The Chalice of Immortality by Erica Kirov

Russian.
    The wolves howled louder. Their voices seemed to bounce off the moon and echo back again, surrounding them. And still Isabella wove her spell. The snarling reached a fevered pitch, and Nick watched the wolves as they rose on their hind legs, snapping and pawing at the air. They seemed to be hurting. Their chests heaved and expanded, looking like they might explode.
    Wolf by wolf, they fell to the ground with a dull thud, one right on top of the other in a heap. They looked dead—all seven of them. Then Nick smelled it—the unmistakable odor of Shadowkeepers. He had tried many times to think of a way to describe it: Egg salad sandwich left on a hot school bus for a week in the middle of June? Garbage dump mixed with dead skunk? But no matter how he tried to describe it, words could not capture the stench.
    â€œLook!” Boris pointed. Seeping from the wolves, a black, oily substance filled the street, forming rivulets in the cobblestones.
    â€œDon’t let it touch you!” Theo commanded.
    Theo, Isabella, Boris, and Nick backed away from the oil and watched for several minutes. Finally, the wolves stirred. They shivered and whimpered and then woke up as if they had been in a deep sleep. Nick watched as they began sniffing, rubbing noses, and licking each other’s faces. They looked as tame as puppies.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” he asked Isabella.
    She beamed at him. “They are free!” she announced.
    â€œI knew you could do it,” he said.
    Isabella instinctively rolled her eyes. But then she quietly said to Nick, “Thanks for pushing me.”
    The alpha male, easily 180 pounds or so, Nick thought, walked to Isabella and licked her hand. She buried her fingers in the ruff of his neck. “I’m so glad. I am so glad.” She knelt down and buried her face in the wolf’s fur. The other six in the pack approached and surrounded her, licking her and nuzzling her. Nick was in awe. He could barely see the top of her head as the pack made her a part of their circle.
    She spoke to them some more, then nodded. Finally, she stood with the wolves still surrounding her protectively.
    â€œWe need to follow the trail to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Harry Houdini.”
    â€œHarry Houdini?” Nick asked, shocked.
    â€œThey were friends once,” Isabella said. “Until the Shadowkeepers—and the Chalice of Immortality—came between them.”

The wolves trotted off, free from their curse. Nick, Isabella, Theo, and Boris wearily entered the bed and breakfast owned by Lady Daphne. She descended the staircase in a flowered flannel nightgown, her snowy white hair set in curlers, cold cream on her face.
    â€œBlimey! You all look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
    â€œNot a ghost,” Nick replied. “A pack of wolves.”
    Lady Daphne paled. “Wolves! Oh, my!”
    â€œThey were under a spell,” Isabella offered.
    â€œI was in the shower. I didn’t hear a thing. You poor travelers! The beasts didn’t harm you, did they now?”
    â€œThanks to Isabella,” Theo said, putting his hand on Isabella’s shoulder, “no. It could have been far, far worse.”
    â€œWhat about Shakespeare’s home? Did you find any clues?” Lady Daphne asked. She walked to a large desk, opened a drawer, and extracted a room key.
    â€œNo,” said Isabella. “But the wolves offered us a clue. They said we must follow the trail to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”
    â€œAnd Harry Houdini,” Nick added.
    â€œOh,” said Lady Daphne. “That’s a sad tale—at least, the part that I know.”
    â€œCan you tell us?” Nick asked.
    â€œOver a spot of tea. And here.” She handed Theo the key. “The four of you can have the two-room suite on the top floor. But first…tea to warm your tired bones and make you sleepy. Mine is a very special, magical tea. You will wake