The Secret City

by C. J. Daugherty

  Taylor’s chest ached with longing for a world in which friends could just go away together for a weekend. A world without monsters. Without death. Without alchemists or Mortimer Pierce.

  Why couldn’t she have that?

  ‘Yes,’ she heard herself say. ‘Let’s do it.’

  Georgie gave a delighted squeal.

  ‘Do you mean it? Oh my God, I have to tell my mum. Hang on.’

  She dropped the phone. In the distance Taylor could hear the muffled thudding of her feet on the floor of her absurdly pink bedroom as she ran across the room and flung open the door.

  ‘Mum! Taylor says she’ll come with us!’

  Far away, Georgie’s mum made sounds of approval.

  Seconds later, Georgie was back, breathless from shouting. ‘This is going to be brilliant. Mum says, do you have your passport with you?’

  Taylor nodded, smiling although tears had begun to fill her eyes.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I have my passport.’

  And she did. In fact, she hadn’t really lied to Georgie once in this conversation. If it was the last time they ever spoke, she wanted most of what was said to be truthful.

  And she really would go to Spain if she didn’t die. She would.

  ‘This is so awesome,’ Georgie sighed. ‘I miss you so much, Tay. I know Oxford is what you really want but I hate it here without you. I wish you could be in two places at once.’

  ‘Me too.’

  Georgie paused, as if she’d heard the unevenness of Taylor’s voice. But when she spoke she sounded as cheerful as ever.

  ‘I can’t believe we’ll see each other next week. My mum will arrange it all with your mum.’ She gave another little cheer. ‘I’m so glad you answered the phone at last. I’ve got to go. Mum wants me to go shopping with her. See you in a few days…’

  ‘See you…’ Taylor said, but Georgie had already hung up. So there was no one to hear her last words.

  ‘I love you.’

  Thirty-Two

  After her talk with Taylor, Louisa went looking for Alastair.

  She checked the kitchen and, finding it empty, headed back outside again and made her way around the side of the building.

  She found Alastair in the shed, under the bonnet of his beloved blue van.

  ‘So this is where you’ve been hiding,’ she said, leaning against a wall next to an old leather harness. ‘I looked for you everywhere.’

  Alastair glanced up at her. ‘I’m not hiding.’

  The shed was cool and shady, with a not altogether unpleasant smell of petrol and dirt. In one corner she noticed a worryingly large spider busily building a massive web, and made a mental note not to go over there.

  The van – which Alastair had painted himself – looked battered and rickety next to Sacha’s gleaming motorcycle and Deide’s snazzy sports car. But she knew it was sturdy. Aside from the brief overheating incident on the way here, it had performed like a trooper.

  ‘All I ask,’ he said, ‘is that it doesn’t break down tonight.’

  As he spoke, he kept working, hands methodically tightening some blackened part with an ancient wrench.

  ‘Wishful thinking,’ Louisa said. ‘One whiff of demon and the old blue jalopy’s going to faint.’

  He straightened, wiping oil off his hands with a rag.

  ‘Not if I have anything to say about it.’ Through the open door of the shed, he glanced out at the quiet chateau. ‘Are the others asleep?’

  She shook her head. ‘Everyone’s restless. Finding ways to get through the day.’

  ‘I can’t blame them.’ Alastair wiped his forehead with his hand, leaving a smudge of grease. ‘How about you? Are you restless?’

  ‘I’m worried, Al,’ she said honestly. ‘Today changed everything. We got a glimpse of what we’re up against and it’s not good. I’m giving everyone else pep talks, but the thing is, I’ve gone over and over this in my head. No matter how I play it, it doesn’t end well.’

  ‘Taylor and Sacha are pure power together, Lou,’ he reminded her. ‘They’re like nothing we’ve ever seen. We have to give them a chance.’

  ‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘But you felt it, too, today. That demonic power was off the charts. That was death.’

