Blood Moon (Book Three - The Ravenscliff Series) (23 page)

Devon screamed.

And sat up in his bed.

He still stunk of the cigarette smoke from the rave. His heart was thudding in his chest. Devon concentrated and was able to see in his mind a glimpse of the rave. There was no beast there. It went on as ever. He saw Miranda, dancing by herself, more spaced out than ever.

He’d had a vision. It wasn’t real, but it was telling him something.

I shouldn’t have left her there alone.

Devon disappeared from his bed, reappeared beside Miranda on the smoky dance floor, took her by the shoulders, and disappeared again. When he rematerialized, he was in Miranda’s room with her. He eased her down onto the bed, and she was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. He kissed her on the forehead then faded away.

She was safe. For now.

They’d worry about her car in the morning.

The leaves on the trees began to change color, turning from green to yellow with tinges of red. Watching the metamorphosis sent Devon into a depression. It had been in the autumn that he’d first come to Ravenscliff in his own time. A year had passed since then, but now instead of living in the great house in the twenty-first century, he was stuck in the past, gearing up to watch the destruction of people he had come to care about deeply.

“You there, boy,” came a voice.

Devon was walking down the stairs into the foyer when he looked around to see Jackson Muir in the doorway of the parlor, beckoning to him.

“I’ll have a word with you,” Jackson said.

Devon’s heart began to race but he steadied it. He followed the Madman, who was dressed in his sorcerer’s cape and boots, into the parlor.

Sitting in a chair beside the fireplace was Emily, her chin lifted, her hands clasped in her lap. Across from her, Ogden McNutt’s wife was painting her portrait, the one that would hang on the far wall in Devon’s own time.

“We didn’t know what talents she had,” Emily said, smiling as she looked over at Devon. She returned her head to the proper position. “I’ve never had my portrait painted before.”

“I’m sure it’s going to be very beautiful,” Devon said, his voice thick with emotion. He knew she wouldn’t live to see it hanging there very long.

Jackson stared at his wife with obvious pride and affection. “The portrait is in honor of Emily being Gifted with powers,” he said, turning his eyes to Devon. “I want you to bring up the books on the Gifting ritual. We must start preparations. I want her to have her powers before the arrival of the child.”

Devon looked over at Emily. How she beamed, thinking she really was carrying Jackson’s child. The teenager’s heart broke.

“Now, listen, boy,” Jackson said, leaning down to bring his eyes close to Devon’s. “There can be no mistakes, no errors, no glitches. I want the ritual to be perfect. Do you understand?”

Devon held his gaze. “Of course. I understand.”

Their eyes locked onto each other’s for several seconds longer than necessary.
He suspects me of something
, Devon thought.
Ever since that night in the basement, he’s been watching me. He’s not sure what threat I pose, if any—but he’s watching me nonetheless.

Finally Jackson moved his black eyes away. “Go on with you,” he said, and with a wave of his hand he dismissed Devon from his sight.

In the basement, Devon searched for the books.

A small furry spider dropped onto his hand.

A spider that burned.

The heat.

Devon tried to shake the spider from his hand, but the tenacious little thing clung on. Peering down at it, Devon could see the spider had a tiny head, like a human’s, and it was chomping down with sharp little teeth on the skin on the back of his hand.

“Oh, this is the best you can do?” Devon said out loud. “Is this the most ferocious demon the Hell Hole has to cough up?”

He whacked his hand against the concrete wall, splattering the demon spider.

He pulled his hand away. Yellow and green spider guts dripped down the wall, stinking like rotten eggs. Devon looked down at his hand. The bite wasn’t too large or sore. But it was very red and starting to swell.

I’ll have to ask Montaigne for a remedy
, Devon thought.

But for the moment he continued searching for the books on Gifting. He supposed the spider was another demon who’d recognized Devon and was fighting its master’s battle, even if Jackson wasn’t clued in to Devon’s identity yet. But, really, a demon spider? The size of a nickel? Like such a thing represented any kind of danger …

Devon laughed.

But then his hand started to itch.

“Oh, great,” he mumbled. “An allergic reaction to a demon spider bite.”

Now his wrist was itching too. And now his arm.

Devon pushed up his shirtsleeve and looked at his skin.

A dozen raised lines, like swollen veins, stretched from his hand, from the spot where he’d been bitten, all the way up to his shoulder.

And as Devon stared, the lines began to vibrate.

Things were moving up and down his arm!

Devon gasped out loud.

All at once, the lines burst. His skin tore open in long, painful slits, and out crawled tens of thousands of baby demon spiders, no bigger than commas on a printed page. They swarmed all over his arm and up his neck and into his hair.

Devon screamed.

“Take it easy!” came a voice.

It was Montaigne.

“I had a premonition you needed me,” the Guardian said. “Hold on. Don’t move. And close your eyes!”

Devon obeyed. But just before he did, he saw that Montaigne had in his hand what looked like a giant can of Raid.

He sprayed Devon with it. It smelled like mothballs. The spray settled all over Devon, and he could feel the spiders dropping off his body.

“This will just numb them,” Montaigne explained. “You’ll still have to send them back yourself.”

Devon was completely grossed out. “Back to your Hell Holes,” he said under his breath, and suddenly all the little spiders just popped into nothingness.

Montaigne was wrapping his wounded arm. “The bandages will facilitate the healing. The wounds should be mostly gone by morning.”

In that moment, it seemed to Devon that it was Rolfe tending to him. His father resembled him so uncannily. They sounded alike. Even smelled alike. Devon missed his friend and mentor.

