Chapter IV
IV
Though humankind writ large forgot the magic they’d used to break the world, sects of men who remembered, who retained the mastery of all life, swore to rid the world of the chaos their ways had created.
Rules, structure, organization: These became their escape route.
With each generation, they fought to fix what they’d broken. With each generation, they failed.
But the world thrived under chaos. Men built for the sky. They stored food in unimaginable quantities and broke the landscape into discrete, nameable parts. Though the beasts remained on the fringes, waiting for weakness, humankind persevered.
Thus emerged a radical alternative. The new order ought to be balance, not restoration. They would never fix what was broken, but the world, it seemed, could live on the knife’s edge between chaos and control.
This approach won out in the end, once its proponents outlived everyone who opposed them, and they took up their mantle of sitting by and waiting for the world to end. It nearly did, a few times, and they stopped it, as they promised they would.
Here was the origin of the Acheron Order.
They sat at the end of history, looking backward.
They fell into the shadows and allowed the world of men to forget what they had done.
All the same, they kept their power. They nursed it through the centuries, kept it fresh, kept it vital.
A condensed kind of power, held tight in the hands of a few.
They lorded it over the world they had saved long after it had forgotten them.
—From the archives of E. Henry Aldous (1875)
“And you’ve brought a guest.”
The man’s genteel smile widened when his eyes fell on Vic.
Henry, noticing his sister for the first time, shot a wide-eyed look back at her.
The man descended the staircase like nobility from another time.
He wore a suit of rich ivory, with a shirt and tie in darker shades of cream.
A teal kerchief completed the anachronistic ensemble.
Even at a distance, Vic knew his clothes were expensive, probably bespoke.
Wavy hair couldn’t decide between black and gray, though Vic guessed he couldn’t be much older than fifty.
He could have been a golden-age star, some Hollywood legend kept ageless in a castle. He was strikingly handsome.
Vic stepped forward with a hand outstretched. “Victoria Wood,” she said. “I’m Henry’s older sister.”
“I remember,” he said with a smile. His eyes were a soft gray, like blue eyes drained of their vibrance. “I knew your mother quite well once.”
“That makes one of us,” Vic said with a sardonic smile, and an odd curiosity flashed across his face.
Henry angled around her to shake the man’s proffered hand. The stranger looked between the siblings before introducing himself.
“My name is Max Shepherd,” he told them. “I’m one of the Elders in the Order.”
Nathaniel, too, had introduced himself as an Elder. Though this man didn’t look old enough to be the elder of anything. Vic’s confusion must have shown on her face, because Max laughed—a happy laugh, charming against the austere backdrop of the castle.
“It’s more a title than a descriptor. And I’m flattered. There are twelve of us.”
“Mr. Shepherd,” Henry cut in. “I know the documents Elder Carver provided stressed secrecy, but my sister was concerned about my safety.”
“A perfectly understandable concern,” Max replied lightly, watching Vic.
“Yes,” Henry said. “Before last week, we didn’t have any idea—”
“Before last week, you were hiding from us.”
“Our mother had given Henry reason to believe he wasn’t safe,” Vic said, her eyes narrowed, but the man, Max, nodded.
“There’s no need to apologize. It was a misunderstanding. Your situation is…unique.”
Henry stood up straight and continued, “I know that outsiders aren’t allowed in the castle, but we were wondering if she—”
“Of course you can stay,” Max said, his eyes on Vic. “The Order owes a great debt to Meredith Wood. Her kin is our kin.”
Vic frowned at the ease in his words as her head spun. Years of hiding from these people, and she was welcomed inside without question? It didn’t make sense.
Henry must have thought the same thing, because he went on, “Elder Carver wrote that humans are never allowed at Avalon. He threatened us with consequences, he said that—”
Max waved a hand to dismiss these concerns. “Rules are made to be broken,” he said in an airy tone. “Come with me.”
“But the car is—” Vic pointed feebly behind her, unsure of what exactly her complaint was. None of this was what she’d expected.
“All will be taken care of. Please, come.”
He didn’t ask for the car keys.
Max strode toward the twin staircases, and Henry followed without pause. With an anxious glance back the way they’d come, Vic hurried after them.
