Second Door to the Right

by Nikki Hyson

  Cris stared back at Peter, jaw clenching and eyes alight with anger at the old man’s nerve. “I don’t know.”

  “You must have an idea. Is it because of him?” He gestured at James who remained silent on the ottoman. “Is it because of Lily?”

  Cris hesitated, stance shifting slightly. “Does it matter?”

  “I think it does.”

  James hardly drew a breath, conversation passing from one side of the room to the other without touching him. He’d never seen Cris at a loss before. And Peter’d grown completely calm between one heartbeat and the next.

  Silence held for several long beats. When Cris’ words came they were brief, decisive, and to the bone. “I knew the last Oracle. He was there in the beginning. He knew the last true Oracle. The one before Moriarty took over and perverted everything. She spoke of a child. A daughter born of ink and blood. Your daughter. Your Lily. She might be the one to end this.”

  “What do you mean? What is she supposed to do?”

  “No idea. Mac never said. Could have been a nutter’s delusion. Moriarty tortured him to the point of madness. But Lily can’t do anything if she’s dead or in the dungeons.”

  James stared. This was new.

  Cris refused to wait a moment longer. “Will you do it, or not? Simple enough question.” Weight rocking forward to the balls of his feet, he asked on last time. “What will it be, Peter?”

  Peter lifted his chin, staring back. “You knew before you entered my home.”

  Cris nodded. “So be it.”

  The rasp of James’ blade filled the air.

  37

  Lily scouted the coffee shop before she cleared the entryway. One scan revealed a quiet corner near the far left. She headed straight to it, dumping her coat over the chair. Universal coffee house language for Mine! Bugger off. The room might be only half-full, but she’d picked a haunt near campus. Evening classes would be letting out soon.

  Winding her way to the counter, Lily weighed her potential poisons based on who stood at the helm. Harry operated the espresso machine, and Lily smiled. She liked the way he brewed coffee.

  He set a twenty-ounce cup on the counter as she reached the front of the line. His sable colored, shaggy cut hair was already mussed enough to give him what she called his hedgehog look. Must have been a rough day. “Hazelnut Americano with room,” he said with a grin, relaxed as if he’d all kinds of time to linger over her two pound cup. “Been awhile, Lily. Thought you forgot all about us.”

  Claiming her brew, Lily slid a ten across the black plastic countertop. “Hardly. I’ll have another later, alright?”

  “Finishing a novel?”

  “Reading over someone else’s. It’ll be an all-nighter.”

  Harry shook his head with a mix of admiration and disbelief. “You writers are a strange lot. Give the cup a shake when you’re done and I’ll take care of you.” Half turning to the cooler behind him, he pointed at a couple of her favorites. “Want a bite to go with the caffeine? I think Nan has a couple sandwiches ready to go.”

  “Not now. Thanks. Maybe some soup later. Chowder on the menu?”

  “Always. Turkey curry and some kind of seafood one.”

  She saluted with her cup. “My hero.” Returning to the table, Lily found the area already encroached on by a half dozen giggling girls. A secondary scan of the room revealed one of the two arm chairs newly vacated. Satisfied, she gathered her things and quickly secured it.

  Setting her cup on the table between the chairs, she fussed for a moment getting her temporary nest just the way she liked it.

  Hat shoved into an inside coat pocket, she pulled the overcoat into her lap and across her legs. The chairs were the most comfortable in the café, but they were also near the entrance’s drafty doors. Warmth settling into her thighs, Lily dug into an outer pocket and pulled free both ear buds and James’ journal. The purple noise dampeners she slipped on first, thumbing a button on her iPod to release the subtle strains of Murray Gold and a favorite Doctor Who playlist. Fingers of one hand still curled around the journal, she paused for a long sip of the perfect cup. A soft sigh escaped.

  Attention refocused, her palm slid over the letters she’d watched James read so many times over so few days. Unsure of what she’d find between the pages, or if she could wholly trust it, Lily hesitated. She wasn’t certain of anything since last night. Not since she’d come home to find her journal, and only her journal, missing on the other side of a still locked door. Cris. She just knew it had been him.

