I looked him in his eyes. I understood his meaning. I’d begun this journey to find Melisande, but it seemed I was on a journey to find myself as well.
We walked to the edge of the tower.
“Are you ready, Colonel?”
“Yes.”
“Then put your hand in the gargoyle’s mouth.”
“Pardon?” I peered around the edge of the spire until I could see the statue to which he referred. High on the stone wall was a strange depiction of a hunched beast. Its simian face looked out over the twinkling city. Its bat-like ears were frozen forward as if listening to every sound that drifted up from the denizens below. Muscled arms stretched and clawed feet clutched with motionless tension. It was an immobile demon perched with purpose, leaning into a task that held it forever at the ready.
“How do they say in America?” Abdo tapped his chin. “Ah, they say ‘don’t be a pussy.’ ” A wicked grin, laced with mirth, pushed at his low cheeks. Before I could stop it, a loud laugh ripped from my throat.
He pointed to the space between the sculpture’s weather-worn teeth. With a last glance at my friend and ally, I placed my palm against the gargoyle’s tongue, and the stone snapped shut. Powerful jaws held my hand in place as the tower fell away. Pain coursed down my arm as England’s glimmering white coastline melted into a chalky ribbon of cliffs behind me.
The dark waters of the channel churned and slapped below my feet. I raced the tide. I split the spume and tumbled over the waves.
Dry land crept toward me, sparkling with life. France. The beaches of Calais glowed against the night. The crushing weight of the gargoyle’s mouth dragged me over the small city, and I plunged into the sleeping countryside. Cars crept along France’s narrow roads like bright thoughts in the synaptic web of France’s mind. I was so high above them, I’d never know what that proud, independent country was thinking.
More cities came and went. Patchwork farmland whispered by in midnight colors. Ahead the fractured lines of Paris crackled out, peeling the darkness away. I followed the fizzing fuses of streetlights to the whiplash of the Seine. The thrashing river snake slithered through the blazing city and was gone. The capitol burned like a star crashed to earth and still alight.
Blood seeped from the puncture wounds in my hand. The hungry sky ate the droplets. I considered it fair payment for the breathtaking view of the Eiffel Tower.
The gargoyle pulled me south. We cut through the cool night air like a dark comet. My temple pulsed with pain. The rushing landscape was endless. Trees, hills, chateaus blurred together as I fought to stay conscious. The rushing world passed through me, leaving an icy trail of my broken thoughts. They were all of Melisande. The creature I’d never deserve. She was out there somewhere.
To my left, far in the distance, giant’s teeth rose black and forbidding at the edge of the earth’s curve. The Alps.
The night rolled on, hiding the land below me from the sun until all the dreams were dreamt. I dreamed too of Melisande’s weight in my arms. Of the way she always clutched at my shoulders just after I swept her from her feet. The fraction of a moment when uncertainty curled inside her chest and then, the warm release of her muscles when she realized I had her. I would not drop her. Ever.
My stomach pitched as the sting of the gargoyle’s teeth bore down again. We dropped toward the heaving hills. Ridges wriggled at the edges of my vision as I fell toward a cluster of light. Gas lamps glowed against the gray of modern buildings and flicked their tongues at the brown clay of older structures.
The vicious biting mouth tugged me over a muddy river to a hill with a crown upon its head. The ramparts and parapets of Cite de Carcassonne sat like a bristling old warrior, keeping watch for infidels who had already faded into history.
An enormous outer wall ringed another wall which enclosed the medieval city. We plummeted toward the towers and cobblestone streets. The complex was a maze of meandering paths and quiet, shuttered businesses. We skimmed along the terra-cotta rooftops to a hulking structure backed against the city wall. A wide stone bridge stretched across a dark, dry mote.
I clenched into a ball as I hurtled toward the double towers protecting the castle’s entrance. The gargoyle yanked me toward the stone portal and as gently as a feather’s brush, I slipped through a slender arrow slit. I slid through wooden floors and fanned out over a wide courtyard. The soulless beast dragged me down a covered walkway and through a spear-tipped iron gate.
Beyond the gate was a series of rooms, each filled with sculptures, fragments of carefully carved lintels, thick, chiseled bathtubs, and partially reconstructed stone window frames that curved at their tops like petals. They were the precious bits and pieces of the castle that had lost their way. Amongst a display of wall sculpture remnants hung a gargoyle’s head with ferocious curving teeth that matched the ones piercing my hand.
I winced as the Canterbury gargoyle delivered me to the mouth of his stone brother. The two became one and my body grew heavy once more with the weight of flesh and bone. I hung for one agonizing moment from the teeth of the bodiless French gargoyle, then its jaws opened. I fell to the floor in a shuddering heap.
