinking they don’t know about the other entrance. Or if they do know, they must not know that we know about it.”
“Right,” Samantha agreed. “Obviously, if we go in by way of the mausoleum over there, it’s over before it’s even begun. And they’re not coming out to get us because they know we’ve got to come in to get Darren. Let’s get this over with.” She jumped out of the Jeep and headed for the south doors of the school.
Mike grabbed some flashlights from the glove compartment and hurried after her. “Don’t we want to go in through the Rec Center?”
“No need,” she explained as they came up on the south doors. “The Rec Center is closed anyway.”
Serena showed up with Andrea in tow. “So, where’re we goin’?”
“Right here,” Samantha replied. She faced the door as she incanted, “Abs cataracta” and wiggled her nose. This was immediately followed by a metallic click from the doorknob. She looked about, then shrugged. “In for a penny, in for a pound. Expositus.” And the door opened out toward them.
The four students stepped in, finding themselves in a dark hallway. They figured there were no witches inside the school, so they made their way directly to the gym without incident. Performing the same spell on the new gym door, Samantha motioned for Mike to lead the way. The coach’s door was locked this time, but Samantha had them in almost immediately.
“Okay, Mike,” Samantha said, “you’re up.”
Mike moved the coach’s chair and mat to reveal the trapdoor beneath. Keeping one of the flashlights he’d grabbed from the Jeep, he handed the other one to Serena.
They dropped into the underground tunnel, and Mike led the way to the earthen ramp.
“This is the place?” Samantha looked at the sloping earth where Mike had his flashlight trained.
“Yeah, watch.” He set the flashlight at the base of the ramp’s upward slope. He let go, and immediately the flashlight rolled to the top of ramp, spinning shadows crazily as it coasted to a stop.
“Something is under there, all right,” Serena agreed.
Mike grabbed the flashlight and handed it to Andrea. She shined the light down on the earth-covered ramp as Mike began clearing the dirt away. At first, he pulled the dirt downward toward the ground, but it floated back up into place. He looked at the girls who just shrugged. He glowered at the dirt and started pushing it toward the top of the ramp; sure enough, gravity whisked it from his hands, sending it upward into a huge gravity-defying pile.
Once cleared of earth, it revealed a set of wooden doors like those found to the side of homes with outside cellar entrances. Mike stood and glanced over at Samantha.
She smiled timidly. “I wish Crissy were here to tell us what to expect.”
Mike nodded. “Oh, well, here goes.” He placed his fingers into the worn notches in each door panel and pulled them open. They were stiff at first, but soon gave way in squeaking revolt, revealing a black hole that led down deep into the earth. A strong musty odor rose up from the opening—not a healthy, earthy smell, but one that was rank with decay. Mike backed away, waving his hand to clear the air. He turned to Samantha. “Okay, Alice, this is your party.”
“Mike, you know my name’s Samantha. Why did you call me Alice?”
“You know for such a smart person, your education has got some serious holes in it. If we come out of this alive, remind me to introduce you to Lewis Carroll.”
“Is he someone important?”
Mike laughed and pointed to the opening before them as if to say: After you.
Samantha wrinkled her nose. “Please, be my guest.”
Nodding, Mike took the flashlight back from Andrea, shining it down into the abyss. A set of old wooden stairs covered in dust and cobwebs extended down into darkness as far as the glow of light could reach. He played the light further down, but all he saw were more stairs, flanked by rock walls. He placed his foot over the edge and tried the first step. It held his weight so he started down. Samantha followed him with Andrea right behind her and Serena bringing up the rear.
They descended slowly at first, sliding their hands along the side walls for balance in the darkness. Nothing could be heard other than their breathing and the creaking of the dangerous stairway. Samantha left her senses open to any magic being performed. The powerful spells that were at work below already had the hairs on the back of her neck on end.
The darkness pressed against them as they descended further into the unknown. The air seemed to pull at them, sucking them downward. At last, the stone walls tapered off until they disappeared, and the group found themselves at the bottom. The stairs let off into a small open room, about twelve by twelve with a low ceiling, maybe six feet in height; Mike had to stoop. The floor was dirt, and the walls were stone and mortar.
Mike flashed his light around. “Dead end?”
“I hope not,” Samantha replied. “Let’s look around, see what we can find.”
