Blood Moon (Book Three - The Ravenscliff Series) (5 page)

But this afternoon it was a much more mundane, much more human question that Devon needed to ask Rolfe—a question that had been gnawing at him all day. He just wondered if he’d have the guts to bring it up.

“Devon!” Rolfe called out in greeting when he saw the teen approaching the house. “You’ve come just in time. Look what I’ve discovered!”

Rolfe was in his study, the one made almost entirely of glass and jutting out over the sea. Whenever Devon visited, the sea was roiling and restless, crashing hard against the rocks. A flash of silent lightning zigzagged across the sky, then disappeared, leaving the moon to rise on its own.

“What is it, Rolfe?” Devon asked.

“Come down the stairs and let me show you!”

Devon descended the spiral staircase that led from the main part of the house into Rolfe’s study. He could see the older man below. Rolfe was tall and handsome, with dark eyes and hair and a cleft chin. In his hands he was holding a crystal, pinkish and blue and pulsing with light.

“Watch what I can do,” Rolfe said, as excited as a little boy.

Instantly, images flashed against a sheet that Rolfe had pinned up against his bookcase. It was sort of like an old-fashioned magic lantern. Images of birds—ravens—were flying furiously. Devon squinted his eyes to make out the blurry picture. The ravens were landing on a house …

“Ravenscliff?” he asked.

“Yes indeed!” Rolfe looked from him back to the makeshift screen with obvious thrill. “I think my father must have used this crystal to teach Randolph Muir the history of his family.”

Devon now stood at Rolfe’s side, watching raptly. Randolph Muir was Mrs. Crandall’s father. A great sorcerer, Randolph’s tragic death had been the reason his family had eventually renounced their powers—why Cecily had had no clue of her Nightwing heritage until Devon had revealed it to her, much to her mother’s chagrin.

“Keep watching,” Rolfe said.

Devon didn’t have to be told. His eyes were transfixed. Suddenly the images of the ravens were replaced with that of a man, somber-faced and serious, in top hat and gray muttonchop sideburns. Devon recognized him instantly as Horatio Muir, the founder of Ravenscliff and one of the greatest Nightwing of all time.

“This is awesome!” Devon exclaimed. “Finally I can learn more about the Muir family!”

My family
, he thought wryly to himself. It was an odd idea to get used to.

But he was distracted by a sound. As fascinated as he was by the images of Horatio Muir, his sharply attuned ears picked up a disturbing commotion from outside. Howling. The same as last night. That strange animal howling—

“Rolfe, do you hear that?”

But his Guardian was focused on the images being projected by the crystal. “Look! There’s Horatio with his children. Randolph, and his second son, Gideon—and there, look! It’s Jackson—the Madman—as a young, innocent boy!”

Devon admitted it was uncanny to see Jackson Muir as a teenager not much older than he was now. But he didn’t look so innocent to Devon. There was a glint in his eye, a hard, calculating ambition, even then—

Once more, Devon was distracted by the howling. It was closer this time. Almost as if it was right outside the house.

“Rolfe, do you hear—?”

“Devon, pay attention to these images! They may reveal so much about the Muirs and hopefully your own sorcery … I’m hoping we’ll see my father and yours …”

Devon returned his eyes to the sheet, in anticipation of seeing Dad.

But the howling came again then, louder than ever.

“Rolfe,” Devon said, “I really think that sound is—”

But before he could finish, the large window to their right was smashed, the glass shattering everywhere—

And a beast—stinking, wet, hairy, and snarling—had leapt upon Rolfe, grabbing him by the throat with an enormous furry hand.

“Back!” Devon commanded. “Back to your Hell Hole!”

But even as he shouted, he knew the beast was not going anywhere. This was no demon, no minion subject to a Nightwing’s power. This was something else, something Devon didn’t recognize—something that might kill Rolfe right here, right in front of his eyes.

The crystal had fallen from Rolfe’s hand and the images had disappeared from the screen. Rolfe tried to fight back as best he could, grabbing the beast’s hands—more like paws, giant bear paws—and struggling to wrest them from his throat.

With his powers having no effect on the thing, Devon felt helpless. In desperation, he grabbed a candlestick from Rolfe’s table and whacked it hard against the thing’s hairy head. The beast howled, dropping Rolfe to the ground and turning to face Devon.

Its eyes
, Devon thought.
Why do I recognize its eyes?

The thing dropped down onto all fours. It was preparing to pounce.

It did resemble a bear, but also a wolf.
But also a man
, Devon thought. The face was hairy, but human, too—like one of those Neanderthals Devon had studied in school.

The beast snarled, ready to lunge. Devon remained locked in its gaze, holding the candlestick over his head.

The thing pulled back, growling low. It had seemed to reconsider its attack on Devon.

Rolfe, meanwhile, had gotten to his feet. With one eye, Devon watched him move slowly across the room, while keeping his other eye firmly trained on the beast. Rolfe reached his desk and carefully pulled open a drawer. Devon knew he was going for his gun.

“What are you?” Devon asked the beast, wanting to keep its attention. “Where are you from?”

The beast only growled down deep in its throat.

“What kind of creature are you?”

