Blood Moon (Book Three - The Ravenscliff Series) (20 page)

“It’s awfully late to be looking for picture books,” Jackson finally said, still not releasing his grip on Devon’s shoulder.

The teen sorcerer looked defiantly into the Madman’s shining black eyes. “I had forgotten to get them earlier, and I wanted to be ready first thing in the morning. We’re going to read all about the great Nightwing of China in the tenth century.”

Jackson Muir still did not break his gaze or his grip. He continued to stare into Devon’s eyes for several more moments, and Devon stared right back.

At last he turned away. “Get along with you. Go to bed, little boy.”

He let Devon go and moved off through the shadows of the basement. Devon made a sound with his feet to suggest he was departing, but in truth he simply turned invisible.
If Jackson can’t detect anything about me when he can see me
, Devon thought,
I’ll really be free of any danger when he can’t.

He waited several long minutes. Then, ever so quietly, he moved back toward the Hell Hole.

Jackson stood facing the bolted metal door. His face was contorted in a weird kind of ecstasy, and his teeth were bared like an animal’s, sharp and yellow. Even from a few yards away Devon could feel the staggering heat emitted by the sorcerer, and the tremors made by the demons as they scuttled and shoved from behind the portal.

Let us out, master!

Set us free to do your bidding!

“All in good time,” Jackson told the creatures. “All in good time.”

Just then, from the shadows, there was movement beside the Madman. He was not alone.

Devon covered his mouth to keep from gasping.

It was Miranda!

And she was looking right at him.

Somehow, she could see Devon despite his invisibility.

“We have company,” she told Jackson calmly, and the Madman turned his face, filled with rage, to gaze in Devon’s direction.

“A raven,” Miranda said. “That is all.”

From a rafter, one of the big black birds fluttered its wings, its shining eyes observing their every move.

“Accursed things,” Jackson said, and with one wave of his hand caused the bird to fall over dead onto the floor.

“Oh,” Miranda said, stooping to examine the bird. “Did you have to kill it?”

“It is my brother’s eyes. Do you think I’d allow it to live and tell what it has seen?”

Miranda stood, looking again directly at Devon. He was sure she could see him, but she had not given him away to the Madman. What was she doing down here? Why was she with Jackson Muir?

The portal into the world of the demons remained secure for tonight. The Madman and Miranda looked upon it, saying nothing. The hammering and pleading from the other side eventually died down. The Madman placed his massive arm around Miranda’s slender shoulders, guiding her as they returned upstairs.

Devon thought about following them, but he was afraid of what he might witness. He’d seen a lot of nasty things, but if what he thought was happening between those two was, in fact, happening, he couldn’t bear to see.

So, instead, Devon reappeared in his own room and finally allowed his heart to start racing in his chest.

Sleep didn’t come easily. He tossed and turned most of the night. The next morning, he dressed quickly and confronted Miranda in the hen house.

“Why were you with Jackson Muir? I saw you—and I know you saw me!”

The young woman tossed back her black hair and flashed Devon with her dark eyes. “Of course I saw you, Teddy Bear! The island magic of the Devons is not blinded by the same tricks that can deceive the Nightwing. I saw you plain as day, you little fool!” She snarled at him. “Do you know how dangerous it was for you to be there? Oh, why must you interfere?”

“He’s evil, Miranda! You could see that yourself. He plans to open the Hell Hole!”

She lifted her chin in haughty defiance. “Only to reclaim what is rightfully his. This house!”

Devon was thunderstruck. “You don’t care that he’ll unleash the demons onto the world?”

“It is not Jackson who is evil, Teddy Bear.” She leaned in close to stare directly into his eyes. “It is Randolph. Jackson has shown me the truth. It is
Randolph
who has dreams of conquering the world. Why do you think he is so jealous of the portal? Why won’t he allow Jackson to share in its guardianship? Randolph has fooled you, like everyone else. It is Randolph who will unleash the demons!”

Devon couldn’t speak for a moment. “He’s brainwashed you,” he finally said.

Miranda took great offense. “I am no ordinary Guardian, or have you forgotten that? Yes, you might be Nightwing, so great and noble. But I have powers and intuition, too, and I can see the truth for myself. I can read thoughts, remember? My gifts may not be so wondrous as yours, Teddy Bear, but they are not blinded by the pomp and arrogance of the Nightwing. I could see you standing there last night, just as clearly as I can see Jackson as the good man he is, wrongly disinherited, kept down from achieving his greatness by an envious brother.”

“What has he promised you?” Devon asked. “What do you get for going along with him?”

“Join us, Teddy Bear,” Miranda said, suddenly gripping Devon by his hands. “From the moment you first arrived here, I have felt drawn to you. I do not know why, but I have. And so I have not exposed you. I have not told Jackson of your powers. He suspects nothing.”

