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“You drank from the spell. The spell is now a part of your essence. Maybe we can harness it to get us out of here.”
He leaned forward. “Then why can’t I leave?”
The black, leather book vibrated and pulsed before coming to a rest. “My book is calling out to its two other copies,” Madeline said, patting the book once more. “It yearns to be reunited with them. If only I could use it to get us out of here . . . But the book alone isn’t powerful enough to break through.”
Madeline glared into his eyes. “You must become a part of our army. It’s the only way we’ll be strong enough to break through. With the spell coursing through your soul, it will then course through all of ours. We may be able to break through. But only if you submit to the banshee’s wail willingly. The trials are meant to help you see you have no choice but to submit.”
Hugo’s heart skipped a beat, and his stomach sank. His chin quivered, betraying his stoic poker face. His only means of escape was to submit himself to become a ghoul like those wailing around this wretched place. He would give up who he was to join her legion of minions. Hugo gulped.
The carriage came to a halt; the door flung open. Hugo was back at the purple house, the fake image of his once happy home. Hugo stood and exited the carriage.
“I understand what this means, Hugo,” Madeline said. “But it is the only way. We must be powerful to break through, but we can only do it together. Trust me.”
He never turned back to acknowledge her. Hugo shambled up the pathway in half steps toward the purple house. He climbed the gray porch steps, each footstep heavier than the last. He focused on the black door. If he went inside, he was sealing his fate. If he turned, he faced oblivion. Hugo moved to the door and placed his hand on the ornate diamond knob.
He gave a thought to Alice. She was searching for him. She was coming. He had hope in the face of despair. He turned and opened the door, entering the house.
“I see they let you live,” Thaddeus said as Hugo returned.
Hugo didn’t acknowledge him. He shut the door behind him. He glanced into the living room and then up the stairs.
Alice is coming. I know she is. I have to hope. I have to believe.
“Take your time,” Thaddeus shouted. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Hugo remained silent; only the echoes of his steps responded. He entered his bedroom and shut the door behind him. The black canopy bed where his hockey stick resided beneath the mattress. The message he left for Alice. The one she hopefully received.
Hope.
Hugo entered the bathroom, turned on the lights, and shut the door. He was alone. Only his reflection stared back at him. His black-eyed reflection. Hugo sighed, hoping her reflection would be waiting for him. He moved toward the mirror.
He placed his hands on the white porcelain sink. He leaned closer to the mirror. She wasn’t there, but he didn’t care. He needed someone to talk to, even if it was himself.
“I don’t know if you can hear me. Ihopeyou can hear me. I need you. I really need you right now. I’m lost. I’m scared. I’m trapped. You’re the only one who can help. Please. Please hear me.”
There was no response.
He placed his forehead on the mirror and whispered, “Madeline Sinclair is a banshee, and she’s building an army of ghouls. She’s trying to turn me into one, and you’re the only person who can help.”
Stave Three
THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS
Chapter 11
Supernatural Hotline
“Why didn’t you get any of the good stuff?” Alice’s reflection asked as she took a sip of her wineglass. She sat atop the sink on her side of the mirror, peeping down at Alice wrapped in a purple robe, black leggings, and Hugo’s dark gray hooded sweatshirt.
Alice sat cross-legged on the bathroom floor with her back against the wall. The leather-bound Book of the Dead rested beside her. She twitched her toes in the chill of the night. The air wasn’t biting, but teasing to the cold December night outside.
Alice darted her eyes at her reflection, hesitating to answer. Her reflection knew the answer, but she liked to play games to force Alice to speak. Alice swooped up her glass resting next to her and took a sip. Its acidic taste washed over her tongue, filling her with the familiar comfort of a warm blanket. She breathed deeply, locking onto her reflection’s eyes, forcing her to wait for the answer.
“Don’t act like I don’t know what you’re doing,” her reflection said.
Candles floating in the air flickered across Alice’s face, revealing a slight smile. Their light spilled into the darkened bedroom. Max laid down at the bathroom entrance, not daringto enter, for it could be one of Hugo and Alice’s bath time tricks. Soft orchestral Christmas music played from a speaker in her bedroom.
Alice remained still and asked in a hushed tone, “What exactly am I doing?”