Once again the thing stood on its hind legs, hissing.

“Come on, ugly. Communicate with me. What brought you here?”

All at once it let out a howl and lunged. Yet it didn’t leap directly at Devon; it made a grab instead for the candlestick, as if to dislodge it from the teenager’s hands. Devon instantly disappeared and reappeared behind the creature, causing it to spin around in frustrated confusion.

“That’s what you get for tangling with a sorcerer!” Devon taunted, waving the candlestick at him. “Come on! Try and get it! I might not be able to overpower you, but I can still tire you out!”

The thing recoiled, as if the candlestick somehow had the power to hurt him.

“Move out of the way, Devon,” Rolfe shouted. From the corner of his eye, Devon could see the older man leveling his gun at the beast. “I’ve got a good shot from here.”

“No!”

It was a woman’s voice from upstairs. Devon saw Roxanne, Rolfe’s lady friend, who had some mysterious powers of her own, standing at the top of the spiral staircase. She was watching the scene with alarm.

“Don’t shoot it, Rolfe! You’ll regret it!”

“Regret it? The thing just tried to kill me!”

“I suspect unless those bullets are silver,” Roxanne said, “they’ll do nothing more than enrage the poor creature.” She started down the staircase, holding a large silver amulet in front of her. It was one of the necklaces Devon had seen her wear many times. “Devon, just keep approaching with the candlestick. If we both close in on him …”

Devon obeyed. The two of them walked slowly toward the snarling, slobbering beast. It looked between the two of them, then raised its hideous face to the ceiling and howled. They weren’t two feet away from it now, Devon with just his candlestick and Roxanne with just her amulet. But it was enough to make the thing tremble and cry out. Devon actually felt sorry for it, so pathetic did it sound. Up close he got another look into its eyes. Black and glassy, but still somehow familiar …

And then the beast jumped—smashing through another window and landing on the sand below. They watched as it lumbered down the beach and disappeared into the night.

“What,” Rolfe managed to say, catching his breath, “was
that
?”

Roxanne had rushed up to Rolfe and was examining his neck where the beast had grabbed him. Devon looked over at her. “You seem to know what it was,” he said.

“Not in any specifics.” She touched Rolfe’s throat and he winced a little. “The wound is not serious, my love. Thankfully you’ll only have a bruise.”

“So what
do
you know?” Devon persisted, coming up behind her.

She left her hands on Rolfe’s neck for several seconds, almost as if she were healing him. She looked over her shoulder at Devon. “On the way back from the village,” she explained, “the moon spoke to me. I knew as soon as I saw the beast that it was a creature of the moon.”

Devon scratched his head. “Uh, Roxanne. You know I think you’re cool and whatever powers you’ve got going on there, they’re totally awesome. But—” He made a face. “The moon
spoke to you
?”

She laughed in that hearty, musical, Jamaican way she had. She moved away from Rolfe and stood in the moonglow, seeming almost ethereal, as if she weren’t so much flesh and bone but smoke and light. Devon watched her intently.

“Yes, Devon March, the moon spoke to me. The whole world, the entire universe, will speak to you if you only listen.” Roxanne smiled. “Isn’t that right, Rolfe?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, rolling out some sheets of plastic from the closet. “Right now the world is telling me that thing made a mess of my study. Help me cover these broken windows before my books get wet. It’s started to rain.”

“Hey, Rolfe,” Devon said, smirking. “Don’t put yourself out. I can fix ’em.”

With a wave of his hand, he sent out a silent command that the windows repair themselves. It was a snap. A simple enough Nightwing trick.

But the windows stayed broken; the glass remained shattered across the floor. A gust of wind swept in rain and sleet.

Rolfe rolled his eyes. “Showing off, Devon. You know your powers won’t work if you’re trying to show off.”

“Okay, okay, let me try again.”

Still nothing.

“Forget it, buddy, too late. Being cocky won’t win you any Nightwing medals. Now help me do it the old-fashioned way.”

Chagrined, Devon helped Rolfe tack the plastic against the wind. He saw Roxanne suppress a small laugh.

“So, go on,” Devon said. “Finish telling us what that thing was. How is it the moon’s creature?”

“Look outside,” Roxanne said. “Even in its second night of its full phase, the moon is still round and vivid and bold in the sky. Even the most supernatural-denying scientists acknowledge the power of a full moon.”

“So you mean,” Devon asked, an idea coming to him, “it was kind of like … a werewolf?”

Rolfe snorted. “More like a were-
bear
. Or were-
beast
.”

“Yes, exactly like that,” Roxanne said. “The old legends say only silver can ward off a creature of the moon. Hence the reason you could repel him with a simple candlestick but not with your great mystical powers.”

“You keep calling it a
him
,” Devon observed.

She nodded. “You know the stories. You’ve seen the movies.”

“You mean …?” Devon turned, leaving Rolfe to finish tacking up the plastic himself. Part of it unfurled and smacked Rolfe on the head, leaving him grumbling. “That thing—it was really some guy who turns into a beast when the moon is full?”

Roxanne smiled. “What is the old rhyme? ‘Even a man who is pure at heart, and said his prayers by night, may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms, and the moon is full and bright.’”