  He shook his head hard. She could see the disapproval in his eyes.

  ‘Come on. You know how this works. That’s what the demon wanted us to feel. It wants us to give up hope. It’s playing us.’

  ‘How can you know that?’ she said, trying not to show her frustration. ‘You were there. You felt it.’

  ‘Remember rule one,’ he said gently. ‘Demons lie.’

  He reached a grease-stained hand out to her and she took it without hesitation, letting him pull her closer. When he wrapped his arms around her, she felt instantly safer.

  There had never been a moment, since that first day in the corridor outside her dorm room, that she hadn’t loved Alastair. She’d kept it to herself for years, harbouring a crush that made her heart race, and her stomach ache every time she saw him.

  As the months had passed, they’d become allies, and then friends.

  No matter how abrasive she was, no matter how hard her shell, Alastair seemed to find her soft side. Nothing she did put him off.

  When she ranted, he laughed. When she broke things, he fixed whatever she shattered. Until Alastair, she’d never thought it possible anyone would want to do that for her.

  Everyone needs someone to help pick up the broken pieces.

  On this trip they’d finally crossed the barricades she’d raised around herself. She’d let him in.

  And now she was going to lose him.

  Today in Carcassonne, she’d felt death so close to them all. The sickening weight of it. The awful empty loss of it.

  The demon was waiting for them. It was ready.

  ‘We’ll get through this,’ Alastair promised, pulling her closer.

  She gave a sad smile. Even now, when all seemed lost, he refused not to hope.

  She pressed her nose against his chest, breathing in his scent of fresh air and oil and warm, sun-soaked skin.

  ‘If that demon touches you,’ she murmured. ‘I’m going to kill it.’

  She felt the rumble of his laugh.

  ‘That demon has no idea what it’s up against.’

  Louisa lifted her head to see his face. ‘How do we do this, Alastair? How do we survive this?’

  He brushed his lips against hers.

  ‘We follow the plan,’ he said. ‘We believe in each other. And we don’t give up.’

  Thirty-Three

  When they rode into Carcassonne late that night, they found a very different city from the one they’d visited that afternoon. Gone were the hordes of tourists who had packed the narrow lanes. Gone, too, were the coaches, the cars, and the locals.

  The narrow winding streets were deserted.

  Sacha’s motorcycle was a roar in the stillness as they made their way up to the top of the hill.

  Ahead, the huge castle was lit up on all sides. Dozens of spotlights were directed at the white stone walls from every angle.

  All the parking lots near the citadel were empty, but Sacha ignored them, stopping the bike directly in front of the huge stone gateway, underneath a no parking sign.

  As she pulled off her helmet, Taylor glanced at the sign.

  Seeing the look, he gave a careless shrug. ‘I don’t think the parking police will be out tonight.’

  The formidable gate, with its portcullis-like door, stood wide open, but they walked past it, turning left into the shadows. When they were well out of sight, they stopped to wait.

  The castle was bounded on two sides by a steep, grassy slope that tumbled straight down to the modern town below. A rough footpath ran along the top of the hill on the outside of the castle walls. They stopped at the edge of it, waiting for their cue.

  It didn’t take long. Without sound or warning, all the spotlights around the edifice suddenly went black
. For a tentative moment, all the town lights below flickered. Then, silently, they too blinked out.

  All of Carcassonne was plunged into darkness.

  Sacha gave a low, impressed whistle.

  ‘Felicitations, Louisa,’ he whispered.

  Taylor tried to smile, but she couldn’t. She was shaking like a leaf. Every muscle in her body was tense.

  The night was still and very dark – there was no moon to light their way, and her eyes hadn’t adjusted enough yet to see the stars. But that alone wasn’t enough to explain the low ominous thrumming of fear in her veins.

  Mortimer was somewhere on the other side of those walls.

  ‘You ready?’ Sacha looked at her expectantly.

