A Murder of Crows - Chapter 8

Weasel led the way through the house, the others following one step behind.
All was quiet. Normal.
An ordinary house, not one in which you expected death at every corner. "Maybe it's all our imagination", though Weasel. "Maybe nothing will happen.".
Inside, the beast stirred in its sleep.

Amelia took in her surroundings carefully as they moved. She had no desire to lose her bearings in this place if they become separated. Everything about the house seemed ornate, preserved, and cold. There was nothing genuine about any of it, as William had said. I suppose magic and curses are proof enough against time and age, she thought, the same forces that acted on Mr. Lafitte.
And with each step towards the library, the trepidation she'd begun to feel became stronger. Her fingers tightened around the silver dagger Math had given her. It would not be long now, she was sure of it.

We'd better hurry, mates! They must be crossing the study by now."
Our footsteps raise small clouds of dust from the once-clean floor. As we arrive at the corridor, enormous, monstrous webs block our way, like nightmarish shrouds hanging from a corpse.
"Mon Dieu! It's a trap!"
Briefcase steps in front of me, and even as he does so, I hear something... Not from the house, not from my own mind... Like a distant bagpipe wailing... For a moment, it seems like Briefcase's image flickers, revealing a long-haired man in flowing green robes. But that, too, passes, and his impeccable suit is back in place.

"Get back!" I draw my blade, and start cutting through the webs.
"Flagrate!" The webs ignite, but the flame is cold - none within will be harmed, nor, unfortunately, will the house. Moments later, the webs are gone.

From the second room, there is a hallway. The hallways splits, leading one way to the study and the other way to the library. The library leads to the oratory.
The webs were in the the hallway which leads to the study.
Study: This room is filled with the odor of age. Nothing seems to have moved within for years, yet no dust can be seen anywhere. Three candles burn, yet the wax does not seem to decrease. In all, the area seems to have survived the centuries unchanged. Two couchs flank a table to the left of the door, and a desk sits opposite the door. A chair remains near the desk, another near the table, and two are on opposite sides of a chess board where a game seems to have been left in progress. A lamp hangs in the center of the room, illuminating all corners.
Library: This double floored library is filled with books of all kinds, colors, and sizes. A ladder can be rolled along the outer edge of the bottom floor, underneath the balcony of the second floor. Two long tables and five chairs lie in the room along with a single couch. A single spiral staircase ascends to the second floor to the right. A single, stained glass chandelier hangs from the painted ceiling of the library, casting scintilating light across the room. A door to the oratory can be seen on the second floor, opposit the door from the hall. An exquisite collection of ornate swords are hung along the opposite wall, in a circular pattern. Two suits of armor stand across from each other, halberds in hand, eternally guarding the room.

I snap a quick look at the disappearing webs and the cold burning sword of Karl's. Shaking my head grimly, I grab and tear off a bit of the web.
"Waste not your magic, Mr. Wolfeman," I begin. The web fades from my hand, like melting wax as I continue. "It is not real. In this house... many things in this house are not real. It is knowing what is real that is the trick."
Claude looks at me and for a moment, a glimmer of confusion lights in his eyes. Perhaps, I think, some take my words too wisely.
I wait for the flame to die down, then boldly, I walk to the door. Placing my hand on the handle, I glance back to Claude, Karl, and Frank. They nod back, Frank and Karl with gun and sword ready. Turning the handle, I throw the door wide.

Weasel quickly moved through the library, suspiciously eyeing the swords on the walls.
They didn't move, bit then again, that would have sounded silly, not? He giggled to himself for expecting such strange behaviour, and started ascending the stairs to the second floor.
"All seems safe", he said, turning around to face the others.
At that moment, a tremor ran through the bookcase to the left of the stairs.
Weasel looked at it in suprise, but before realization dawned, a heavy book shot out of the case, hitting him in the chest, and knocking him back over the stair's railing. He flailed for a grip, missed the wooden steps, and plummeted downstairs, crashing down on the floor. Several smaller books fell from the stairs on his still form.
Another tremor was felt through the library's wooden floor.
Then all was still.