Rolfe sighed, stepping back to look at the plastic. “Well, that should do it until I can get it repaired.”

“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” Devon said.

Rolfe grinned. “Don’t worry about it, kid. That’s what I have homeowner’s insurance for.” He laughed. “Though what I’ll put on the claim, I’m not sure. Am I covered for attacks by were-beasts?”

“I wonder who the poor guy is,” Devon said, glancing off into the night, “and how he got that way.”

“A curse, usually,” Roxanne told him.

“We should call the police.” Rolfe looked out onto the beach to see if the beast was still lurking nearby. “Last night John Harker reported a sighting of some kind of large animal at his farm, and he found a dozen of his chickens slaughtered and his cow attacked. That thing needs to be caught.”

“But why would it attack you, Rolfe?” Devon wondered. “Why jump in here like it knew what it was doing? Or—what
he
was doing.” He looked over at Roxanne. “I’m sure you’re right. It
was
a man. Because I sensed I’d met him before.”

Rolfe was considering this. “Then … there must be a Nightwing connection. I’ll try using the crystals again, see what they might tell us …”

Devon sighed. “Stuff is happening again, Rolfe. That’s why I came over here.”

“You two should talk,” Roxanne said. “I’ll call and report a sighting of the creature. I’d worry that the police might kill the creature, but without silver bullets the best they can do is capture it—and come morning, we’ll see who the poor soul really is.”

“Yeah, and I should be getting back to Ravenscliff,” Devon said. “I’ve got a showdown looming with Mrs. Crandall.”

Rolfe eyed him, curious now. “I’ll drive you home and we can talk on the way,” he said.

They headed down the winding narrow road along the cliffs, the windshield wipers of Rolfe’s Porsche struggling to keep the rain and sleet from obscuring their vision. Devon figured he might have just pulled one of his disappearance-reappearance acts, landing himself nice and dry back in Ravenscliff’s parlor. But after his last flop, he wasn’t keen to try another showy routine. Besides, he needed time to talk with Rolfe.

There was still the matter of that very important question he needed to ask
. If
he had the guts.

So he told Rolfe everything that had happened: breaking into the secret room, the ghost and the sign of the pentagram, the encounter with Crazy Lady and her revelation that Mrs. Crandall was his mother.

“That one’s hard to swallow, Devon,” Rolfe said.

“Wait, just let me finish.”

He told him about seeing the pentagram on Marcus’s face again this morning at school, and that Marcus had reported a night of bad dreams.

“But you have no idea if the pentagram is connected to any of this,” Rolfe said. “You’ve seen it before on Marcus’s face and nothing has happened.”

“Yeah, but now, with the ghost making the sign and talking about the moon and then this beast showing up—”

Rolfe was silent as he drove. He seemed lost in thought.

“Well?” Devon asked. “What do you make of it all?”

“I just—” He shook his head. “The part about the crazy woman …. Are you
sure
she said Amanda was your mother?”

Devon sighed. “She said my mother had been at Ravenscliff all along, and when I asked if she meant Mrs. Crandall, she clapped her hands and smiled.”

Rolfe looked over at him. “So she didn’t say yes. She didn’t actually confirm that Amanda was your mother.”

“But that’s what she meant, Rolfe! It was obvious!”

“She’s insane, Devon. You said so yourself.”

“But she’s a sorceress, Rolfe. I felt the heat. I saw her do tricks …”

Rolfe raised an eyebrow as he glanced over at Devon. “Nightwing?”

“I don’t know for sure if she’s Nightwing, but she’s got some kind of powers. And she
knew
. She knew about me! She’s been calling my name for months. And my inner Voice, my Nightwing intuition, confirms that she knows the truth.”

Rolfe went silent again.

“It makes sense that Mrs. Crandall is my mother,” Devon argued. “That’s where I get my powers. Through
her
. And Dad sent me here to live because he knew the truth.”

“If Amanda is your mother, Devon,” Rolfe said, his voice calm and steady, “you shouldn’t
have
any powers. She renounced her own before you were born. That’s why Cecily has no powers.”

That was a good point, Devon realized—and one he hadn’t considered before. “Still,” he said, shaken only a little in his conviction, “I know what the woman was telling me and I know it’s true.”

“Why are you so determined to believe Amanda is your mother?”

Devon couldn’t answer. He looked out the car window into the cold, driving rain. They were quiet again for several minutes, unspoken words hovering in the air.

“Rolfe,” Devon finally said.

“Yes?”

“If Mrs. Crandall is my mother …”

“Yes?”

“Well, you know, I have to wonder …”

“About?”

“Well, I know that, well, that you and she … a long time ago …”

Rolfe turned to look at him, and his face was kind. “You’re thinking that, if she’s your mother, I might be your father.”

“Well,” Devon said, and his voice was thick, “it kind of crossed my mind.”

Rolfe reached over to squeeze the teenager’s shoulder. “I’d like nothing more than to be your father, Devon. Nothing more. But you see, well … Amanda and I were in love, yes. I hoped someday to marry her. But we never …” His voice trailed off.

“Oh,” Devon said in a small voice. “I get it.”