  “Oh, James,” she whispered. “Why did he take Stephan’s last moment from me?” She stopped. Too many questions and no answers to give peace. Actually, she didn’t believe there were any answers capable of granting that. Absolution then? Perhaps.

  Lily opened it to the first page.

  After midnight she shut the book, laying her head back against the chair. She closed her eyes, tears filling under the lashes and spilling down her cheeks. “James.” Her heart overflowed, washing away the betrayal she’d known and filling her with pity. “Oh, James.”

  “Lily, you alright?”

  Harry had kept his word, bringing coffee every time she’d distractedly shaken her empty cup. She hadn’t looked up from the journal except once when the third coffee, swallowed atop the other two, begged for some release. Leaving her coat as a placeholder, she’d sprinted to the bathroom and back, dropping another ten on the counter.

  “Lily?” he tried again.

  She opened her eyes, dashing back the tears and sniffing sharply. The café, nearly empty a quarter hour before, was full to capacity. More than twenty suit clad men filled the various tables, each a photo copy of the one beside him. No one had coffee. No one talked. No one moved.

  Lily looked at Harry, Rose joining him behind the counter. He glanced at the customers not placing orders and shrugged. More than a trifling bit of alarm colored his features; the contrast stark beside Rose’s white face as she gripped Harry’s arm.

  “Hello, Lily.” Rochefort’s friend from the library. Cris’ accuser in the diner. Edward Hyde sat beside her.

  Lily flinched away, as far as the arms of her chair allowed. His voice, coupled with the more than the twenty Suits now staring at her, sent a stab of fear into her stomach. Looking at him squarely, she tried to hide it and knew she failed.

  Cleanly groomed, he was a large, smooth-faced man of fifty, grey hair cropped close to highlight rather than hide the shiny bald dome atop his head. His ice blue eyes pierced, gazing down a pointed nose to study and dissect.

  He might have been an interesting professor, or even a kindly rector, but Lily knew better. She’d read enough books, and more importantly, she’d written plenty to know one when she saw one. He was a villain.

  “Hello,” she said. She didn’t ask how he’d found her in a place she’d never ventured with James. She’d been anticipating it for the past half hour. They weren’t going to let her go.

  He held out a hand towards the journal, fully expecting her to give it to him because he wished it. “A bit of light reading?” Smiling amiably, he asked curiously, “Did you enjoy it?”

  Lily hugged it to her chest. “I did.”

  “Did you write it?”

  Her eyes narrowed, considering the question. Did he truly not know?

  “Sir.”

  Lily glanced over at Harry, standing less than three yards away.

  Harry pressed on. “Sir, if you don’t plan on ordering, I think you and your friends need to go.”

  Lily shifted her attention back to Hyde in time to see the hard knot marring the villain’s jaw. The man didn’t take kindly to such displays of defiance. He’s going to kill me. That truth was a known, but the idea of putting Harry and Rose in danger somehow terrified her even more.

  “Harry,” she said softly, his name a warning her eyes begged him to heed.

  Hyde shifted focus to the barista. “Yes.” Smile growing thin and cold. “Harry,” he mimicked her tone. It did nothin
g to ease the tension.

  “Listen.” Harry’s shoulders squared. Lily thought it was one of the bravest things she’d ever seen. “I’ll not have anyone harassing my customers.”

  One of the men across the room shifted.

  Lily stood. “Wait.” Stepping between Harry and the rest, one hand fell to his chest, the other still clenching the journal. “Everyone just wait a minute.” She looked to the villain. “You’re Hyde, aren’t you? What do you want?”

  “Told you all about us, did he? How unfortunate.”

  She didn’t blink. She wouldn’t allow the chill traveling up her spine to betray her. Belabored enunciation with each word, she asked a second time, “What— do— you— want?”

  “You, Lily. I want you.”

  “Now, hang on just a minute.” Harry tried to shield her, to pull her behind him. She put her shoulder to his chest, rocking him back a step. “Lily?”

  She met the soft brown eyes. They always reminded her of Amos. “These are dangerous men. Stay calm.” Dropping her voice to just above a whisper, she added, “Think of Rose.” She flicked a glance over his shoulder to the counter so he’d understand completely.

