Page 52 of Fiendish Delights
We crowded round the fire. The flames were low and it would soon need some more fuel, but it was sufficient for our purposes. The long twig I’d taken from the graveyard yew tree was dry enough to burn quickly even in these dying embers. ‘We’ll only get one shot at this, so let’s get the timing right,’ I said.
Several members of the group pulled out their phones to display clocks that would be accurate to the second. I moved as close to the fire as I could and held out the twig so I could drop it into the embers at exactly the right time. I sensed that everyone was holding their breath. I certainly was.
‘One minute,’ Hugo said. ‘Get ready.’
A few poorly timed fireworks were already exploding outdoors with bangs and screaming whizzes. I held my nerve and my arm steady, waiting for the exact moment. Then, from downstairs, the chant of the countdown began.
‘Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!’
I sucked in my breath and looked up at Hugo. He winked at me.
‘Six! Five! Four! Three!’
‘Ready,’ he said.
‘Two! One!’
There was an explosion of noise from all directions. The fireworks outside started in earnest, and cheers and shouts erupted from downstairs. And everyone inside the library yelled at me. I released my hold on the yew-tree twig. It fell into the fire and the flames quickly surrounded it. I stared at the flickers. Come on, I urged it. Do something. Show ussomething.
And then it did.
It started slowly, a single tangerine orange tendril stretching upwards, abandoning the fireplace for the space in front of it. I moved back and collided with Hugo. As I stumbled, he grabbed hold of me and pulled me further away. While the sounds of the partying showed no signs of abating, in this room everyone was silent.
The frond of fire rose further, questing higher until it hovered above our heads. I watched it, my fingers curled into anxious fists. There was no telling what it might do – it might even attack us. I was ready to spring a gallon of water magic on it if need be.
I needn’t have worried because the fire had other ideas. Now it had the freedom and space to move, it quickened, twisting one way then another, arching into a shape. Within seconds, what appeared in front of us was no longer a flame that had escaped its natural confines but a very obvious – and very intricate – rune.
‘A sorcerer,’ somebody hissed. ‘We need a damned sorcerer!’
Rizwan and Becky were already speeding for the door to search for one in the throng of partygoers downstairs. I reached for my phone, as did several of the other Primes, and quicklysnapped several photos but when I looked at the results, there was nothing but a blur. From their faces, the others were having the same problem. This particular magic obviously didn’t blend with modern technology.
I abandoned my attempts to take a photograph in favour of committing the rune to memory. It curved in a snaking spiral before arching out three times. There was a flick, a dot and several slashes that intersected. I ground my teeth: it was desperately complicated and I knew that any slight deviation in my memory would alter its effect if I tried to reconstruct it. And once the yew tree twig was consumed by the flames, the rune would probably vanish.
The library door burst open and Rizwan and Becky reappeared, hauling a surprised and rather nervous-looking man between them. Becky sent an apologetic glance to Hugo and I felt his body stiffen. ‘This was the first sorcerer we could find,’ she said.
Belatedly, I recognised him – although it was his gangly form and jumpy demeanour rather than his face that I remembered. It was Gordon Mackenzie, the sorcerer who’d unlocked the underwater rune for us at Smoo Cave months before. At least he’d know what he was doing, though I was aware that there some odd tension between him and Hugo. Unfortunately, I didn’t know why.
‘This isn’t right! You can’t just drag me out of a party!’ Gordon’s cheeks were red and his hands were shaking, but even so he was doing a good job of standing up for himself.
I decided this wasn’t an occasion when Hugo was the best person to take charge. I cleared my throat. ‘Gordon, we need your help. Please.’
He squinted at me. ‘You’re Daisy Carter. What gives you the right to—?’ He faltered mid-sentence as his gazefinally snagged on the rune. His mouth dropped open and his spectacles slid down his nose. ‘Oh my God.’
He shrugged away Becky and Rizwan before moving as close to it as he could. ‘It’s exquisite. The curlicue here – the way it sweeps.’ He shook his head in amazement. ‘I’ve never seen such a perfect specimen.’
‘Do you understand it?’ I asked. ‘Does it do something? Unlock somewhere?’
Gordon didn’t seem to hear me. He extracted a notebook and started sketching the rune, the tip of his tongue visible between his lips as he concentrated. ‘It’s a key,’ he said. ‘A beautiful, old key. It’s extraordinary. Only a true master of sorcery could create such a thing. It both conceals and protects.’ He didn’t take his eyes away from it. ‘How did it come to appear here of all places? Surely this is not where the lock is located?’
‘No.’ I watched as he drew furiously, copying the difficult rune line by line and curl by curl.
Slim edged nearer to the fireplace. ‘The twig is all but gone. It’s nearly burned up.’ He was right: it was already mostly ash. The rune was also starting to disintegrate and the hovering flames were becoming less and less distinct. It would vanish in seconds.
‘Hurry,’ I urged Gordon.
He didn’t look at me; his attention was wholly on the flickering rune and his notebook. ‘Almost there,’ he muttered. ‘Almost there.’
There was a loud crack. The space that had been occupied by the rune suddenly filled with pure white smoke. I checked the fireplace: the twig had gone – and so had the rune. If we wanted to see it again, I suspected we’d have to prune more twigs from the Welsh yew tree then wait twelve months until the next New Year.
