The Longest Halloween, Book Three: Gabbie Del Toro and the Mystery of the Warlock's Urn. Frank Wood

worry,” she said, her voice colder than he remembered it. “You’ll survive, Jack of the Lantern.”

      With surprising strength, she pulled him to his feet, then lifted him in her arms and carried him back to the bed. He was too undone to resist. He went in and out of consciousness as his insides churned and discombobulated.

      “What’s happening to me?”

      “It’ll all be over soon enough,” Isabelle told him. “For now, just let the food do what it must.”

      As Jack’s vision began to fade, he saw Isabelle’s face become older, longer, more weathered and hoary. Her shoulders seemed to broaden and her arms lengthen.

      “A potion made for one who cannot be destroyed, but must now be rendered impotent,” she said, her voice older, deeper and masculine, as everything went to black for Jack.

      There was frenzy at the Ghoulsville courthouse when Barister Del Toro and his three mentees, Jettson Fleigh, Errol Gardener and Samantha Rhue, were escorted in to hear the charges drawn up against them. Abigail Del Toro could only watch helplessly from the courtroom as her husband and his student warlocks were rushed into the courthouse amidst a vicious crowd of Ghoulsville residents crying out for justice for what had been done to the home of the now-missing Jack of the Lantern. Shortly after she had met Barister at the holding cell, there were photographs, then the securing of power in the handcuffs that Barister and his mentees now wore.

      And now this, hearing the charges. Warlocks accused of crimes against the state, which is what this was in Ghoulsville (Jack’s home and his Wick being akin to state treasures, after all), would have their holdings secured until they were exonerated. For Jettson, Samantha and Errol, this latter point meant nothing, as they were still young and owned very little, in the way that those kinds of things went, but Barister was older and his holdings were many.

      For the young warlock with maniacal eyes who was following these events, it was quite important to hear the listing of Barister Del Toro’s holdings, which were now placed in storage until the outcome of his trial would be known.

      Carriage Stop

      “You’ve seen this man before?” the elegant man asked the tired barmaid.

      “No.”

      “Please look again at the picture.”

      She did. “I know Jack of the Lantern, Mr. Croft. Who doesn’t? And like I said, I don’t think it was him.”

      “You don’t think?”

      “That’s right,” came the curt reply. “Now, if there’s nothing else?”

      “Well, thank you anyway for your time,” the man sighed.

      “Now you two just need to go on away,” Edgar, Barnabas Croft’s driver ordered in a rough voice, speaking to the boy and girl loitering about the carriage.

      “But we need to talk to that man,” the girl insisted.

      “What’s all this about?” Croft asked sharply, in a bad mood from his recent unhelpful interview with the barmaid.

      “These two cretins have been following us from the Halloween village, sir,” Edgar said. “I told them they need to beat it!”

      “But we need to talk to you!” the girl insisted. “it’s important. It’s about what happened at Jack’s house.”

      “What do you the two of you know?” Croft asked, intrigued.

      “Go ahead, show him what you stole!” the girl ordered the boy. The boy obediently opened his hand and dropped a small bauble into Croft’s hands. “I told him that it was a crime scene and he ought not to be meddling with stuff,” she said, “but he didn’t listen to me.”

      Croft and his driver examined the bauble.

      “Is that...?” Edgar asked.

      “It’s the school’s insignia,” Croft said with a sigh.

      “Oh dear,” Edgar said.

      “Have you shown anyone else this?” Croft asked. The boy shook his head.

      “Very well, then.”

      Barnabas Croft’s carriage rumbled along the stony pathway. His trip had been delayed and he was much later returning to the school than he desired. As they drove, he conferred over eeriemail with his officials back in Ghoulsville.

      “I’ll be there shortly. Just keep me posted with any new developments and tell Barister not to worry. I’ve been hard at work on his behalf and I have a strong suspicion as to who might be behind these machinations. I’m going to send you what I have, though, just in case. There have been some new findings that the initial inspectors weren’t made privy to,” he said, placing the bauble the boy had given him at the last stop into the eeriemail communication. The carriage rumbled to a stop just as the object was swallowed up, as if accepted by the communicator.

      “Look, I need to go. Something’s up.” The eeriemail imagery before him dissipated.

      In a moment, a body was heaved to the ground from atop the carriage. Edgar! Barnabas tore out of the carriage. Two darkly clad, masked characters idled atop brooms in front of him.

      “What’s this all about?”

      “Just a bit of a delay in your trip, Principal Croft.”

      “Your voice sounds oddly familiar.”

      “Well, it should, Principal,” the lead one reached up and pulled off his mask to reveal a swarthy male face with a tousled mess of dark brown hair that crowned his head and cascaded into an impressive beard that covered all of his chest.

      “Benjamin Marsh!”

      “Yes, your old student, Principal. I am sorry that things had to end like this for us,” the one named Benjamin Marsh said. “I learned a bit from you, but sadly, it won’t be applied to the path I’m following.”

      “What’s the meaning of this, Marsh? Why have you been framing a good civic group for this heinous crime? And what have you done with the Everlasting Wick?”

      “Well, it does figure that if anyone should discern our methods it would be you, old teacher. Unfortunate that you won’t be around to see how it all plays out.”

      Before Croft could move, Marsh thrust out his hand and black and brown sparks emerged from long, thick fingers to fell the other man, striking him in the chest. Croft crumpled to the ground alongside the unfortunate Edgar.

      Marsh knelt by him and thrust his hand over Croft’s face. “Remember this, Principal? You once called it, I believe, an abomination,” Marsh seethed. A red glow formed in his hand. “Funny that it’ll be the very thing that ends your existence.”

      Marsh clamped his reddened hand over Croft’s face. Croft writhed and screamed as his features began to fade and then disappeared forever under the malevolent intent of Marsh’s hand. Marsh stood, towering over his two victims with his great height.

      “Shall we destroy it?” asked one of the warlocks with him.

      “No, leave this one,” Marsh replied. “I want them to know what they’re dealing with.”

      Memory Corridor

      The slight warlock had to hurry. For centuries he had been preparing the rooms, corridors and staircases of Ghoul School for the onslaught of new witches, warlocks, trolls and gnomes eager for learning and education. The last night before the start of the school year was always the most rushed for him. Normally he found it peaceful