They combed the room, looking for loose rocks, hidden levers, or chinks in the wall that would indicate a doorway. They found no such device or oddity. Andrea, inspecting the wall directly across from the stairway, suddenly shrieked and fell to the ground. The others rushed to her. Her leg had sunk into the dirt adjacent to the wall. “My foot, it’s stuck. Help me!”
They extracted her leg to find a hole that had been loosely filled in with dirt. They scooped the earth out, revealing a small tunnel that went beneath the wall and came up on the other side. A glow from beyond glimmered up through the hole.
Once the dirt was removed, there was plenty of room to slip underneath. One by one, they shimmied through the hole and came up on the other side. Brushing themselves off, they found they were in the middle of a long stone corridor that went off in both directions. It was lit by torches burning in sconces about every ten feet. Samantha and Serena examined the closest one.
“Witches’ fire,” Serena told the other two. “It burns until the spell is removed.”
“We’re definitely in Moloch’s Cavern.” Samantha turned to her familiar. “Do you sense anything?”
Serena shook her head.
“We’re still invisible to people right?” Mike asked.
“Yes,” Samantha replied. “But don’t forget what happened to Serena. We can’t count on it hiding us from everyone. Something or someone down here saw her.”
She glanced in the two directions the corridor led. “We want to find Darren and get him out safely. That is our primary mission. Mike, you and Serena head in that direction. Andrea, you and I will go this way. Serena and I can be in contact at any time, so if you run into trouble, let me know.”
Mike and Andrea shared an unsure look with each other, but gamely set off with their respective witch down into the bowels of the cavern in search of Darren, a Grimoire, and more than likely danger.
***
The last few hours for Darren had been spent surviving a hurricane of whirling emotions. Each one had flown at him and struck with harsh, excruciating thoughts that left him crying like a child lost in the dark. Now, he felt raw, spent, and exhausted as he lay sobbing on the cold hard stone.
The worst had been the dark storm of self-pity that had engulfed him first. It had been heart-wrenching losing Ethan to death a second time. When he’d believed Ethan was alive, he’d been so happy he never considered it was a deceit. He should have known better and entertained doubts, not because it was too good to be true, but because of recent experiences with witches. He should have known better. Why hadn’t he been suspicious of his brother turning up alive after all this time? What an idiot he had been! Tears streamed down the side of his face. He lay there in the gloomy stone room, crying out to God for an explanation. Why had He allowed these demons to torture him like this? Why? Why had they been allowed to stretch his heart to the tearing point?
Self-pity had pelted him ruthlessly for a long time, but, fortunately, it had given way to the hot fierce winds of anger. Those vile creatures from hell! They’d pay for what they’d done! Once he learned how to kill witches with fire, he would melt them to blackened heaps. He’d blast them all, and once they were on fire, he’d strike them again and again until even their ashes were blasted from existence. They’d pay for their cruelty in causing his brother to die a second time. He’d see that they paid and in full. Soon his tears morphed into screams of rage. He battered his chained hands against the stone slab until they were bruised and swollen. He found a strange comfort in his aching hands. They were a physical sign of his determination to follow through with his plan of vengeance.
After these calming winds of anger, an icy spear of guilt froze them out. It stabbed at him with the realization that the warlock’s plan to draw in Samantha would probably work. She would somehow find where they had hidden him, in Moloch’s cavern he’d figured. She and Serena would come to rescue him, and no doubt Mike would be with them. Oh, yeah, Mike. He’d be leading the charge. But what could he do against witches and warlocks? Did he have a plan? No, he was just going to come charging down here thinking his Taekwondo could fight off magic spells, that big-hearted dope. And the warlocks would catch them just like they had him. They’d all be killed. And Darren would be responsible for their deaths. There was nothing he could do to prevent it. He didn’t know how to use fire, and he couldn’t free himself to warn his friends or fight with them. He pulled at the chains in frustration. Let me free!
The vortex of emotions started over again. Then anger blew in and heated him up in time for the ice of guilt to bring him around full circle. And so it went, until he lay in the semi-darkness with tears of frustration drying on his cheeks.
A scraping metallic sound at the door broke the storm of emotions. He looked over where the torch beyond the door cast a pool of light. The person who entered the room should have surprised him, but then again, it also seemed appropriate somehow.