“But you
will
tell him,” Devon said, “if I oppose you.”

Miranda dropped his hands and averted her eyes.

“I can’t stand by and see anyone in this house hurt,” Devon told her.

“No one will be hurt.” Miranda looked over at Devon with wide eyes, and it was clear she truly believed what she said. “Jackson may have to threaten Randolph. That arrogant man will not surrender easily. But he knows it is Jackson who has the knowledge of the demons. If Randolph unleashes them as he plans, they will not rally to him. They will look to Jackson for leadership, and Randolph knows this. He will eventually see the wisdom of stepping aside and letting Jackson take his true place as Master of Ravenscliff and overlord of its Hell Hole.”

“You’re crazy,” Devon told her, dropping the last of the morning’s eggs into the basket and heading back toward the house.

“Jackson will make sure Randolph and his family live safely and comfortably. It will all work out. You will see!”

“You’re crazy,” Devin said again, not looking back at her.

“The Devons are a wise and knowing clan!” Miranda called after him. “We know with whom to ally! You will see! You will join us eventually!”

Walking back across the estate, Devon considered whether he should tell Randolph of Miranda’s treachery. Or whether he should march down right now to Montaigne’s cottage and reveal all to him. He had to
do
something.

But Devon was no squealer. For now, this was between the two of them. Miranda was right: there
was
some kind of bond connecting the two of them, and Devon knew what it was. It was
family
, and he couldn’t rat out the only blood family he’d ever known. Miranda was misguided, brainwashed. She wasn’t evil. If he revealed her involvement with the Madman, who knew what Randolph or Montaigne might do to her? Devon felt protective of Miranda. He would save her on his own from whatever Jackson had in store for her.

Yet as the days went by, Devon was lulled into a false sense of security, believing that all of the portentous evil he feared might never show its horrible face. Randolph returned and there was nothing but good will between the two brothers.

It was a happy season. Spring warmed into summer, and Devon watched as the village filled up with people, with seasonal homeowners opening up their cottages, tourists flocking in to bronze their bodies on the beaches, and college kids arriving to work in the shops and the restaurants. In his own time, he’d been waiting for the arrival of summer for so long; Misery Point had been cold and blustery ever since Devon had first arrived, and he’d been looking forward to warm weather. Who knew he’d be experiencing it some thirty years in the past?

The music that floated up from the beaches came from boom boxes and radios. Not an iPod to be seen. Instead of rap and hip-hop and Katy Perry, it was punk and Cyndi Lauper and Prince. Devon took a liking to some of the music, especially The Smiths, and The Pretenders, and Depeche Mode, and Sade. Miranda, of course, was a huge Madonna fan, with her short skirts and crucifixes and dangling earrings.

For Devon, it was also a crash course in history. On the television in the study, whenever the newscast mentioned “the President,” it was Ronald Reagan who came onto the screen. When they mentioned “the Princess,” it wasn’t Kate they were talking about, but Diana, who was pregnant with a baby Devon knew would be Prince Harry. But mostly watching the news left Devon utterly lost. None of the world leaders matched those he’d been learning about in his current events class in school. In Canada, it was Pierre Trudeau; in France, Francois Mitterand; in the Netherlands, Ruud Lubbers; in Poland, some guy named Jaruzelski; and in Britain, one very tough-sounding lady named Margaret Thatcher. And Russia wasn’t even Russia. It was still the Soviet Union.

Since he’d arrived in the past with only the shirt on his back, Devon had had to conjure up some clothes, and he did his best to match the fashions he saw in the village. He wore button-down shirts and skinny leather ties, grew his sideburns long, and slipped Ray-Ban Wayfarers over his eyes. On his feet he wore big black Doc Martens boots.
Gotta keep up with the times
, he told himself with a smile.

But he was homesick for his own time. He’d been gone long enough now that he had missed his final exams and all the end-of-the-year parties at school. He’d missed the trip to Florida D.J. had promised them all. How he longed to be piling into D.J.’s Camaro with the rest of the gang and heading over to Gio’s Pizza—which, in this era, hadn’t even been built yet. The whole shopping plaza was just a field of daisies and dandelions. Devon caught himself wondering what his friends were all doing, and then remembered, with a horrible shudder, Marcus as the beast howling in the middle of Rolfe’s study.

He’s not born yet
, Devon consoled himself.
None of them are.

How long did he have he stay here? Devon asked himself that question every day, hoping his sorcerer’s intuition would give him an answer. But it never did.

