network of bluish lines that connected
to the circle encompassing the circus.
They
stepped back from the encroaching glow.
"We
need to stop this," Imogen cried.
A
guttural bellow echoed across the coastline. Blue light erupted from the ground
in an upward cascade of rock, paving stones, sod, tent fragments, and bits of
clothing. The illumination jumped from body to body, linking them all like some
grotesquely glowing necklace as they writhed, moaning, whether in terror or
ecstasy, Portia could not tell.
"This
cannot end well." Portia grabbed Imogen
by the waist, awkwardly keeping hold of the axe, and took off, straight up,
laboring to bring them above the impending mayhem below.
Portia
looked down. Radinka was gone.
Halford
and Quentin could still be seen at the center of the courtyard, slavering and
thrusting madly, Quentin into Halford and Halford into the tower’s base. Then, they both froze and threw their heads back in
unison, mouths stretched wide in what might have passed for climax in any other
setting. But the light was moving through them, through their bodies and into
the obelisk. Their eyes rolled back and they collapsed into dust as their souls
were drawn violently from them and sucked into the glowing copper. Their
actions foretold the fates of the others, who roared now, fiendishly slapping
and grinding their bodies together until as one they shuddered and fell to
pieces, releasing their spirits.
Portia
pressed higher into the sky, feeling the draw of the dark magic below pulling
on her with ferocious energy.
"Saint
Christopher, Saint Christopher," she murmured.
Imogen
laid her head against Portia’s chest and softly
chanted. Slowly, Portia felt her strength build, then double, although Imogen
grew heavy in her arms. They tumbled onto the rocky ledge in a tangle of limbs.
In
one blinding flash from below, the sundered souls went shrieking into the
obelisk at the center of the circle and vanished.
The
hunched figures waiting at the perimeter howled in a hungry fashion, turning
toward the tower with the afterglow of the spell still smoldering eerily in
their eyes.
It
was quiet and still after that. The ceaseless waves even paused in their
barrage of the shore, and not a single dog or night bird stirred. Looking down
over the edge of their perch, Portia and Imogen saw nothing but a field of
ashes where the Circus Avernus had once been, and the tower rising, ominous and
glowing, from the spit of land across the water.
They
caught their breath, arms and legs leaden with exhaustion.
The
light flickered beneath the waves, steady in time to the thrum of the great
engine below.
Portia
marshaled the last of her strength. "We’ve got to find Radinka. Come on."
Imogen
nodded and stood. This time, Portia arranged her and the axe more carefully,
which made carrying her far easier than it had been. She dove from the cliff,
spreading her wings wide to catch the sea wind and glide for as long as it
would hold her.
They swung out over the road, looking for
any sign of the girl. From behind them, the glow grew brighter, and from
beneath the calm grey sea, a low and too-familiar rumble disturbed the silence.
— 5 —
A LOW WOODEN SIGN by the road announced that they were
entering the Village of Soquel, situated in the foothills above the seaside
town. Beyond the small, thatched-roof houses and the shuttered marketplace, the
road wound up higher into the hills. A thick stand of trees separated the
outskirts of the village from the immense estate that opened up before them.
A mansion sat perched at the intersection
of two large and impeccably manicured gardens, surrounded by a low wall of
fitted stone. Portia and Imogen had taken to the road nearly a mile hence, and
footsore and weary to the bone, they paused outside the wall. In the grey
pre-dawn chill, the house looked inviting with light shining through the pair
of tall oak doors carved with dramatic scrollwork and set with leaded