The Scepter of Fire. Морган Райс

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СКАЧАТЬ stand a chance, but that was located at the very top of the school, on the ground floor, and they were at the very bottom, fifty floors underground.

      Oliver felt distraught.

      Professor Amethyst hurried to them. “Quick. Come. Come now,” he said, beckoning them.

      Oliver had never seen the headmaster look so frantic. So scared. It only made it more clear how dire the situation they were in really was.

      The gang hurried along with Professor Amethyst. The elderly man led them down a corridor marked with an X, one forbidden to students. Oliver had no idea where it would take them or what Professor Amethyst’s plan was now. But he always trusted the headmaster. His mentor had never failed him yet.

      They ran through the corridor, the shaking so intense Oliver felt his teeth rattle in his skull. It was like standing beside a pneumatic drill. He could feel it in every fiber of his body.

      Finally, they made it to the end of the corridor. Up ahead there was a door. It looked very similar to the one they’d traveled through to get back here from Leonardo da Vinci’s workshop, where he’d helped them create the precious Elixir they’d used to cure Esther. The one, Oliver thought with bitter sorrow, that had set off this catastrophic reaction.

      Professor Amethyst threw open the door. A gust of wind seemed to suck Oliver toward it. He grabbed Esther’s hand. Ralph grabbed his other. He looked left and right to see that his friends were all clinging to one another, Walter to Simon, Simon to Ralph, and so on, in a chain, combining their strength in order to hold their ground against the battering force of the wind.

      “You must jump!” Professor Amethyst cried.

      Oliver looked through the open door. All he could see was darkness.

      “Where will it take us?” he yelled back.

      Wind whipped his blond hair into his eyes. He realized he was trembling. Esther squeezed his hand tightly.

      “Just go!” the headmaster yelled.

      Oliver glanced quickly at his friends. He realized they were waiting for him to lead. To take the first jump. To be brave and show them the way.

      Oliver swallowed his nerves. He let go of Esther’s and Ralph’s hands, and threw himself into the black.

      CHAPTER ONE

      In the black void of nothingness, Christopher Blue felt a whooshing sensation, like magnets being pulled together. It was a horrible feeling, and one he’d become painfully accustomed to—the sensation of his atoms coming back together. He knew what came next, once he’d been reassembled in his human form: the tearing, splitting, wrenching feeling of being torn apart, atom by atom, all over again. How many times had he gone through it now? A hundred? A million? Had he been stuck in this endless, miserable loop for days or years? There was no way of knowing. All he knew was the ongoing push and pull of the void, the feeling of all-consuming hatred, and the name Oliver.

      Oliver. His brother. The object of his intense hatred. The reason he’d ended up here.

      There was nothing else in the void. No noise. No light. Just that terrible feeling of his atoms stuck in a loop of being pulled apart and coming back together. But Chris still had his memories, and they repeated as frequently as the atom tears did. He remembered Oliver. Of his moment of cowardice in ancient Italy when he’d realized he could not kill him. And he remembered the portals closing in on him, ripping him apart limb from limb and sending him to this place between time. He dwelled on his memories as he went through cycle after painful cycle.

      Then, suddenly, something changed. There was light.

      Light? Chris thought.

      He’d almost forgotten such a thing existed.

      But here it was. A brightness. A glow. A blinding sort of light that made his eyes hurt. How long had it been since he’d seen light? Twenty seconds? Twenty years? Either answer seemed perfectly plausible to Chris.

      The light seemed to be growing ever brighter, until before Chris knew it, it was everywhere. The blackness that had been his reality had been replaced by this sudden light. And then, with a whooshing noise that seemed to come from all directions, Chris suddenly found himself somewhere. Not nowhere anymore, but somewhere. Somewhere with a stone-tiled floor—cold against his stomach—and a smell in the air like an old, dank castle. Smell, like light, was something Chris had all but forgotten. Touch, too. Yet suddenly all those sensations were here.

      The tiles against his stomach were hard in contrast to the fleshiness of his body. The air was chilly, and he felt a light breeze pass over his skin.

      Body! Chris thought. Skin!

      Laughing, Chris grabbed his torso, moving his hands all over it, feeling the ribs and the collar bone and all the squishy flesh. He laughed again as it dawned on him that he was no longer in the void of nothing, floating around in his smallest components, but was back in one piece, one solid piece. And that one solid piece was back in reality.

      Now, he just had to work out what reality he was in.

      He heaved himself up to sitting and looked around. The room was familiar. Crimson walls like fresh blood. A big, wooden throne. A conference table made of oak. A high, vaulted ceiling. A glass cabinet filled with vials of potions and weapons. A window, through which gray light filtered in.

      He stood, his legs wobbling, and went over to the window. It overlooked a large grassy field that stretched all the way to a line of forest trees, black silhouettes on the horizon.

      Grass! Chris thought with delight. Trees!

      He’d forgotten all about them. And seeing them now sent peals of delight rippling through his body. His laughter turned to hysteria.

      “Christopher Blue,” came a cold female voice.

      With a gasp, Chris swirled on the spot. There was a woman standing in the room. A scowling woman wearing a long black cloak that reached the floor. Her arms were folded.

      The name came back to Chris with sudden ferocity: Mistress Obsidian.

      A jolt of terror went through him. He staggered backward until he collided with the stone wall and there was nowhere left to shrink to.

      “You…” he stammered. “You’re the one who tortured me!”

      It was all starting to come back to Chris now.

      “That was your punishment,” Mistress Obsidian said without even the smallest hint of remorse. “For failing me. For going against my expressed command. I can do it to you again. Anytime I want.”

      Chris shook his head. He felt like he was reaching the verge of insanity. Just knowing he could be sent back to that place of turmoil, of unending agony, was enough to send his mind reeling.

      “Please, no,” he begged, falling to his knees. “Please don’t send me back.”

      “Get up, you sniveling wretch,” Mistress Obsidian said. “Begging won’t save you.”

      “Then what will?” he asked desperately, heaving himself to his feet. “What can I do to make sure I never go back to that place?”

      “Follow my instructions,” СКАЧАТЬ