The Curse of the GateKeeper (James Potter #2) Read Free Page A

believed that there was more to our world than that which we see and feel with our senses. They believed in the existence of unseen entities, beings greater than us, more powerful, immortal and inhuman. They exist not only in the beyond, but in the nothingness in between. They had words for them. I won't bother you with the names, for there were hundreds of them. But there was one being in particular that drew the interest of ambitious men. It is sometimes called the Gatekeeper, or the Being of Smoke and Ash. It does not break into our world, for it knows us not. It is made of the Void, it is our exact opposite; therefore, it neither suspects our existence, nor the existence of anything else. It is bound by its own perfect ignorance of us. And this, you think, is a good thing, yes, Mr. Forge?"
    The goblin stood stiffly, staring into the man's bright eyes. He nodded.
    "Yes, of course you do. Because a creature of such unadulterated inhumanity, such thoughtless power, if it were descended upon us, would be nothing less than the Destroyer, wouldn't it? Thus, it is a good thing that it is out there… and we are down here. Little children go to sleep each night understanding the truth of this: there are bad things lurking in the world, yes, but not the worst of things. It knows us not. And yet…" The man looked away for a moment, his eyes narrowed. "What if something made it aware of us? After all, we move in and out of the crossing place all the time, do we not? When we die, yes, we pass through. But when we perform certain kinds of magic, when we Disapparate, do we not also dip fleetingly into the Void? Fortunately, the Gatekeeper lives outside of time, so it does not notice our tiny, timebound existences. But what if one of us bent the rules just a bit? What if one of us, a particularly powerful one, stepped out of time and into the Void? What if one of us stayed there long enough for the Gatekeeper to take notice?"
    The goblin hadn't been paying much attention, being rather preoccupied with doing whatever he needed to do to get out of the house alive, but suddenly he remembered the words of the hag: Black fire. Ash… eyes… and nothing. Living nothing.
    "What have you done?" Forge asked quietly.
    "Me?" the pale man replied, raising his eyebrows. "Not a thing. I'm just passing the time. Gregor here tends to believe in fantastic stories like this. It amuses him."
    Gregor grunted and rolled his eyes. The horrible, mewling voice came again. It seemed to be coming from the chair that still faced the fire. Forge felt the skin of his scalp tighten. The voice was mad. It chilled him.
    "But let us get down to business, as it were," the pale man continued. "Mr. Forge, we require your services. We understand that you are a bit of an expert on, er, restoration. Would that be accurate?"
    Forge shifted. "I am just a simple trade goblin, sir—"
    "You are a master forger," the pale man said suddenly, his voice as cold as an ice pick. "Tell me you are. I'd hate to think that I've summoned you here in vain."
    "Y-yes, sir," Forge answered quickly, trying not to tremble.
    "Excellent," the pale man replied breezily, leaning comfortably back in his chair. "And I have come to understand that this expertise of yours extends to restoring portraits. Would that also be correct? Don't lie to me, Mr. Forge. I'll know."
    Forge gulped and glanced at Gregor. The man seemed to be paying no attention. He stared idly at the wine in his glass as he swirled it.
    "I… yes," Forge said. "It takes more time, of course. It isn't merely a matter of replacing the paint. The correct potions must be determined for each color… unimportant bits have to be scraped and reused to get the proper compositions… it's very delicate, but I have achieved a level of success."
    "That's very fascinating," the pale man said, his blue eyes boring into the goblin. He's mad, Forge thought. Completely nutters. I wonder if the other one knows it. I wonder if they are both mad, but