Julander squeezed into the room hefting his bulk from side to side as he waddled toward him. His flabby, red face glowered down on Darren. He had a sour expression as if he’d bitten into something that wasn’t yet ripe. Perched on top of his bald sweaty head were dark goggles. And at the vice-principal’s feet a scroungy looking dog growled deep in its throat.
“Stevens.” He sounded like he was giving words to the dog’s throaty snarl. “It was just a matter of time. We should have gotten rid of you months ago. But I suppose you’re serving your purpose.”
He hauled off and smacked Darren hard across the face. Stars filled Darren’s vision, and a ringing in his left ear accompanied a horrendous stinging numbness that spread down his cheek. For a moment, he couldn’t see out of that eye and blinked it furiously.
“Don’t ask,” Julander drawled. “I just like to do it. Sometimes using a fist is so much more satisfying than the most torturous spell. Don’t look so surprised. I’m sure you suspected I was a warlock. But first, on to business. Your friends sent someone down here a short time ago, but she retreated like the imps of hell were on her tail, which isn’t too far from the truth. She never returned, and it’s the only way in. So, did your friends give up on you?” He stared at Darren for a moment, grimaced, and went on. “I don’t think so. What’s going on?” He marched across the cell. “Do they know something we don’t? Is there another way in?”
Darren glared at the demonic assistant principal. His left eye watered, and blood ran from his mouth and dripped down the side of his face.
“There’s an easy way, and there’s an entertaining way of getting this information from you.” Julander’s fist came down hard against the other side of Darren’s face. This time the stars were fireworks exploding everywhere, and Darren’s jaw ached as if it had been dislocated. He was determined not to cry out, but a grunt escaped him. His heart hammered, and he was breathing in quick harsh successions that he feared sounded like sobbing.
“How are they getting in, Stevens?”
Darren didn’t reply; he just glared at Julander. He liked the idea that Julander believed he was holding back information, but the truth of the matter was he had no idea how to answer the sadistic warlock’s question. How was he supposed to know how they were getting in? He didn’t know how he, himself, had gotten in.
Julander walked to a far corner of the cell and picked up a large, rough stone. He moved it from hand to hand. “Four-thousand years ago, you know what was here?”
Darren remained mute.
“I’ll tell you. Nothing. Nothing but scrub, grasses, sage, and wild berries. Bears, wolves, and buffalo roamed this valley alone for thousands of years. When Moloch came, there were no men; no civilization had walked this land. Finally, the Olmecs arrived from across the ocean. By the time they discovered this valley, the Grimoire had been buried for over eight-hundred years. They destroyed themselves but were eventually replaced by the Mayans, who at least had one group make it this far north. When they found this valley, the Grimoire had been stored down in this cavern for over twelve hundred years. Over the next fifteen centuries, many different tribes moved in and out. Only, a couple of hundred years ago, the Shoshone hunted in this region, eventually killing off all the buffalo. Nevertheless, they failed to notice anything strange here. They were too busy fighting the Utes in the neighboring valley.
“All those millennia, centuries, and years passed away, and no one stumbled across the cavern. The Grimoire molded down here, waiting. Waiting for the right person to come along and snatch it up.”
“And that right person would be you?” Darren glared at the man and the rock in his hand.
“Not just me. The Northern Coven. You wouldn’t understand, but there is fierce loyalty within a coven. The Northern Coven was driven out from the Central Coven only three hundred years ago. The betrayal was unspeakable and we bonded together, swearing vengeance on those who banished us.”
Julander said nothing. He glared into space, either reliving the past or seeing a glorious future. Darren wasn’t sure. “Where did you go?”
Julander looked back at Darren and continued as if he’d never stopped. “We moved north into Canada. It was there our leader, Bhantu, received a prophecy from a demon who, of all things, gave him a spell and tied it into the prophecy of Ghohol, which told of this Valley of Hidden Skins as the location of Moloch’s Grimoire. Of course like everyone else, we had no idea where the Valley of Hidden Skins was to be found. Why should we? The events that named the valley hadn’t yet taken place.
“The trappers moved into this valley and co-existed with the remaining Shoshone for a while, interbred with them. They worked together and killed each other and never dreamed they were sitting on the greatest tome of magic ever written.
“It was at last the Mormons who moved in here after literally thousands of years, and at last created a city, a civilization. Now, the valley is populated with over 115,000 people—religious people, people who fear God. Can you believe that? The greatest defense against witches is religion. Yes, it’s true. Those who call on God have power they don’t fully realize.” Julander moved slowly across the room, smacking the stone into alternating palms as he went.
