The Twelve Chimes of Maligna Manor

Voices in the Walls

The house creaked as he shifted through the old bricks to make ready his next event. He felt their steps along his hallway as they made their way towards the stairs. Soon, they would turn the key, and he would be racked with the nine chimes.

Nine.

How had he allowed them to get to nine? They had tricked him, that was how. He had felt something when they had first arrived all those years ago. He felt little with Meek, but there had been something with the others. It was weak, little more than a dying ember, but he had known to fear it even then.

Time was his ally in these things. Why would he risk allowing even the weakest of magicians to enter his Manor? There would always be more players, and he had all the time in this world and the next.

But he had clearly overlooked the resemblance. He cared so little for the children. How was he meant to recognise their relatives?

And they had been masked, they must have been, by some power even greater than theirs. Who was it? Not the American boy. He was powerful, yes, but had nowhere near the discipline to sustain such magic in his presence. He had worried that Margarita had somehow mastered what little she had, but that was clearly not the case. But someone had gotten in here, and their influence had strengthened the boy, and then there was the girl. The boy's power was cunning, but the girl would be unpredictable. She may destroy the others yet, but she would not be as easily tamed as Meek had been.

Things were hanging on a knife edge.

With Meek lost he had no agent to turn the tide. Margarita might have served, but she proved more competent than he had envisioned. She may well prove an asset rather than the millstone he had hoped for.

But there was nothing more to be done. The deal had been made, and it could not be altered now. Maybe one last gamble was in order. After all, why not? If he could succeed in this, it would all be over. He would achieve his end.

Maligna had been a fool. A cheap conjurer who believed himself a true magician. He thought to save off death and entrusted his soul to the first voice that answered. It was the problem with these mortals. They always thought you could ask for what you wanted, that the great powers were ones of mercy and compassion.

But Maligna knew now that you used power, or power used you.

To think that he truly believed that his life could mean anything. That any life of this world could hold a candle to that which came before. But Maligna had his use. He and his family were the first fuel to the fire.

The fire that will soon take these meddling Sanchezs.

The fire that will burn the barrier to death.

Soon, my love. Soon you will be free.