Magickeepers: The Eternal Hourglass (13 page)

Nick opened his eyes again. “What do you want?”

“I think you know. I believe you have something I want, Nicholai.”

The key burned. But Nick tried to hide the fact. “Like what?”

“Follow the trail of the Eternal Hourglass.”

Nick looked in the ball. Rasputin had the hourglass in his hands. It gleamed.

“But you have it. I can see it.”

“Yes. But it has lost its magical ability. It no longer works.”

“How is that my fault? Why would I know anything about it?”

“Follow the trail. Follow the trail, and I’ll make you a deal.”

Nick eyed him warily. “What kind of deal?”

“Bring me what I seek, and I will make you far more powerful than Damian. You can leave these people and live your own life, away from all their rules, and their strange customs. What do you even know about them anyway? You can’t trust them.”

“But you’re the bad guy. You’re the one from that side of the Tree. You sent the Shadowkeepers here to drown me.”

“Did I ? Seems like their polar bears are the ones that tried to do that.”

Nick swallowed hard.

“Gaze,” Rasputin said. “Follow the trail. Betrayal is near you, Nicholai. I tell you this for your own good. Bring me
what I need.” He stared at Nick, who couldn’t stop looking into Rasputin's eyes. They were eerie, magnetic.

And then, in a flash, Rasputin was gone.

The ball was cold.

And Nick felt utterly alone.

L
ATER THAT NIGHT, WITH DOUBLY SORE LEGS FROM horseback riding and ribs from nearly drowning, Nick woke up in the middle of the night. The key wasn’t just hot; it was as if it had a heartbeat. It was throbbing.

He looked at the lettering covering both sides.

It had to be Russian. Theo called the Russian alphabet Cyrillic. A completely different alphabet. As if Nick didn’t have enough to worry about with the new show, with having to ride the horse, with performing magic—in front of an audience under bright lights—he was learning to speak a new language. Sometimes, his brain hurt—the way it did in math class this year.

He had to know what the lettering meant. Maybe it would
reveal to him what Rasputin wanted. What the Shadowkeepers wanted badly enough to try to kill him.

He climbed out of bed and crept to his door. He opened it slightly and saw Sascha, nursing a bandaged paw from her encounter with the Shawdowkeeper, lying across his doorway.

The big tiger lifted her head, yawned, and stared expectantly at him.

“I’m going to Isabella's room,” Nick whispered at the giant cat. Sascha yawned again, stretched, and padded down the hallway with him to Isabella's room. Nick knocked softly on the door, looking down one end of the hallway, then the other way, in case anyone spotted him.

A very sleepy Isabella opened the door in a long, flannel nightgown with a tiger print on it, yawning, her long hair a tangled mess of bedhead knots.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as Sascha leaned against her and rubbed her head against Isabella's hand, looking for a hug or a pat.

Now that he was there, ready to tell her about his mother's key, Nick had second thoughts. It wasn’t that he thought he couldn’t trust her, but he kept remembering the creature from the pool. Maybe it would be better if no one knew about the key. And then there was Rasputin's deal. And his words. Betrayal was near. Who? Isabella? Damian? Theo? Boris? Someone in the family might be the enemy.

The key throbbed urgently.

There was no getting around it. Nick needed Isabella's help.

Isabella yawned again. “Come on, Nick. Out with it.”

Nick moved his T-shirt to show her the burn.

“What's that from?” she asked, squinting.

“This.” He lifted up the key on the chain.

“Where’d you get it?” She touched the key. “It looks like real gold.” She put it in her palm. “It's heavy, too.”

“It was my mother's. I need to know what the lettering says.”

The hallway was dark. “I can’t really see it.”

“It's Cyrillic.”

“Ugh,” she moaned. “I might need help. Let's ask my sister.”

By now, Nick knew that Irina was Isabella's much-older sister. Isabella's father had died, and her mother no longer performed but helped care for the Grand Duchess.

“No!”

“Theo? He’ll know.”

Nick shook his head. “I just think it would be better for right now if we kept this a secret. I need you to get me into Damian's library. We’ll look it up ourselves.”

Isabella put one hand on her hip. “If we get caught, we’re going to be in so much trouble.”

“More trouble than a Shadowkeeper nearly killing us? Than nearly drowning? Come on, Isabella.” He paused. He hated asking anyone for anything. “Please?”

“All right. Hold on.” She shut her door, was gone for maybe a minute, and returned still in her old-fashioned, flannel nightgown, carrying a flashlight. “Let's go. Follow me exactly.”

