Free Blood Moon (Book Three - The Ravenscliff Series) by Geoffrey Huntington Page A

his powers.
    “But if Devon didn’t do what he did, the whole house would’ve burned to the ground,” Alexander said later that morning as the household gathered in the parlor. “He has such cool powers.”
    Mrs. Crandall just sighed and sent the boy upstairs to get ready for school.
    “Well,” Cecily said after he was gone, “Alexander is right. I have to give credit where credit is due.” Her green eyes made contact with Devon’s as she wrapped her pink terrycloth robe tightly around her. “Thank you, Devon.”
    He looked away, not wanting to be reminded of how he once felt about her. “Do you want me to fix the fire damage?” Devon asked Mrs. Crandall. “I can probably repair most of it …”
    “If you are going to use hammer and nails and paint, fine,” said the mistress of Ravenscliff. “But not any sorcery.”
    Devon made a face. “Then I guess you’ll need to call a carpenter.”
    “If I may be permitted to say so, ma’am,” Bjorn said to Mrs. Crandall, “she’s getting to be a real danger. One never knows when she’ll strike. I thought she was happy and content last night. I brought her a hot fudge sundae. She seemed so good-tempered. But she must have been plotting, even then. Next time we might not be so fortunate. Master Devon might be at school …”
    “Well, what do you propose we do , Bjorn?” Mrs. Crandall snapped. “Every time you capture her, she slips away again, since the spell of confinement has been broken.” She shot a withering look Devon’s way.
    “Well, if I may be so bold to suggest, ma’am,” Bjorn offered, “maybe a new spell ought to be cast.”
    Devon knew Bjorn meant him. He was the only one at Ravenscliff—other than Crazy Lady—who had any powers left.
    “No more spells,” Mrs. Crandall said weakly, sinking down into her chair. “It stirs things up. It lures things this way …”
    “But if she tried to burn the house down once,” Cecily argued, “she’ll do it again.”
    “Can I even do it?” Devon asked. “I mean, if she’s got powers, too, who’s to say I can contain her?”
    “She’s never known how to use her sorcery properly,” Mrs. Crandall said. “She was never adequately trained.” She eyed Devon coldly. “Not that you were , Devon, but you have, over my objections, been making progress.”
    Making progress? Devon could really get into it with her on that point, arguing that rescuing Alexander from a Hell Hole and defeating an undead demon witch was considerably more than just “making progress.” But he held his tongue.
    “I would be willing to try,” Devon said, “on the condition that you tell me who she is, and what she knew about me. It seems only fair, if I’m to be the one who contains her.”
    Mrs. Crandall seemed appalled. “You would bargain over the safety of this family?”
    “Yeah, Devon,” Cecily said, coming around to stand beside her mother. “That seems really selfish.” She crossed her arms over chest and thrust her chin up. In that moment, Devon thought, mother and daughter had never looked more alike.
    “Look,” Devon argued, “you’re asking me to imprison someone against her will.”
    “A sorceress , Devon, who is becoming more dangerous by the day.” Mrs. Crandall slapped the arm of her chair. “What if she gets it into her mind to open the door to the Hell Hole? What then?”
    It was a thought that took Devon aback. Yes, what then? In his mind’s eye he could see the portal in the West Wing—that bolted metal door behind which the demons slithered and scratched, begging to be set free. Only a Sorcerer of the Nightwing had the power to open that door, or seal it shut.
    “All right, all right, I’ll do it,” Devon said. “But I still want answers. And if you won’t give them to me, I’ll find them elsewhere.”
    “Just locate her and keep her in one room,” Mrs. Crandall said. “I hate the very thought of allowing you to use sorcery in this house, but I’ve no other choice. Just