  The struggle of warring loyalties flickered across his face. A low growl rose up his throat. “I don’t like it.”

  “Neither do I.” One hand gripping Harry’s, she met Hyde’s gaze. “What do you want with me?”

  Hyde thrummed the fingers of one hand on the tabletop beside him. “We need to talk. You have knowledge of — certain things. That cannot be allowed.”

  “I can’t unlearn what I know.”

  “Actually, you can. There is a way. You just have to come with me.”

  Lily hesitated, buying moments she knew she’d never owned. “And if I don’t?”

  “I think you already know the answer.” He lifted a finger. The men stood as one, waiting for the next command. “Come now, Lily. You don’t want this to get messy, do you?”

  She didn’t. She really didn’t, but the ice numbing her limbs prevented instantaneous action. It didn’t help that Harry whispered, “Don’t” against her ear while squeezing all feeling from her hand. She knew what she had to do, but the words wouldn’t come. She waited for help that seemed incapable, or unwilling, to come.

  A finger strike snapped throughout the room. Two men peeled off, striding towards the counter. Rose gave a startled yelp.

  “Don’t you touch her,” Harry warned. “Don’t you dare.”

  The bells on the door jangled merrily. The last customer of the night entered, pausing on the welcome mat. He shook out his coat, shedding tiny rivulets of water before removing his hat to give it a shake as well. “Raining pitchforks out there,” Cris announced cheerfully, stepping forward so all in the room could see him clearly. Gaze sweeping round the room, he added with a chuckle, “Imagine that.”

  Lily wasn’t sure whether to feel hurt over her lost journal, or joy in the face of a possible savior. As always with him, it seemed to fall somewhere in the middle. What’s your play here, Cris?

  His eyes flicked her way, grazing her for the barest of seconds, dark depths warning. Squaring on Hyde, he asked, “Is this sort of business necessary, or do you just enjoy the old tactics?” Arching a brow, Cris appeared to be the one commanding this battlefield. “And where did you get this lot? I didn’t realize The Matrix was a book first.”

  Hyde stood, size difference barely noticeable between them. Still, he seemed capable of breaking the Count in two if he wished it. Darkness roiling across his face, Lily didn’t doubt the thought crossed his mind. But other punishments were on the table. Hyde’s hand fell to the pocket of his coat. “Mind your place,” he said.

  Taking a step forward, Cris smiled. “I am.” Holding out his hand to Lily, he said, “Lady, for James’ sake, please come with me.” He looked past her to Hyde, words still meant for each. “I do guarantee your safety.”

  Lily didn’t wait a beat. She squeezed Harry’s hand, releasing him with a quick assurance. “I’ll be alright.” Claiming Cris’ offer, she still asked, “What’s happened to James?”

  Cris took her fingers gently. Eyes catching the light, he considered her for a moment. “You’ve forgiven him,” he said, a trace of wonder woven through the simple words.

  “Yes.”

  Behind her, chairs scraped as the rest of the Agents, she’d forever think of them in a Matrix light now, stood. The press of them radiated energy from behind her, but Lily didn’t turn. She didn’t look. Cris was trying to tell her something, and neither could afford for her to misunderstand.

  “He didn’t think you would.” He pulled her a little closer, leaning in as well. “I knew better. I bet on you.”

  “What’s going on?” she whispered, eyes going wide. “Where is he?”

  “In trouble.” He threaded her hand through the crook of his arm. “You too.” Casually leading them both towards the door, he lifted one brow. “Me too. If you’re counting.”

  He paused, letting her slip James’ journal into the pocket of the coat she’d so thankfully put back on after her bathroom break. The gallant gesture. They could’ve been out on a date. “Shall we?”

  “Cris Wilmore.” Hyde’s summons cut the air like diamonds, followed by a threat containing more promise than warning. “Take another step and I’ll forget all your years of favor. Another step, and you’ll be ash.”

  Cris did stop, favoring Hyde with a half glance over his shoulder. “I’m touched you always keep me with you, but are you certain you have what you think you have?”