  He was so ready for this moment. Even in the darkness she could see that his blue eyes were utterly fearless.

  To an extent, she could understand it. This time – this place – had tormented him his whole life. A sword forever poised just above his throat. Now the end was in sight. Soon they would either stop it for good, or fall onto the point of the blade.

  Either way it would be over at last. And she knew how much he longed for that ending.

  Taylor forced herself to nod.

  Sacha led the way down the narrow dirt path. They moved carefully. The hill was steep, and the path ran right on the edge of it. One wrong step and they’d tumble down.

  The walk had appeared short and simple in theory, but it seemed to be taking forever. Taylor lost track of time as they made their way around the edges of the old stone structure. She tripped on a stone and caught herself at the last second.

  Sacha turned back. ‘You OK?’

  She nodded, then realised he probably couldn’t see her. ‘Yes.’

  He turned back to the front. ‘Good. I think we’re almost…’

  At that moment, crystalline in the silence, sirens rang out in the city below, cutting him off.

  They both froze.

  ‘Merde,’ Sacha whispered.

  Against the velvet black backdrop of a night without electricity, the flashing blue lights of the police car were vivid and clear. The wail of the siren was mournful and urgent.

  Taylor held her breath, following its progress until, finally, it disappeared in the distance.

  She inhaled. Her lungs ached in protest.

  ‘Hurry.’ Sacha was already a distance ahead – she hadn’t noticed he’d walked away. ‘We have to get in.’

  She ran after him, catching up just as he reached a rusted metal gate at the foot of one of the round towers.

  ‘Here,’ Sacha whispered, pointing to where a heavy padlock hung from the door.

  Taking a deep breath, Taylor placed her hand just above it. Closing her eyes, she searched for molecular energy. There was curiously little of it about. No water ran close by. No electricity coursed through the old exterior wall. But she pulled a fragile, golden strand from the grass beneath her feet and envisioned the lock releasing.

  Open.

  She wasn’t sure there was enough power until she heard the click, followed by a hollow thud as the lock fell to the ground.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered to the earth, too quietly for Sacha to hear.

  He wouldn’t have noticed anyway, he was already opening the gate. It gave a screech of protest – it hadn’t been used in a while – but opened, just as Deide had said it would.

  They slipped inside.

  The second they stepped onto the citadel’s stone streets, Taylor’s heart began to pound in earnest.

  The demon’s energy was everywhere. There was so much more of it now.

  Closing her eyes, she searched for signs of life but, just like that morning, she couldn’t sense anything. Not Sacha. Not the others. And certainly not Mortimer. They were alone.

  Her throat tightened and she fought back the urge to panic.

  She had to stay focussed. They could do this.

  Her eyes had adjusted enough by now that she could see the old town around her. It looked much different than it had during the day. In the ambient light she could see the stone walls of the citadel were veined with age. The touristy shops selling candy and fake swords that had been bright and annoying in the sunshine seemed medieval and threatening in the dark.

  A breeze blew her hair and sent the old-fashioned wooden signs overhead swaying. The air smelled of mould and death.

  Sacha’s brow was furrowed and his eyes focussed on the way ahead. His steps were absolutely sure – as if he’d walked these streets a thousand times. He took the most direct path, and only a few minutes had passed before the church loomed at them from the darkness, huge and eternal.

  Taylor’s teeth began to chatter as they crossed the square to the arched front door.

  Unlike this morning, the big church doors were locked tight.

  Closing her eyes, she felt for power. There’d been little at the gate. This time there was none at all. Not a single strand of alchemical energy.

  Frowning, she focussed harder. Her hand was just above the door, trying to draw energy from somewhere, when the lock gave with a loud metallic click.

  Taylor froze. A cold sense of dread filled her with ice.

  Seeing the look on her face, Sacha shot her a questioning glance.

  ‘That wasn’t me.’

  She barely got the words out before the church door slammed open, crashing against the stone wall with such violence it sent splinters flying.

