The continual drip of the water was getting on her nerves. DeLorme had gone back to writing. She couldn’t hold up her head to see exactly what he was doing. She didn’t even know if he had one eye still trained on her. So carefully, Haidée tested parts of her body, inching ever so slightly to test the boundaries of the immovability spell that he had placed on her.
The wrists and ankles were anchored to the table—she guessed that aside from the symbols on her wrist, he had drawn something on her boots. But she could wiggle her toes and her fingers. She could speak—considering her previous conversation with her captor—and she could turn her head, but she could not lift it. Her throat felt a slight strain every time she tried to do so.
She turned her head to look at the water clock. From her vantage point, she couldn’t quite tell exactly how much water had dripped from the glass vial into the bucket. It felt like the incessant dripping was something DeLorme was using to torture her before he took her life away. She frowned as a thought began making its way to the forefront of her consciousness. Why was her neck immobilized yet she could still turn her head? She looked down at her pinned arm. She tried turning her right wrist.
The slick sting of energy scraped at her wrist, but she could rotate it. She bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out and alerting DeLorme to her efforts. She looked down at her wrist. Part of the ink on her skin was smudged. The spell wasn’t completely unbreakable. Slowly, she began turning her wrist back and forth, rubbing her skin against the table, hoping that the marks would smear enough for her to break through the energy holding her down.
The pen continued to scratch. The water clock dripped.
The spell around her wrist frayed, snapped. She stopped moving and held her breath, hoping that DeLorme did not notice.
He didn’t. Outside, a storm raged. She could hear the wind and rain and thunder.
She began working at her other wrist when there was a sudden thumping coming from the vicinity of the floor. The pen stopped and she heard the scrape of the chair.
“What was that?” DeLorme demanded.
Haidée didn’t answer. She didn’t think he wanted her answer. She stopped twisting her wrist when she heard his footsteps. He did not head straight towards her, instead, he went to the water clock to examine how much water had dripped into the bucket. He was smiling.
“No matter, it was probably the wind,” he said. He stared down at the clock. “It’s almost time. Do you know that today is the new moon, Mademoiselle?”
“I don’t pay attention to such things,” she replied.
DeLorme rubbed his chin in thought. “Certain powers are at their height during such times. You will be the final donor—with your energy, I’ll have enough power to resurrect the Dauphin’s heart.”
“You’re trafficking with black magic and necromancy.”
“It isn’t black if you do things with a pure heart.”
“You killed people, DeLorme. A murderer doesn’t have a pure heart no matter how much he tries to justify his actions. Killing someone is wrong.”
The priest raised a hand and slapped her, hard. The left side of her face felt numb, but she did not cry out. She simply stared back at him in disgust.
“No matter what you say, the only heart you have is that of a shriveled organ from a dead child.”
DeLorme’s eyes glittered with unsuppressed rage. “Shut your mouth, witch. Everything you say is a lie.”
The thump on the floor was heard again. And then there was a crash. There was a sound of a creature squeaking and then a familiar voice saying, “DeLorme, stand aside.”
Her heart jumped as the priest turned his body towards the intruder. She saw his hand going into the pocket of his coat. With his back turned, Haidée quickly reached up with her free hand and rubbed the marks on her throat, coming away with black ink on her fingers.
DeLorme was chuckling. “Ah, Monsieur Renaud, how nice of you to join us in our little love nest. I’m afraid you caught us…”
“Jacot, watch out!” she cried.
“Haidée!”
The priest flicked his hand out revealing a scrap of paper with a deadly sign on it. She struggled up to a sitting position just as he flung out his fingers, sending the scrap flying threw the air. Haidée rolled across the table and sent her legs kicking. She glimpsed Renaud flinging himself over to one side and barely missing the path of the spelled projectile before she crashed down on top of DeLorme.
“You damned witch!” the priest cursed. With surprising strength, he shoved her off him and kicked her in the stomach before strolling towards his desk.
Haidée shrieked in pain. Her eyes narrowed as she automatically curled up in a protective ball. Barely, she registered the fact that DeLorme had picked up his inked pen and was facing Renaud who had one of her second hand spells in his fingers. There was a faint chirp in her ear.