“Smithfield was settled in 1859. In 1961, they broke ground for the foundation of a great high school to serve the people of this quickly growing valley. For over twenty years, it was the only high school in the Cache Valley School District.” He looked down at his hostage. “You have to know this kind of thing when you’re vice-principal.” His lips curled into a sick smile.
Julander looked carefully at the stone he had picked up and spoke to it. “They dug the foundation deep, right on top of Moloch’s Cavern. But a spell he put in place fooled their equipment. They thought they had built on bedrock.” Looking back at Darren he continued. “We figured out the prophecy in 1962. Somebody put together that ‘cacher’ was French for ‘hide,’ and then come across a book on the founding of this valley, and well…we arrived soon after.
“I stood out on the front lawn in 1965 and incanted that spell given by the demon and voila! The temple was revealed, and we descended below the earth into Moloch’s Cavern. We were the first people to see it in almost three thousand years.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” Darren didn’t have the stomach for a lesson from Julander right now.
“Because we are so close!” The fat man’s face purpled as he spat these words. “After eons of time, we are so close, but we don’t have the Grimoire!”
“It’s hidden?”
“No! It isn’t hidden. It’s in a chamber not far from here, sitting on a stone post carved to look like a column. The most powerful book in the world is just sitting there. The cover heavily detailed in designs and images of Baal, snakes, dragons, and the patterns of death. The patterns of death—you wouldn’t like those! They’re…” he sought for the right word, “terrifying.”
“So, why don’t you have the book?” Darren couldn’t help being curious despite his situation and hatred for the man holding a dangerous looking stone.
Julander got down in Darren’s face. “Because leading up to that column where the book sits are two rings. To get to the book, one must pass through the rings. And no one can get through them. Not that we haven’t tried. But when we attempt passage, we run against an invisible barrier and a voice says, ‘When is three thousand less than a score?’ A riddle! Well, no magic, no spell, no potion got us past those rings. And we had absolutely no idea what the riddle was talking about.”
Julander looked down on his prisoner and grimaced. “Lore told us that only the Key of Endor could pass through those rings.” He backed off and paced across the room. “But we assumed the Key was hundreds of years old. We didn’t know. We knew of course that Endor had extended her days by use of the Catadromus and that her child had traveled with her through time. But Endor completed her Catadromus in 1595. We’ve been looking for a witch who was four-hundred years old.” He smacked the rock into his other hand with a loud slap. “How were we to know that Endor had called up a demon who told her she would be destroyed by the Key? Or that she would use the same spell powder and throw the thirteen-year-old child into the Catadromus for a second time? That she would then give birth to another child, one as evil as herself? One that would protect her, unlike the first one that would turn against her?”
Another child? The thought made Darren turn toward the villain in surprise. Samantha has a sibling?
“I see by your expression this is all new to you as well. You’re not alone; we just discovered this yesterday. You see, Sahwin, the girl you call Samantha, was stolen away by her aunt after discovering a way to counteract the Catadromus spell without killing her sister. This was four years ago. Like I said, we just put this together yesterday. So, instead of the Key being an old woman, we realized we were looking for a seventeen-year-old girl.
“Now.” He stalked back to the stone table where Darren lay, rapt with the story despite himself. “What are the chances she should arrive and take up with a Warder? Not to be destroyed by him, but to befriend him. And this poor Warder was about to be instructed by his grandfather. But, his grandfather was taken ill and rushed to the hospital whereupon he suddenly died, before he had a chance to tell the Warder what he could do.”
Darren squeezed his eyes shut at this news, and a moan escaped him. “Oh, you didn’t know he died? He should have by now; nothing humans have contrived could save him from what I did to him.”
Darren’s eyes flashed back open and hate spilled out of them.
“I don’t trust Warders. Even if you don’t know what you’re capable of, you’re dangerous. So, let me give you a hint about what that power might require. See if this gives you an idea.” The warlock raised the stone high above his head and brought it down with all his force on top of Darren’s right hand. The cracking, breaking noise of bones and tendons echoed in the small chamber. The sound of Darren’s scream reverberated outside the confines of his cell and far into the cavern beyond.