As the group moves quickly through the house, Trent keeps a nervous watch on the rear of the library party. However as they proceed a growing dread starts to overtake him. It was as if the very shadows were nipping at his heels and a growing darkness was following them. A darkness that was reaching out towards him.
He quickens his pace.
It doesn't matter, the fear bubbles inside him.
"On! On! Frank! On!"
As they reach the library with a rush he slams the doors closed behind them cutting out the darkness. He slumps against the doors, the colour drained from his face.
Only then does he look round and see Fudgewick's fall.

The sound is sudden, low and frightful.
"Trouble in the library!" - I sound utterly ridiculous in this statement, but couldn't help it.
Barely acknowledging the dying webs - and trying not to think of spiders - I ram my shoulder against the doors to the library, much like I used to do in treasuries all through the Caribbean. It's weird how a life you spend years running from suddenly comes back full-force. "It's locked!"

"One side, Mr. LaFitte."
Calmly, I step forward. Laying one hand on the knob, I close my eyes and concentrate. Opening them, I speak.
"Enchanted, undoubtedly."
Again, I focus, holding my hand mere inches from the center of the doors.
"Stand back!" I shout, hoping that they can hear me from the other side.
I begin mumbling words of an incantation, summoning up the force of magic, focusing it into my hand. A slight glow forms on the palm of my hand, flat to the door. I press the flat of my palm to the door swiftly, speaking one word.
"Knock."

"William!" Amelia gasped and started towards his prone form. She jerked back abruptly as an object-another book-sliced through the air inches in front of her face and banged loudly against the far wall. The force around them was building to a breaking point.
She dared to glance up at the blades hanging from the wall. They were quivering, as if in anticipation.
"Trent!" she cried, pointing. "The swords...watch out!"

Creaking, as if under protest, the doors of the library swing open. The panic-stricken voices that seemed to come from behind the door fade away, till only silence remains.
The library is empty.

My eyes narrow as I look about the room. Placing my hand in front of me, knowing that the door is open, I walk cautiously into the room.
I turn back to the group, with their mystified and worried looks. I speak one word.
"Glamour."
With a knowing smile, I begin to fade away.
Mentally activating an innate invisibility, technically allowing me to see through illusions, since I enter and incorporate myself into the illusion. Any attempts to disbelieve my gradual disappearance would affect the entire illusion, if there is one. If there is no illusion in the room, then all I am doing is the equivalent of Invisibility.

"For the love of God..." I look around, considering what I see - or, more accurately, what I don't see. I don't usually fall for tricks like this one - why in God's name didn't I take a few hours extra to memorize a few extra spells? A mere detection spell, and a handful of others...
Wait a second - that might work.
I reach into the pouch at my side, and withdraw a handful of glittering powder that, oddly enough, leaves a slight greasy residue on the fingers.
"Powder of Ibn-Gahzi, do thy work, let us see that that we cannot see!" I cast the powder into the room, silently thanking the foresight that made me bring the Powder with me. Instants later, the powder had worked, and the illusions fell, revealing that around us - including the rattling sabres on the edge of the room.

As he started to move to help Weasel, Trent both noticed the sabres and heard the warning at the same time. He paused waiting for an indication of what was to happen.
A sabre suddenly broke free from its mounting and sailed across the room. "Down!" Was all he had time to shout as he dived behind the nearest suit of armour. The sword burried itself in the wall behind him. He slowly got to his feet and looked around.
"What's the matter?"
Why were some of the others giving him such odd looks. He glanced around.
"Well?"
Suddenly he realised what was wrong. The sword was still sitting in its mounting, and had never moved. He stood still mouth hanging open.

Suddenly, appearing in the center of the room is a man. He stands with a knowing smile and his eyes closed.
To Trent, he appears to be an old man, weak and helpless. He wears the clothes of a business man, but they have been long ago torn and worn by travels.
To Amelia, he appears to be dressed in a relaxed business suit, and stands with a quiet poise. As she looks closely, she recognizes him. It is her father.
To the Weasel, he sees the Beast... the Beast he had met here long, long ago...
To Sarah... who knows?