  Taylor ducked. Swearing, Sacha flung up a hand to protect his face.

  Overhead, all the church bells began to toll in an awful disorienting cacophony that sounded not unlike screaming.

  Dark power roared at Taylor from every direction, rolling in waves down the old stone walls.

  She grabbed Sacha’s wrist. ‘We have to get out of here. Now.’

  He didn’t argue. They ran back across the cobblestones, the sound of their footsteps lost to the crashing bells.

  They made it halfway across the square.

  ‘There you are.’ Mortimer melted out of the shadows ahead of them, nattily dressed and crackling with power. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’

  Thirty-Four

  In his tweed jacket and neatly pressed trousers, Mortimer might have been on his way to a country fair. As always, his grey hair was hidden under a flat cap, and a slim silver moustache topped his upper lip. But his eyes burned with hate as they fixed on Sacha.

  Watching him, Taylor tried to make herself breathe. This was what they wanted – Mortimer was here.

  Now all she had to do was kill him.

  He strolled towards them, his cane held loosely in one hand. He didn’t appear particularly happy or excited about the situation. He looked like he always did – like a university professor on his way to class with things on his mind.

  Taylor couldn’t seem to make her feet work but Sacha stumbled backwards, pulling her with him.

  ‘Stay away from us.’ He glared at Mortimer.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Mortimer tutted. ‘I was so hoping you wouldn’t make this difficult. After all, fighting is so pointless when you’ve already lost. It would be vastly easier if you just conceded defeat and let us get on with our work.’

  He held up his hand. Taylor sensed the Dark power flowing through him like a tidal wave of hate. Desperately, she flung up a hand in response.

  ‘No!’ she cried, reaching for anything in the air around them that could protect them.

  There was nothing.

  Stones have no molecular energy. There was no grass, few trees. No sunlight. No running water. And, thanks to their own plan, no electricity.

  There was nothing to protect her. Mortimer’s Dark energy coursed around her, unfettered. She tried to hold on, but Sacha’s fingers slipped from her hand and she was flung backwards by a force she could not see.

  There was no time to react. No way to protect herself.

  She heard someone cry out, and then she hit something hard.

  Everything went dark.

 
* * *

  When she opened her eyes for a split second she didn’t know where she was. It was pitch dark. She lay on stone. Everything hurt.

  In the distance she could hear shouts and screams, see flashes of light, a sharp retort.

  Was that a gun?

  She struggled to get up but her head spun and she had to lay still again.

  Suddenly Sacha appeared beside her, his face white in the darkness.

  ‘Taylor? Thank God. Are you OK?’

  It took her several tries to form the words – her lips wouldn’t seem to work. Finally, she made them say, ‘I’m fine.’

  Her head ached. When she reached up to see why, her fingertips came back wet and stained.

  Blood.

  Everything swung into sharp focus.

  ‘I’m OK,’ she insisted again, more forcefully this time although she wasn’t at all certain this was true. ‘Help me up.’

  Relief suffusing his face, he pulled her to her feet. For a second, he held her close to his chest.

  ‘I thought I’d lost you.’

  She felt the warmth of him through their clothes. The world was swinging and she clung to his lean shoulders until it grew still.

  His eyes skittered across her face. ‘You’re bleeding. Are you sure you can do this?’

  ‘On your left, Alastair!’

  The familiar voice came from the church square behind them.

  ‘Is that Louisa? How long was I out? What’s happened?’ Taylor strained to see what was happening.

  Her head thudded, but it didn’t seem too bad now. She was sore, but otherwise fine.

  ‘Get the lights on.’ It was Deide’s voice – angry and tense. ‘I can’t hold him for long.’

  ‘I’m trying.’ Louisa again.

  A grunt of pain or exertion – the meaty sound of a fist hitting flesh.

  ‘Goddamn it.’ It was Alastair. ‘This one’s a fighter.’