The Lantern's Ember
Colleen Houck
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2018 by Colleen Houck
Cover art copyright © 2018 by Billelis
Excerpt from Reawakened copyright © 2015 by Colleen Houck
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Name: Houck, Colleen, author.
Title: The Lantern’s Ember / Colleen Houck.
Description: First edition. | New York : Delacorte Press, [2018] | Summary: When seventeen-year-old Ember, a witch living in the quiet New England town of Hallowell, crosses into the Otherworld, Jack the gatekeeper sets out to find her before the supernatural and mortal worlds descend into chaos.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017045632 | ISBN 978-0-399-55572-5 (hc) | ISBN 978-0-399-55574-9 (el)
Subjects: | CYAC: Supernatural—Fiction. | Magic—Fiction. | Witches—Fiction. | Love—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.H81143 Lan 2018 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
Ebook ISBN 9780399555749
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
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Contents
Cover
Books by Colleen Houck
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1: Crossroads
Chapter 2: Roanoke
Chapter 3: Sleepy Hollow
Chapter 4: Samhain
Chapter 5: Harbinger
Chapter 6: Grave Consequences
Chapter 7: I Put a Spell on You
Chapter 8: Something Wicked this Way Comes
Chapter 9: Running Like Clockwork
Chapter 10: A Vampire’s Kiss
Chapter 11: The Brass Compass
Chapter 12: Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble
Chapter 13: The Haunted Horseman
Chapter 14: The Phantom Airbus
Chapter 15: A Haunting Tale
Chapter 16: Said the Spider to the Fly
Chapter 17: Like Pulling Teeth
Chapter 18: Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered
Chapter 19: Getting into the Spirit of Things
Chapter 20: The Wrong Side of the Bed
Chapter 21: Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea
Chapter 22: Tricks and Treats
Chapter 23: The Spy who Loved Me
Chapter 24: Bleeding Hearts
Chapter 25: A Daring Proposal
Chapter 26: Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop
Chapter 27: Things that go Bump in the Night
Chapter 28: The Island of Dr. Farragut
Chapter 29: Dressed to the Nines
Chapter 30: Werewolfing it Down
Chapter 31: Death Becomes Her
Chapter 32: The Kiss of Death
Chapter 33: A Witch’s Scream
Chapter 34: Blinded by Science
Chapter 35: Portrait of a Vampire
Chapter 36: A New Broom Sweeps Clean
Chapter 37: Costumes Mandatory
Chapter 38: The Cat’s Out of the Bag
Chapter 39: Candy is Dandy, But Liquor is Quicker
Chapter 40: A Skeleton in the Closet
Chapter 41: The Boogeyman
Chapter 42: Cat Got Your Tongue?
Chapter 43: Embers
Epilogue: Halloween
Excerpt from Reawakened
About the Author
For Daniel and Mitchell, who still love my Scooby-Doo cartoons, even though the monsters give them nightmares
I spot the hills
With yellow balls in autumn.
I light the prairie cornfields
Orange and tawny gold clusters
And I am called pumpkins.
On the last of October
When dusk is fallen
Children join hands
And circle round me
Singing ghost songs
And love to the harvest moon;
I am a jack-o’-lantern
With terrible teeth
And the children know
I am fooling.
—Carl Sandburg,
“Theme in Yellow”
Jack sat on top of the covered bridge in his favorite spot, his arm draped over his carved pumpkin. The gourd wasn’t his first choice to house the ember of his immortality, but then again, he’d never really been given a choice.
It wasn’t the first time he’d heard of foolish men who’d made deals with the devil. During every scary story he’d been told as a child on long winter nights, he’d clutched his covers to his throat imagining frightening specters, red demons, or wicked-clawed ghouls looming out of swaying shadows, ready to snatch up unmindful children and trick them with beguiling words. His imagination never came close to the truth. And he’d certainly never envisioned those devils walking earth as mere men, dressed as pirates, storing stolen souls in harvest vegetables.
The devil who’d conscripted him five hundred years ago was named Rune. Jack barely remembered the town he was attempting to save by negotiating with Rune, or the boy he’d been when he’d done it. Now all the villagers were long dead. But not Jack. He wasn’t so lucky. Instead, Jack was stuck in a monotonous job, the same job Rune once had. And Jack had the pleasure of looking forward to another five hundred years of doing exactly the same thing day in and day out.
It wasn’t like the job was too difficult. It was mostly quiet, but when it wasn’t, he did everything from exporting entire herds of gremlins, to clearing caves full of werewolves, to capturing a flock of Otherworld bats. Jack had even done the highly dangerous job of evicting a nest of half-breed vampires from an underground necropolis, entirely on his own.
Admittedly, the swaggering pirate Rune had come to Jack’s aid a time or two, helping him avert what could have been disasters. But Jack quickly learned he didn’t appreciate how Rune handled mortals. Too many of them died or went insane under his care.