***
The hallway continued, snaking back and forth for hundreds of feet. Doors were spaced out along the way, opening onto empty chambers. Each door had an inset window near the top, grated by metal bars. Mike and Serena checked each one as they passed, hoping to see Darren or something strange that might indicate the presence of the Grimoire. Mike couldn’t stand it any longer and didn’t wait for Serena to give him permission. He simply reached out and opened a door. Serena glanced back, about to scold him, but instead followed him inside.
Ever-burning torches like those in the corridor provided dim lighting to the room and displayed the contents hanging on the walls. Ancient weapons of all sorts glittered before them. They were made of bronze and, though old, were beautifully maintained. Mike’s mouth hung open as he moved from weapon to weapon, touching them as he went. At the back wall, one weapon stood out from all the other relics—a sword, with an intricately detailed hilt and blade made of a bright metal.
“That’s steel,” he informed Serena.
“Yeah?”
“Steel is a relatively new invention, historically speaking. How did a steel sword get inside a cavern no one has been in for more than three thousand years?”
“Someone of the Northern Coven might have hung it there.” Serena took his hand and tugged him toward the door.
“Wait!” Mike reached up and pulled down the sword. The balance of the weapon was perfect, as if it had been made specifically for him. “I can use this.”
She quickly led him out, and they continued their silent march down the torch-lit corridor. Mike swung the sword, taking stances and doing forms he’d learned in fencing class.
“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Serena asked.
“Sort of, or perhaps I should say, ‘sword of.’”
“That’s a horrible joke, even for you.”
“I wouldn’t be trashing my jokes; I’m holding a very sharp sword.”
“You won’t be holding anything if I turn you into a toad.”
“Can you do that?”
She gave him a look that left him unsure.
“Oh, I see. Then you kiss me, and I become your prince.”
“Quiet, you. We’ve got to move on.” She hid the smile that played on her lips.
They made their way toward the end of the hall where it turned sharply and disappeared to the right. Creeping up to it, they skirted their way along the inside of the wall as they got closer to the bend. Serena looked carefully around the corner with Mike behind her, waiting for her report. “There’s a staircase that leads up into the dark,” she whispered. “It’s the same staircase I came down earlier as Grimalkin.”
“Is anybody there now?”
“Not that I can see. But, they could be using a blind-man.” She suddenly started and drew her head back around the corner. “Did you hear that?”
“I don’t think so.”
Serena poked her head around the corner again. “They’re talking to each other. There’s three, no four of them. They’re waiting for us to come down. They’re using a blind-man all right, but not a deaf-man spell. Oh, no! Tell me I did not just see that!”
“What?”
“Dawsin-gypes.” She withdrew her head from around the corner. Her eyes were large, and she looked ashen. “There must be hundreds of them. And Dawsin-gypes can see through the blind-man.”
“And a Dawsin-gype is a what?”
Serena pushed Mike back down the hall about twenty feet before he stopped her. Swallowing she said, “They’re imps. They have sharp teeth and claws, and they literally come from hell. They eat everything and destroy everything. They’re what made the skittering sound I heard following me up the stairs.”
“Imps? Like little demons?” He held his hand about three feet from the ground.
“That’s about right, but don’t underestimate them. They can kill you. They’re wickedly quick and lethal. They can shred flesh off a bone quicker than a school of hungry piranhas.”
“Okay,” Mike said. “What do we do?”
Serena looked back down toward where the hall turned to the right and heard a voice getting louder. “Julander will kill him before she gets here. I better go down there and keep an eye on him.” The footsteps rounded the corner as the voice said, “Abrogare.”
To Mike’s surprise, Coach Hawthorne appeared at the end of the hall. On top of his head were a pair of dark goggles, which he yanked off and let dangle from his hand. Mike’s mind tried to grapple with what this meant: his coach was one of them. Coach Hawthorne was a warlock! No way! But his mind didn’t have much time to react to this news, as he suddenly realized that alongside his coach, a sleek, dangerous looking cheetah appeared. It loped along with its master as he ambled in their direction. Mike cast a shocked look at Serena.
“Remember he can’t see or hear us, and neither can his familiar.” She returned his look with curiosity. “What are those things in his hand?”
“I was wondering the same thing.” Mike backed up against the wall and watched as his coach and his dangerous pet drew nearer.
“Oh… I know what they are!”
“What?” Serena demanded.