Amelia instinctively ducked as Trent cried out a warning. When she looked up at the wall again, the sabres were hanging motionless in their places. They couldn't ALL be imagining things...or could they? Laffitte's warning came unbidden into her mind-"at each house, the powers of darkness get stronger. At one point they will try to enter your minds."
Like walking inside of a dream, Amelia thought. A very dangerous dream. She looked up quickly as the doors to the library swung open, revealing an empty hallway beyond. A figure materialized in the room in front of her, seeming to melt out of the air, mist given form. A form she knew. Her father.
Hot tears of grief welled within her, and Amelia closed her eyes to cut off the rest of the room, but mostly to squelch the overwelming, betraying urge to believe in the shadow-the illusion-that dared to wear her father's shape.
You'll have to do better than that, Amelia thought defiantly, and for an instant she thought she felt eyes upon her, and heard a whisper of mocking laughter. This was sorcery, she knew, but its power was beyond her. Help me, Math, she pleaded silently as she opened her eyes once more. They've no right to play with memories

The man, seemingly hearing Amelia's silent plea, turns to her. He approaches her, smiling warmly and holding out his hand.
Amelia hears a quiet voice in her mind... a voice she has heard before, but cannot place...
"It is glamour... the base of the Sidhe... you know the truth, child...."

Amelia reached out uncertainly.
Yes, she did know. Amelia watched sadly as the painful illusion shattered like so much breaking glass, revealing to her the rest of her companions standing at various places in the room. She rubbed gingerly at her temples to try and banish a sudden dull throbbing in her head. As she did so, she remembered the voice.
"Sidhe," she murmured, wondering what to make of it.

And standing, his hand extended, where you once saw your father, is the kind face of an old man. It takes you a moment, but you recognize the clothes and see his face grow younger in your mind.... and you know him to be Math.

"You," Amelia said, relief and confusion in her voice as Math's form was gradually revealed. "It was you."
She looked at his outstretched hand and remembered the image of her father. It lingered teasingly in her mind. "Glamour." She sighed.
"Very...convincing."

Sarah mutters softly to herself then blinks, as if awakened from a walking dream, and shuffles somberly up to the group, looking around to see what is going on.
"This place is becoming like a nightmare," She mumbled to herself, "the lines between fantasy and reality are growing ever thinner...is any of this real?"
She adjusted her spectacles mindlessly, watching the group and waiting for their next move.

The first one takes everyone by surprise. Like a Titan pounding against its cage in Tarterus. The very foundations of the Manor seem to shudder in fear.
"The clock! It's 10 PM! We're entering the fourth house of the night... Where did Briefcase go?!"
My yelling is wasted, crushed underneath an unholy sound, like a demon-bell rejoicing. The Heart of Midnight is awakening, as the hours pass... And what was illusory, will soon be real...
Wolfemann grasps his cane a little tighter. I try to gather my surroundings. If this is the library's side entrance, right behind us are the...
"Chandeliers!!! Jump!"
Crash.
All gets quiet.

"What is going on!" Trent looks toward the others.
The bell's sound seems to visibly shake his body with each fresh clap.
A slight movement catches his eyes. He looks intently at a dark corner of the room. His eyes widen with recognition and fear.
"NO!"
He fumbles for the revolver, drawring it and cocking it awakwardly in his haste. In the corner the vague shapes of humaniod forms are forming in the darkness, or is it from the darkness. They shift and mingle to form three distinct forms. Three shadows that in outline appear to be Indian braves, two with shadowy spears and one with a curved knife. Trent cries out in terror.
"No, not again!"
He raises his weapon, shaking in his hand, and fires. The noise of the shot echoes around the room. A second shot follows. The acrid stench of gunpowder wafts from the gun, as does acrid smoke. The result of such shattering voilence on the shadows is naught. Despite his shakey aim, Trent hit the same shadow twice, yet all that was accoumplished was for a small hole to briefly appear only to be filled with blackness moments later.
Trent looks at the shades and wimpers, holding out his revolver as though it might somehow protect him.
The Indian Warriors advance, ignoring the rest of the group, toward the cowering cavalryman.