Eventually, Jack ended up at his current assignment, a quiet New England town called Hallowell that butted up against one of the most boring, sleepy crossroads in the entirety of the Otherworld. Rune had probably thought Jack would complain about the placement, but the town was pretty, if small. There were plenty of large oaks and maples, elms and dogwood trees to offer him shade during the day. And in the fall the colors were beautiful. There was something to be said for a quiet life.
It was lonely, but Jack was used to being alone.
He was about to summon his horse so he could ride through the forest while the red, orange, and yellow fall leaves rained down upon his head, when he heard a noise.
“Must you sit all the way up there?” Rune groused, emerging from the covered bridge and looking up at him. Smoke trailed in after the large man, pooling aroun
d his polished boots and caressing his ankles with long fingers. Stepping forward, Rune peeled off black leather gloves and stroked his short, boxed beard, shaved in thin lines and curls. “Someone could get past you before you could intervene. Besides, I hate craning my neck to have a conversation.”
Jack shrugged. “I like keeping my pumpkin far from the road, so there’s no risk it could get trampled on. Besides, I’d hear someone long before they got close.” Jack’s pumpkin never aged or decomposed, but it could be broken, and that made his soul vulnerable.
“Yes.” Rune fingered his firefly-shaped earring, a far better choice of vessels for a lantern to hide his ember than a fat orange gourd. He smiled up at Jack. The shaggy hair that slipped from his careless queue hung down to his shoulders, dark, except for a white streak that fell across his eyes. “I suppose, then, that’s a wise choice.”
“What do you want, Rune?” Jack asked.
“There’s been a rumor.”
“About?”
“Your town. It would seem a witch wind is blowing and it’s coming from your crossroad.”
“My crossroad?” Jack said, leaping down with his pumpkin and landing easily next to Rune, feeling thin and pale next to Rune’s sun-kissed tan and deep-V silk shirt. “Are you certain?”
All the lanterns were apprised when a witch wind blew. The Lord of the Otherworld gathered winds from the mortal world in a great funnel. Most of the time, the winds blowing through the crossroads were normal, but every so often, a special wind blew, indicating that a witch had grown strong enough not only to enter the Otherworld but to undo it completely. Unless the witch was captured and his or her energy contained, the Otherworld as they knew it could be destroyed. Only one witch was permitted in the Otherworld. She was trusted not just to avoid destroying it, but also to run it. She was the high witch, the Lord’s wife, and provider of all the magical energy in that realm. All others were a dreadful danger.
“There are whispers,” Rune insisted. “Whispers in the wind of a powerful witch. One much more skillful than any you or I have dealt with before.” Rune’s own light glowed brighter, his earring winking as his dark skin brightened showing the skeleton lying beneath.
Jack sighed. “You must be mistaken,” he said. “I’ve peered beneath the skin of every citizen of this town. There’s not a drop of witch blood among them.” He was relieved to be able to tell Rune the absolute truth for once. Hallowell was full of very content, happy mortals.
“It’s not that I’m doubting your abilities, Jack,” Rune said, giving him a meaningful look that made Jack wince. “I just need to verify it for myself. You understand.”
Jack waved his hand in resignation and Rune sent his firefly high above the town. It zipped back and forth, pausing occasionally while the lantern himself stared into space, seeing through the eye of his light. His eyes glowed with a silver sheen and then finally dimmed.
“Told you,” Jack said. “Do you think it’s possible she got the location wrong? You could tell the high witch to look again.”
“If a witch wind is blowing, you can be sure there’s a witch or warlock out there. Look, I’m just asking you to watch. Be on your guard. And, if you see something, let me know.” He clapped Jack on the back. “Don’t worry, son; if you can’t finish the job, I’ve always got your back.”
Jack frowned, bristling at the slight. “Fine. I’ll send word if I find any trace of a witch,” Jack said.
“You do that.”
Rune left and Jack was too distracted to head off on his morning ride after all. Jack sat thinking about how strange it was for a witch wind to blow in his territory three times. Most lanterns never even had it happen once, but he’d been there when witches were detected at both Roanoke and Salem. It didn’t make sense. Perhaps he was just terribly unlucky.
He was thinking about it all day as he walked the borders of the town, and into the evening as he settled down for the night on top of his bridge. The light flickered in his pumpkin and he turned it so he could trace the eyes with his fingertip. He’d long ago hollowed out the orange globe and carved a smiling face. His only companion on long days and even longer nights. It comforted him to see his ember’s glow in the pumpkin’s expression. The light warmed him, giving him hope that somehow, somewhere, there was a spark of freedom waiting for him, even if it was at the end of a very long, weary road.
Jack had just fallen asleep when he heard the thunder of hooves on the road leading to town. Summoning his black stallion, he leapt off the bridge and onto the monstrous horse’s back as it materialized from the Otherworld, nostrils steaming and eyes glowing with fire. The horse reared and Jack, with the pumpkin tucked beneath his arm, kicked the horse’s sides, and they galloped toward the road.