“I bet they’re thermal imaging goggles. That’s how they spotted you, Serena. Those goggles allow them to see heat. So, even with the blind-man spell, they can see us because invisible or not we’re still hot! Especially you and me.” He winked at her.
She leaned against the opposite wall as Coach Hawthorne and his familiar marched between them. “So, humans have started to make their own magic. This is a very strange time. We’re lucky he decided to take those things off when he did.”
Mike followed behind Coach Hawthorne, swinging the sword menacingly. “That freakin’ imposter. I can’t believe he’s one of them. He’s been coaching us for two years now, and the whole time he’s been a…” he held back the adjective he wanted to use, “warlock!”
They watched as he disappeared far down the crooked corridor. Turning back to where the corridor turned right, Mike thought he saw something flash by. The thing returned and gawked back at them. It was short, about two and half feet tall, skin the color of old mold, and red luminous eyes. The feet looked large and gangly, tipped with dagger-like claws, as were the hands, its long strong fingers opening and closing. But the most dangerous part of the ghoulish looking creature was the teeth. It grinned down the hall, and Mike’s blood flash froze in his veins.
“Run!” Serena shouted. He was ahead of her in two strides. Scores of the devilish looking imps poured around the corner and rushed toward them with demonic speed, scaling the walls and running along the ceiling.
Mike could hear the skittering, clacking of claws against stone rushing up from behind him. A sudden inhuman grunt was followed by something heavy landing on his back. Instinctively, he grabbed the beast, rolled to his knees, ducked his head, and flung it into the hall ahead of him. By the time he was on his feet, dozens were almost within reach.
Merely reacting, he swung the sword and chopped two in half. Not only did they neatly slide into two separate halves, the halves popped with little explosions that splattered the floor and walls with a mustard-colored goo.
Serena turned and fired a spell at the imps, sending a crowd of them flying backward. She looked at the mess Mike had made. “Enchanted sword. Go after them!”
The fiendish-looking imps held back, waiting for Mike’s next move. He shrugged out of his jacket and let it fall to the ground. He lifted the sword and demonstrated threatening forms he had learned in his fencing class.
The imps were unimpressed.
Waving the sword in front of him, he jumped forward a step. The Dawson-gypes backed up, not scared, but wary. While Mike rattled the sword, more and more of the mold colored creatures poured round the corner, filling up the hallway.
Heedlessly, Mike dashed into the center of them, slashing at anything that moved. He was quick, quicker than he’d expected. The things fell by the dozens. Before one could jump on him, he spun with superhuman reflexes and cleaved the beast in two while it was still in the air. They came on him in groups of five, ten, and more. He parried so fast the sword was a blur of silver motion, humming with the sound of a propeller as he cut them down.
At one point, he jumped from the center of the creatures and spun in the air, landing to one side where he cut down half a dozen in a single stroke. Those killed splattered out in all directions, their gooey innards hanging grotesquely from the ceiling and walls. He swiftly killed them but only to have them be replaced by more and more imps. He cut, he jumped, he spun, and he countered every move made against him. For a moment, he felt invulnerable as the pounding of blood rushed through his ears. He grinned like a fool, slashing at wave after wave of them, bringing them down like clusters of ripe grapes from a vine. Their corpses and insides began to fill the hallway with disgusting ooze and a dreadful smell.
Vaguely he became aware of a burning on his thigh, then another on his back. Despite his incredible speed, two had gotten onto him and were tearing at him with claws and teeth. He screamed in pain but continued to keep the others at bay. With a graceful follow-through, he sliced the one off his calf, covering himself with the yellow ooze. Unable to reach the one on his back, it continued to gnaw at his shoulder blade.
Serena muttered something, and the imp on Mike’s back exploded. With instant relief, he took a quick glance in her direction and saw her casting spells as quickly as he was wielding the sword; imps were plowed down in front of her.
The splatter of dead Dawson-gypes covered the hallway from floor to ceiling. Still an ocean of imps came crashing down on them, pushing them farther and farther back down the corridor.
A loud voice boomed from the far end of the hall, which was now more than two hundred feet away. “Vestis aerisimo!” The spell caught Mike squarely in the chest, and he flew backward ten feet before hitting the ground with his arms pinned at his sides by invisible bands. It was useless, but he struggled as successfully as a trussed up calf in a rodeo.