She turned her head a little to find herself face to face with the marten. “What are you doing here?”
The marten chirped again and raced away.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she muttered to herself. She struggled to sit up on the floor while still clutching her middle. She wanted to help, but she could see no way of making any symbols unless she got a hold of DeLorme’s pen. Then she eyed the water clock and the bucket. She reached out to dip her fingers in the water.
For a split second, DeLorme was distracted by her movement. Renaud took his chance and threw his spell at the priest. DeLorme ducked, laughing.
“Oh, boy, that was your mistake.” The priest was now crouched on the floor, drawing a symbol with a flick of his wrist, he raised a hand and a great cold wind suddenly blew up and slammed Renaud against the wall.
Renaud groaned and slid to the ground.
The priest then turned to Haidée with his pen poised, just as her wet finger touched the ground. Glee glinted in his gaze. “You’re not going to outwit me, Mademoiselle,” he said in a mocking tone. “Your spells will dissipate when the water dries. With ink, mine are of a more permanent nature.”
“It won’t be that permanent if it smears,” she replied.
Renaud opened his eyes. His hand slowly crept to his pocket although he still winced in pain. “DeLorme, you’re going to pay for hurting her.”
“But Monsieur Renaud, please save yourself the trouble. Don’t succumb to the charms of a witch.”
“She’s not a witch.”
Glass shattered. And the stink of alcohol began to fill the room.
In reaction, the three people in the attic laboratory turned their heads towards the noise. A large glass jar had fallen off the desk. What was left of it was shards surrounded a small black thing that looked like a lump of coal. Liquid seeped outward.
The marten sat on the desk, chattering madly at its cunning.
“No!” DeLorme shouted. “The heart!”
Haidée finished drawing a symbol on the floor with the water. She flicked her wrists towards the priest.
But DeLorme’s reaction was faster. He drew up the energy from the mark he had drawn on the floor earlier and raised up his arm to shield himself from her blow. Then he made a slashing motion with his fingers and Haidée found herself rammed against the wall, her breath knocked out of her.
Furious at the man’s treatment of its mistress, the marten leaped from the desk and sank its jaws into DeLorme’s arm.
“Devil!” he swore. He wrenched the creature off and flung the marten away. In the next second, he scooped up the dead Dauphin’s heart and lurched towards the fireplace. His fingers wrapped around the tinderbox.
Haidée was still trying to recover from the blow, but Renaud had managed to get up on his knees. She noticed that his spectacles were a few feet away, crushed, but then he didn’t need them anyway.
“DeLorme, stop.”
“Oh no, boy, I know when to retreat.” The priest turned to give them both a derisive smile. “Perhaps my plans were ruined today. But that doesn’t mean I can’t try again.” He opened the tinder box and retrieved a glinting metal object that looked like a key.
Haidée recognized it as something similar that the marten had found on her first foray up in the attic laboratory. She had pondered it while she had been translating the spelled telescope card. And now, her thoughts clicked together. She sucked in a breath. “He can’t…”
DeLorme strolled towards one of the windows and flung it open. Wind and rain gusted in, sending the priest’s coat flapping. His white hair wavered in the incoming gale like a flickering white flame. He pinned Haidée with a chilling grin. “You got lucky tonight, Mademoiselle.”
He stepped onto the window ledge and jumped.
Renaud finally got up to his feet and rushed towards the window. He looked out. “My God. What is he doing?”
There was a squeak nearby and Haidée looked down and saw the marten on its haunches beside her. She lifted a hand and let the small creature climb up to her shoulder. She groaned as she finally got up and hobbled to Renaud. She looked out into the wet night.
She could barely make out a dark figure in the air. DeLorme drifted through the air with one arm upraised to reveal the glinting pseudokey—a mark for flight.
“He’s flying,” Haidée said, half in wonder and half in horror. “I can’t believe he’s applying that mark to himself. That’s against all natural law. He must be using dark magic to make it happen.”
“Well, that isn’t…” Renaud’s voice was suddenly drowned out as lightning was thrown from the sky.
For a split second, they saw DeLorme illuminated in a brilliant white light that burned their eyes. Then, there was deafening thunder and then the odor of charred flesh permeated the dark air.