He stopped on the hill and saw a carriage, shiny and new, a fine pair of horses pulling it quickly down the path. Jack chose not to show himself, but sent a moaning wind that frightened the driver who glanced right and left and cracked his whip to make the team run faster.
Jack, the lantern, sat and watched as the carriage made its way to town. Just as it passed him, the curtain moved and a small, white face was lit by a moonbeam. It was a wide-eyed little girl, her brown hair curled in ringlets. She pressed her hands against the glass and her pink mouth opened in a circle as she stared right at him.
She was, of course, a young witch. The high witch had been right after all.
Ember O’Dare was the only witch in the village; and with no one to teach her, Ember made a lot of mistakes. Once, she turned her great-aunt’s kittens into piglets and only managed to turn two of them back. When her aunt asked about the litter, Ember simply handed her great-aunt the same kitten twice and the old woman was none the wiser.
Another time she singed off her own eyebrows in an attempt to cut her hair with magic. Jack, who had decided to keep an eye on the young witch instead of reporting her, had disguised his form with leaves and laughed from his perch in a tree as he watched the smoke rise, and she yelled at the sky that it wasn’t funny.
She quickly became adept at using little spells such as snapping her fingers to finish her chores, or wriggling her nose to make a basket of freshly harvested corn cobs shuck themselves, or blowing a kiss to inveigle the boys in school to carry her books to and fro. Jack often trailed along behind her, remaining hidden by disguising himself as the wind, creeping fog, or a ray of sunshine, and watched her carefully.
Even as Ember grew into a lovely young woman and a powerful witch, he never turned her in to Rune or the Lord of the Otherworld. He’d seen what they could do firsthand.
A witch wind first blew through his territory when Jack was guarding Roanoke in 1587. He was watching over the small colony that had set up their town a bit too close to his crossroad. The local witch’s name was Eleanor Dare. She was powerful, Jack knew, but she was also good. Eleanor often wandered into the woods, looking for herbs and plants, singing all the while. While he glared suspiciously, the witch addressed Jack politely, nodding to him but leaving him alone.
Sometimes he’d point her in the right direction of various flora, and, in exchange, he accepted her offerings of fresh loaves of bread or small baskets filled with berries. Jack didn’t need to eat, but he liked to and he appreciated her small gestures and the kindness she showed him. She asked about the Otherworld once, mentioning that she had heard that the Lord of the Otherworld hunted witches.
Jack shifted uncomfortably. “Only the dangerous ones,” he’d said.
No one had told Jack that he couldn’t befriend a witch, at least not directly. Three months passed with no indication that the Lord of the Otherworld was hunting a witch. Eleanor had a baby, a sweet girl with a loud cry and dark hair. Jack settled into a comfortable routine and even took to watching Eleanor from time to time while she foraged.
One day, everything was going fine. Then the call came. The witch wind was blowing. Eleanor and her baby went missing. A week later, strang
e things began happening.
Men screamed and tore at their hair as they transformed into wolfish monsters in the light of the moon. Others became as still as death and were buried, but rose in the night to hunt their neighbors and drink their blood. Some turned into shrinking beasts with humped backs and warty faces. They ran into the trees and lived in hollowed-out logs. All the mortals phased into Otherworld creatures.
Jack knew what was happening: The two realms were blending. He knew this only happened when a witch crossed over, but he was certain Eleanor hadn’t gone to the other realm through his crossroad. He would have felt it. Still, Jack summoned Rune to help, but it was too late. The entire village had either been consumed or disappeared into the forest, becoming something altogether unhuman. It would have to be destroyed.
The two of them rounded up the monsters they could find that still lurked in the area. They killed the ones that wouldn’t cooperate and sent the ones that did back to the Otherworld.
Before they left, Jack wandered over to the witch’s cabin and checked to see if there were any signs of Eleanor or her daughter, but they were gone. Sadly, Jack stood, whispering words to the wind. The light in Jack’s pumpkin flickered and a powerful gust dismantled the village.
As he headed back to Rune after flattening the town, he caught sight of a witch’s spell. He raised his lantern and cast light upon the spot. Hidden behind the spell was a skeleton and a dead tree with letters carved into it. It was a strange word that meant nothing in any language he knew. It said CROATOAN.
Jack thought he should probably tell Rune about what he’d seen, but after the two lanterns stepped through the barrier and were safely through the crossroad, Jack concentrated on steeling himself for what he knew was coming, his final death. An ember must be extinguished to close the route.
“There’s another way,” Rune said quietly.
“Another way?” Jack asked. “Why weren’t we told?”
“Honestly, most lanterns are to blame for the failure of their crossroad and deserve to have their lives end. I can see, however, that in this case it wasn’t your fault. The witch crossed over without your knowledge.”