Every once in a while, whether he was at Ravenscliff or walking around the village, Devon would spot a staircase going up—maybe to the second floor of Snow’s department store or to a deck wrapped around a seasonal beach house. One never knew where the Staircase Into Time might appear, so when he spotted these sets of stairs, Devon would stop whatever he was doing and rush at them, taking them two at a time, hoping at the end he’d return home. But every time the staircase turned out to be just ordinary wood, and he knew his time in the past was not yet complete.

That was a bummer. He wasn’t eager to witness what he knew would soon occur: Emily’s death, Jackson’s struggle for the Hell Hole, the battle of the demons. He was eager to get home so he could help Marcus and Alexander—but nothing he’d learned here in the past so far had given him any clue as to how to do that. Devon wondered again:
How long will I have to stay here?

Emily’s death occurred on Halloween—four long months from now! Surely he wouldn’t be here that long.

Would he?

But then Randolph Muir, knowing Devon’s Nightwing identity, concocted a story that he’d been asked to keep “Teddy” at Ravenscliff longer than originally expected. It was announced that he would apprentice for several months with the Muirs. Devon therefore settled in, figuring he was here for the duration, at least through Halloween—though every morning he still woke up hoping this might be the day he learned what he needed to know and got to go home.

He and Miranda came to an unspoken truce. No further mention of Jackson or the Hell Hole passed between them. But they watched each other. Devon felt the girl’s eyes whenever he walked into the room, and he observed her just as closely. He rarely saw her any more with Jackson, but he did catch the occasional knowing glance they would exchange, sometimes with poor, clueless Emily standing right there.

Of all of them, Devon liked Emily best. Greta Muir was proud and officious, but Emily was modest and friendly.

“You must miss your mother and your father,” she said to Devon one day, sitting in the upstairs parlor.

He smiled. “I would miss them, if I knew who they were.”

“You poor boy. You don’t know your parents?”

“No. I was raised by an adopted father who was very good to me, but he’s dead now.” Actually, Devon knew, Ted March was still alive somewhere in this time—but since Devon had yet to be born, Ted would have no clue as to who he was. So there was no use in trying to find him. “So,” Devon added with a sigh, “I’m alone.”

Emily put down the embroidery she had been doing in her lap. “You poor child. I know the sorrow of losing one’s parents early. I was alone, too, until Jackson married me and gave me this wonderful home and beautiful family.”

Her eyes looked sadly off into the distance. Her mouth twitched as if she might cry.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Muir?” Devon asked.

“Oh, yes. It’s just—”

“Just what?” Devon approached her. His intuition told him this might be important information. “You can confide in me, ma’am. That’s what Guardians are here for.”

“But you are so young,” she said, smiling down at him.

“You would be doing me a great honor to share your sorrow with me, as well as offering me a valuable lesson in learning how to support.”

She sighed. “The Nightwing have great powers. At times, when I first married Jackson, I thought the powers of the Nightwing were limitless.”

“But they aren’t,” Devon said.

“No. There are indeed limits on what a Nightwing can do.” She stood, moving across the room. Her blond hair caught a ray of sunlight, and suddenly she was suffused with a golden glow. “No sorcerer can make a barren woman conceive a child.”

A barren woman …?

At first Devon didn’t know what she meant. Barren … he didn’t know the word. He’d heard it, but wasn’t sure what it was. It seemed old-fashioned. So he concentrated, and it was as if dictionary pages started flipping through his mind.

Barren

(of land) too poor to produce much or any vegetation.

(of a tree or plant) not producing fruit or seed.

archaic
(of a woman) unable to have children.

That’s it
, Devon suddenly realized.

Emily couldn’t have kids.

Wow. That dictionary in his head was cool. But somehow he just knew it wouldn’t work when he was taking a test in school.

But the information it had just given him was significant. Emily was unable to give Jackson a child—a son and heir, who might have inherited Ravenscliff from him one day. If she had been, Jackson never would have betrayed her by fooling around with another woman. And so Emily wouldn’t have jumped off the cliff. And possibly Jackson’s own evil might not have risen to such heights.

But Jackson was already involved with another woman. Miranda. And it was almost certainly Miranda who Emily would discover with her husband on Halloween night, causing her to take her final, fatal swan dive off Devil’s Rock.

“Look,” Devon said, trying to find the right words. “There are ways of having children even if you can’t have them yourself. You can adopt …”

“But the child wouldn’t be of Nightwing blood …”

“Jackson could bestow powers onto the kid, just like he’s going to give them to you.”

Emily smiled sadly. “For a man as proud as my husband, there would always be that difference … between being
born
Nightwing and being
made
Nightwing.” She sighed. “I was always a disappointment to my father. He said I was too shy, too timid, to amount to anything. Now I’ll be a disappointment to my husband, too.”