  Hyde patted his pocket, felt the familiar bulk, and withdrew a thin volume. He held it up smugly, waiting for a reaction that never came.

  Cris looked at the cover, and smiled.

  Hyde read the title, face draining to the color of ash he’d promised Cris. “Wait. How did you…”

  “With a little help.” Nodding slightly towards the door, he asked, “May we go?”

  “This isn’t mine.” Hyde rotated it over and over, truth remaining the same no matter the angle. “This is one of the five, but it isn’t mine. Where’s mine?”

  “With the Professor. May we go?” Cris waited a beat, adding “Sir?” with pointed meaning.

  Hyde lifted his eyes, ice blue burning a path across the café. “Trying to take my place? Trying to oust me?” He chuckled, a grating, unpleasant sound. “I’ll admit. I never saw this coming. I never saw you as the ambitious sort.” Returning the book to his pocket, he growled softly. “What now?”

  “We’re wanted in his study.”

  “All of us?” Disbelief colored his tone. Hyde looked to be a beaten man, but Lily couldn’t make herself believe it. He’d a bag full of tricks. She’d known that in a glance. Surrender could be one of them.

  “Yes. All of us.” Cris nodded again towards the glass door. “We should be going.” He took a step, drawing Lily forward with him.

  Hyde lingered over the permission Cris sought. “I might lose, but you will too. I’ll make certain of it.”

  Cris remained still; neither blink, nor breath betraying him.

  “Go. Take her and go.”

  Offering a mocking half bow, Cris swept Lily from the café.

  38

  Rain bit deep the moment they stepped into the night, driving Lily against Cris’ shoulder for support. “Sorry,” she gasped, head bowed, trying to shield herself.

  “Hang on a moment.” He fumbled in his pocket, withdrawing a compact umbrella. Thumbing a button lengthened the shaft, popping it open with an audible whump. He tilted it slightly, sudden buffer against the worst of it. “There now.” He flashed a smile. “Not so bad.”

  Cris hurried down the walk, Lily running beside him only because she didn’t see any other choice.

  “You have it, don’t you?” he asked after they rounded a corner. “You have his journal? His book?” Glancing back for a third time, he pulled them into the sheltered alcove of an alley.

  “Why do you ask? Does he want it
back?”

  “Now isn’t the time for secondary questions. We only have a half hour to get back. It takes twenty minutes.”

  “I do. Why?” She bit back a second and third question, his look bordering on something stronger than annoyance. “I have it,” she said again.

  “Good. I want you to change his ending.”

  “How?”

  “You write him free.” He pulled a pen from his pocket. “Write that Hook is no more.”

  “How am I supposed to do that? He died at the end of his story.”

  “You’re the writer. Will you do it?”

  Lily hesitated, searching for inspiration in eyes that regarded her without wavering. Finding it, she reached for his pen, fingertips nearly touching when she stopped. “Can I use mine?”

  Cris chuckled. “Writers.” Hiding the pen away again, he mused, “Should’ve known you’d have a favorite on your person.”

  Lily put a hand to her pocket, hand coming out with a Pilot Limited G-2 gel pen and James’ journal. “I’ve won word wars with this baby. Now, how do I do this?”

  “Haven’t the foggiest. This is just a myth. I’d guess tack it onto the end for the sake of continuity. Stay specific. Only write of him.”

  She nodded, as if she understood completely. “I need someplace…” Abandoned crates and a dumpster cast shadows a little ways down the alley. “There,” she pointed with some relief; half sprinting, half pulling Cris to the spot. Tipping a crate onto its end, she made a seat of it and opened the journal into her lap.

  “We only have ten minutes.” Cris anchored the north end of her writing station with the umbrella and his body. It kept the journal mostly dry. “Maybe less.”

  “Hush. You’re wasting my words.” Lily closed her eyes for a moment. “Alright then,” she said to herself.

  The pen moved across the page, slowly at first; building speed as instinct replaced thought. Her hand skated down the page, words falling one after the other as the emotions built. Loss. Regret. This will work. Lost inside James’ world, Lily felt the words keenly. Love. Forgiveness. It has to.