“I know I’m not supposed to reveal anything about the future,” Devon said. “But I need to tell you that your kid grows up to be one very cool guy.”

Montaigne smiled. “That is not revealing anything I had not already surmised. But merci beaucoup, Devon. It is good to hear.”

Devon just wished Montaigne would be around to see Rolfe grow up. He was sure going to do what he could to make sure that happened.

The whole of the next week was spent in preparation of Emily’s Gifting. It would take place on November 1, the day after Halloween. But the closer they got to that date, the more anxious Devon became.

How will I stop what is about to happen? I’ve got to keep Emily from discovering the truth about Jackson and Miranda. But if I can’t do that, then I’ve got to get Miranda to admit it ahead of time, to renounce Jackson and leave Ravenscliff
.

But knowing how ambitious Miranda was, how prideful she was about her heritage, Devon couldn’t imagine her willingly walking away from what she saw as a chance at greatness.

“I’ve got to tell someone what I know,” Devon said out loud to himself, suddenly looking up from the book he was reading in Randolph’s study. “I’m going to need help if I’m to prevent the tragedies. I’ve got to reveal what I know from the future.”

“And what might that be?”

Devon looked around. It was Ogden McNutt, coming up behind him with another stack of books in his arms.

“Ogden,” Devon said. “I was just—just talking to myself.”

“I have been to the future of which you speak,” McNutt reminded him. “The man Rolfe mentioned a boy about your age who disappeared. A boy by the name of Devon.”

“Oh yeah? What did he tell you about this Devon?”

“That he had gone off in search of a way to end the curse of the beast.”

Devon nodded, looking back down at the book. “Yeah, he did. But he hasn’t been very successful.”

“You are this Devon, are you not?”

Devon nodded.

“But what does the boy Marcus some thirty years from now have to do with all of us here?” Ogden asked. “What is it that you need to tell?”

Devon looked back up at him. Perhaps McNutt was the confidante he needed. After all, it would be McNutt’s ghost who would warn him in the future.

“All right,” Devon said. “I am here, I think, to prevent some terrible tragedies from happening. I thought at first the Staircase Into Time had brought me here simply to teach me something, to give me the opportunity to learn ways to help my friends in the future. But now I think, given how long I’ve been stuck here, that my fate is to save the people of this time.”

“Save us from what?”

“That much I’m not sure I can reveal.”

“But you must.”

“No. You see, I don’t know if by trying to change history I will change the events of the future beyond all recognition. If I can end Marcus’s curse, I will be glad, of course. But I may also end up changing other things.” He looked significantly into McNutt’s eyes. “Perhaps my own existence.”

“Randolph Muir told us we cannot change history.”

Devon suddenly felt desperate. “I’ve got to try! No matter what it might mean for me! Look, McNutt, you trust me, don’t you?”

“You are Nightwing. I am here to serve you.”

Devon smiled. “You have kept my secret, and I am grateful. So listen to me when I tell you that one of the greatest lessons I have learned is that with my great abilities come great responsibilities and all that sort of stuff.”

It was Ogden’s turn to smile. “Yes, and all that sort of stuff.”

“So I wouldn’t be very noble if I just looked away when I knew people in this house were going to die, would I?”

McNutt’s face betrayed fear. “People will die in this house? Who, Devon? Who will die?”

Devon hesitated. “Will you help me, Ogden? Help me prevent the tragedies?”

“Yes, of course! Tell me what you know!”

Devon looked around to make sure they were alone. “Randolph has forbidden me to tell of future events. He said it is against the order of time travel. But I will tell you. You are not Nightwing. Perhaps you can do what he can’t.”

“Tell me!” Ogden was growing insistent. “I have a wife and baby daughter in this house! Please tell me they will be safe.”

“I don’t know about their fate,” Devon admitted. “All I know is … on the night of Halloween, Emily Muir will discover Jackson with another woman and jump to her death from Devil’s Rock.”

“No!”

“And her death will set into motion great evil in this house. You see, Jackson has not repented. He is planning to open the Hell Hole. He is planning to use the demons to achieve the kind of power and wealth he’s always dreamed of having.”

McNutt glanced behind him, suddenly terrified. “We must stop it from happening. That must be why you came back in time. To save us!”

“And you,” Devon said gently, resting his hand on McNutt’s shoulder. “You, too, are in danger, Ogden.”

But he couldn’t tell him what kind of danger. He just couldn’t bring himself to describe the future that awaited poor McNutt. Maybe later but … not now.

“I do not fear for myself,” Ogden said.

“Still,” Devon added, “if we can prevent the other tragedies, we can hopefully save you as well.”

“I do not fear for myself,” Ogden repeated, a premonition of doom settling into his eyes. “I fear for my dear wife … and my precious little Gigi.”

Devon reacted to the name.

“Your daughter?” he asked. “What did you call her?”

Ogden McNutt gave him a weak smile. “Her name is Georgette, of course, but we call her Gigi. Our little Gigi.”

Gigi
.

Of course.

That was the name of Marcus’s mother! Devon had heard Marcus’s father call her by that name.

So Ogden McNutt’s daughter would grow up to be Marcus’s mother! Which made Ogden McNutt Marcus’s grandfather! That was how Marcus got the curse of the beast! It was passed down through the generations and must have emerged at a certain age—like sixteen, which Marcus had just turned. And it must have only included boys, because Marcus was Ogden’s next male descendant!