The corridor, as ornate as the entrance hall, had arched ceilings scattered with intricate stonework. Paintings dotted the otherwise bare walls, and the floor dipped down in the center, an impression formed under thousands of footsteps.
“Avalon Castle is the Order’s home, and has been for two centuries,” Max said.
“The castle functions as a training ground for new members, houses the archives, and provides a meeting place. The main structure consists of five wings, excluding the tunnels and exterior buildings. It comprises more than five hundred rooms, including a half dozen libraries, an amphitheater, training areas, and of course lodging, all built around a courtyard, which is lovely in the sun but rather abysmal at present.”
Vic surveyed a thin corridor as they passed, half expecting to see a stream of people appear—wearing robes and perhaps pointed hats—but no, only empty stone.
Hard and cold and glossed with a thin layer of condensation.
If Vic ran a hand along the wall, she imagined it would feel like the pockmarked side of a cave.
“Where is everyone?” she asked.
Henry sent her a warning look.
What? Vic mouthed. Henry ignored her and turned back to Max, who extracted a fine golden pocket watch from the front of his vest, then snapped it shut.
“The castle’s inhabitants have settled into their rooms for the night.
Order members are generally discouraged from wandering the halls during midnight hours.
” Before Vic could ask why, he continued, “Only a small number of active members live in the castle full-time. As I’m sure you can tell, the castle was built to accommodate many times more people than currently live in it.
Even at the Order’s height, we never had enough members to fill this place.
Regardless, there are fewer witches remaining than many would prefer. ”
“Did something happen to the rest of the witches?” Vic asked. Her mind jumped to witch hunts, to violence and persecution. Women’s bodies roasting on the spit.
Henry shot her another look. As if it were impertinent for her to ask pressing questions when assessing his safety was her only goal. She rolled her eyes, and Henry scowled at her. Vic thought Henry would have kicked her if Max didn’t have a clear view of both of their feet. Max chuckled.
“Nothing so macabre as what you’re thinking,” he told Vic in that easy way of his. “It’s simply that fewer witches are born these days.”
“When does training start?” Henry asked.
“Two weeks ago,” Max said. “You’ll be the last to join, since we had such trouble tracking you down, but there’s no need to worry about being behind. Everyone starts with the basics.”
They entered a wide hallway lined with doors, and Max came to a halt about midway down.
“You may join if you like,” he said to Vic.
“Join?” For an instant, Vic thought he meant the Order, and her mind raced. All this emphasis on secrecy, everything her mother hid from her because she wasn’t born like Henry. She’d never expected to be invited inside, let alone welcomed to sit at the table.
“Classes,” Max clarified. “In the morning, you may go with your brother.”
“Oh, but I’m not—” Vic shook her head.
“I know you can’t use magic. But if your aim is to guarantee your brother’s safety, it would be a worthwhile use of your time. There’s no better way to learn what we do here.”
Obviously Vic would stay with Henry if given the chance. The prospect of leaving him here—driving back to Texas with an empty passenger seat—had hung like a specter over her all week. But she wasn’t sure she understood what Max was suggesting.
Vic replied, “I won’t be able to do anything.”
“We’ll see about that.” Max gestured to the door in front of them. “This is the entrance to your rooms.”
The thick wooden door was, like everything else Vic had seen in this castle, more extravagant than it needed to be and out of place in this millennium.
Delicate carvings of foliage covered its face, and a red glass knob glittered against the oak like a single drop of blood.
Apartment 241, according to the brass numbers fixed at eye level.
“I assumed it would make you more comfortable to be housed together,” Max said.
“I thought you didn’t know I was coming.”
Max merely smiled and pressed a pair of barrel keys into Henry’s palm.
“You should find everything in order within. Please don’t hesitate to let me know if there’s anything I can do to make you more comfortable.
” His eyes held Vic’s as he continued, “Allow me to recommend against wandering the halls after dark without an escort.”
As he spoke, a door behind Max flew open and hit the wall like a fist. Vic jumped. She stared as the door slammed itself shut with equal force.
Max winced without turning around. “The castle has a mind of its own, I’m afraid.” He gave the siblings an encouraging smile. “I will see you both soon. Please let me know if you need anything.”
Max walked away, and Henry set the key into the lock and entered the room. Across the hallway, the door that had moved of its own accord stood motionless.