From his view on the stone floor, he watched the mold-colored imps halt their attack, though unwillingly. They trudged through the remains of their own brethren, backing away, glaring angrily at Mike as they lined up against the walls of the cavern. With his head turned up the hall, and being unable to move, he couldn’t see her. From among the chittering noises of the clawed imps, Mike heard the sound of approaching footsteps squishing through viscous goo and popping as each foot pulled free from the sludge.
The sound stopped in front of his face. An imprint inches away formed in the mustard colored muck. Though invisible, he knew some warlock wearing heat goggles was looking down on him.
“Huh!” a disgusted voice spat.
It walked beyond him and stopped after a few feet. Another unimpressed sound escaped the invisible being. Mike figured it was looking down on Serena summing up its feelings in the same manner.
***
Samantha and Andrea had crept down the long winding stone corridor in much the same way as Serena and Mike. They looked in through the iron barred windows of each heavy-wooded door they came across. Many were empty, although some held interesting things from collections of ancient weapons to shelves filled with powders and herbs. Others housed torture equipment with the larger bones of long-gone skeletal remains scattered about; still others contained machinery of curious workmanship that continued to hum and purr under some mysterious power.
Samantha signaled Andrea to follow her into a room covered from floor to ceiling with shelves crammed with old texts, books, scrolls, and a variety of other strange looking documents. They headed down different aisles, studiously examining the titles of the books, pulling some out to gaze at the drawings and curious writing, attempting to decipher what the foreign script might mean.
“Do you think one of these might be the Grimoire?” Andrea asked.
“Doubtful. I suspect the Grimoire will be in its own special place. But then again, a library like this would be a good place to hide it.”
“Can you read any of this?”
“No,” Samantha admitted. “I think some of these languages are pre-Egyptian. I am horribly curious what they’re about. If I were to guess, I’d say these are histories and biographies, probably some medical texts and superstitious myths preserved from civilizations you and I have never even heard of.”
“How could anything this old not be dust by now?”
“Remember the basketball rolling up hill? There are undercurrents of spells flowing through this whole cavern. I suspect they’re being maintained by some sort of Catadromus I don’t understand.”
A terrifying, piercing scream of someone in agony reverberated through the doorway and chilled the blood of both girls.
“Darren!” they said in unison. Rushing toward the door, Samantha stopped Andrea before she could bolt out of the room.
“He sounded close by,” Samantha whispered. “Whoever harmed him isn’t far. We could run out of here and be caught before we can help Darren.”
Andrea nodded.
“It probably came from that door over there.” Samantha pointed through the barred window to a door kitty-corner from the library.
The door burst open and out stepped vice-principal, Julander. He was wearing dark coveralls with goggles on top of his head, and a mangy looking mutt followed at his heels. As he entered the hallway, he snapped the goggles down over his eyes. Both girls retreated to the back of the room as the warlock made himself and his dog invisible.
“Those goggles,” Andrea started.
“Yes, they allow him to see through the spell somehow,” Samantha finished.
They couldn’t see him, but they heard him as he huffed himself down the hall.
After the grunting gate faded into the distance, Andrea said, “Let’s get Darren.”
Samantha nodded and opened the door. They ran across the hall to the room where the scream had originated. Through the barred window, they saw Darren at the far end of a dungeon, chained to a stone table. His right hand, the one they could see, was a mash of blood and misshapen flesh. Darren writhed in agony within the confines of the chain, oblivious to all else but pain and shock.
“Door’s locked,” Samantha said.
“Unlock it; we’ve got to help him!”
Samantha tried her spell, but it did nothing to the lock. A shock followed the spell back, giving her a jolt.
“Darren!” Andrea tried to get his attention, but it was worthless. He was in a private world, swirling in eddies of pain.
“There’s a spell. I think it’s a magnetic spell that holds the bolts in place. I don’t know the counter-spell.” Samantha pulled on the door in frustration.
“Darren!” Andrea called out to him. “We’re here!”
A low chuckle startled both girls, who whirled around to see nothing but the wall across the hall. Instantly, Julander and Coach Hawthorne appeared in front of them, both wearing dark goggles over their eyes.
“There you are!” Julander’s horrible grin made them both feel sick. “I was worried you might not make it.” He fixed them with stunning spells, and they dropped to the floor in frightened, unconscious heaps.