Isabella slid against the wall. When she came to a security camera, she said to Nick, “Get down.”

The two of them got down on all fours, hidden by Sascha's immense body, and then crawled with Sascha, hoping to fool the security team into thinking that it was just the tiger on the prowl.

When they got past the camera, they slithered over to the elevator, took it one floor down, and exited. The hallway was completely dark except for a couple of dimly lit sconces on the wall. The sconces moved with them, lighting their way magically, but Isabella hissed, “Get away! Stop following us!” The sconces’ flames rose higher—angry flames—but then dimmed as the sconces danced along ahead of them and farther away. Now hiding in the shadows, they entered into Damian's library, along with Sascha.

Once inside with the door shut, Isabella turned on her flashlight and pointed the beam up at the tall rows of built-in bookcases. Then she aimed her light at Nick's necklace. “Let me see it again.”

He held it up and she looked at the lettering. “All right, come over here. Sascha, guard the door.”

She led Nick to a book that was nearly as tall as they were, as thick as three dictionaries, and covered in a light film of dust. She pulled it out and set it on a table.

“This book contains most of the spells we use. Alphabetized. Let me see the lettering again.”

“I wish I paid more attention in class.” She bit her lip. “All right, I think this means…
Techeme reki i vremeni ne ostanovit.”
She slowly turned the thick, stiff pages. “Spells’ meanings change depending on their origin—the Russian language has evolved over time.”

Isabella searched, running her fingers along the pages. Nick could have sworn he heard both their hearts beating in the silent library.

“Hurry, Isabella.”

“I’m trying.”

She gently turned the pages, which crackled with age. After what seemed like forever in the silence of the room, she smiled in the pale beam of her flashlight. “Here it is.”

Nick peered over her shoulder, but the words were all Russian and Cyrillic. “What does it mean?”

“Well, as near as I can figure, it means something like… ‘Time stands still for no man.’”

“What kind of spell is that?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I think—and I know this sounds a little crazy—but maybe…”

“What?”

“I think your mother was trying to stop time.”

Nick shook his head. “I don’t understand.” But before he could ask Isabella any more questions, Sascha growled.

“Quiet!” Isabella whispered. She slammed the book closed and turned off her flashlight, and the three of them—Isabella, Nick, and Sascha—were plunged into pitch blackness.

I
N THE DARK, AN ABSOLUTE BLACKNESS SO THICK AND oppressive that Nick couldn’t even see Isabella only inches away from him, Isabella grabbed his hand and led him to a huge desk that they hid behind, crouching near the floor. Someone entered the library.

In the darkness, Sascha leaned against them, her breathing steady, her fur making Nick feel hot.

Whoever it was also had a flashlight. Nick could see its beam arching along the ceiling. The library spy moved toward several books, and they could hear him—or her—opening heavy volumes, turning pages.

Nick swallowed—although he was even afraid whoever it was could
hear
him swallow. He kept as still as possible, but every muscle ached.

The minutes seemed to pass slowly, his muscles now trembling from crouching so long. Finally, they heard the library spy emit a guttural growl of displeasure.

“Fools!” uttered the library spy.

Nick recognized the voice.

Boris.

Nick watched as the flashlight moved away from them until it was a speck. The library door opened, and then shut again.

“That
was way too close,” Isabella whispered.

They emerged from their hiding place and returned to the book of spells. It was opened to the same page that Isabella had found earlier.

“Someone knows about this spell, Nick. They went right to it.”

“That was Boris.”

“Are you sure?”

“I know his voice. It's the voice that tortures me in sword fighting class. I knew I couldn’t trust him.” He didn’t tell her that Rasputin had warned him betrayal was near. “He followed us. Or he knows about the key.”

Isabella bit her lip. “Boris scares me a little. He claims to control the swords used in the act, but I’m always a tiny bit afraid of him, I don’t know, slipping one day and then a sword chops off Damian's head or something.”

“Well, why was he in the library? In the exact same book? Looking up the exact same spell?”

“We have to find out what that key opens.”

“But I have no idea what it opens. A door? A secret room? A treasure chest?”

“I’ve never seen a key like it before.”

The two of them started toward the door when Nick spotted a glowing orb on one of the shelves.

“Look!”

“Of course!” Isabella said excitedly. “You’re a Gazer. You can look into Damian's crystal balls. Come on.”

Nick counted fifteen different crystal balls sitting on the shelf. Fourteen sat dark and cold. But one—about the size of a small melon—glowed with a faint bluish hue.