I stared up at the living ornament as it rolled its tongue in a lazy yawn. Dust shook from its mouth, and its jaws snapped closed on a droplet of my blood. In the time it took me to refill my lungs with air, the fierce guardian drained of life and reverted back to a crumbling bit of stonework. On the wall, next to the head, was a tag with a date and description of the piece. Rows of heads with tags peered blindly at the interior of the room. Were they all imbued with magical properties? Or was the gargoyle a special piece of druid magic? It was a strange, but efficient way to travel, if one could ignore the pain.
I looked around, then listened for long minutes, but no sounds of the living touched my ears. I slipped the shoulder pack from my sore arm and rifled through it. As I suspected, Abdo had stowed a roll of gauze and a bit of white tape. I opened one of the water bottles and drank it nearly empty, then poured the remaining water on my wound. Four puncture holes oozed, two between the bones of the back of my hand, and two in the center of my palm. I dried the injury, then wrapped it and taped it off.
Outside, on the other side of the walled medieval city, the living world clattered and hummed with sound. I tuned it out until I could hear the shadows of the castle. Ghosts. Withered remnants gibbered from memories of lives already spent. Affairs of state, matters of daily life, threats, alliances, romances, prayers, tendrils of thought whispered from every corner, trampled and forgotten by all but their fellow spirits. I was careful not to follow the specters as they drifted down walkways that no longer existed. Instead, I took the stairs up to the top of the castle wall and looked out over the hills.
A new wind met me from the south. It carried the scent of flowering lavender fields, stagnant salt flats, and beyond that the fresh, dry air of the Mediterranean. I was in the South of France and one step closer to her.
Chapter Forty-Three
Take whatever is left.
Grayford
The cobblestone streets of the closed historic site were as dark and empty as the castle. Wandering through them with nothing for company but my own musings felt all too familiar. I squeezed my throbbing hand. The pain distracted me from thoughts of Melisande for a moment. Blood seeped through the bandage, rewarding me with two angry spots of red on my palm. Injuries were a vexing part of my new life, but in a way, I also treasured that fragility. Life moved quickly now. Each second was precious and before I knew it, I would run out of them and be cast back into the abyss with only one decision left—give myself over to eternal rest or fight again for a place in a world that had moved on without me. Before that happened, I’d live as many moments as I could with Melisande.
I allowed a few minutes of human self-maintenance and visited the public necessary room. Then, I translocated into a small market shop and left a few euros in payment for the apple and cup of yogurt I took.
Outside the
old city walls, conversation drifted along the new city’s streets. Swells of late-night laughter came and went. I climbed the outer wall and took a seat in the shadows of a parapet. The meal of bread, fruit, and yogurt gave me an extra bit of energy for the last leg of my trip. I drained another bottle of water and watched the foot traffic a few minutes longer. Abdo’s advice about goals and choosing routes came back to me. I had much in common with the strange druid. He was right—I couldn’t race into the fiends’ lair without a plan.
I peered at the dark swell of foothills in the distance. I’d follow the rising land into the mountain heights, then seek out a highway with towns. A resort required accessible roads, and Abdo had described the valley as filled with streams and waterfalls. If the roads did not lead me where I needed, the water would. All water runs downhill. I’d find it and trace it back to its origins. I’d find her.
I’ll find you, Melisande.
And then they’ll pay.
****
I fixed my eyes on a point in the distance. I didn’t need its specifics. I didn’t care if it wanted me there. It was farther than I was able to translocate, but it was where I needed to be, so I reached for it. First one piece of me, then another claimed the dark road and the tree next to it. I drank in the shadowy field of sunflowers and breathed the babbling brook that ran beneath the wooden bridge. I materialized next to an old farmhouse made of stones from the stream. I’d done it. I looked back in the direction of Carcassonne, but all I could see was its glow on the horizon. A tidal wave of elation washed over me.
I turned to the mountains that towered over the small vale in which I stood and picked another spot.
****
I leaned into the rocky slope that appeared around me and braced my feet on a narrow goat trail. The topography had changed substantially with the last translocation. The air had cooled, and the vale I’d just left was nowhere to be seen. I looked around in wonder. Starlight struggled through a fast-moving cloudbank, offering intermittent views of the steep, wildly pitching landscape around me.
Thickly forested slopes gave way to rocky cliffs, which glowed at their tops with a ghostly layer of snow. The clouds closed, shutting out the light, but something flickered farther down, at the bottom of the slide to which I clung. Headlights. A lone car wove its way through the valley below me and just before its lights turned away, the twin beams flashed on something metallic. A road sign.
The tiny automobile pulled and chugged around a corner, then disappeared. I translocated to the gravel ledge next to the sign and peered at its message. The reflective words read: Andorre 56.3km.
I donned the light parka Abdo had so graciously supplied and picked a point above the snow line.
****
Not long into traversing the bitter cold heights that marked the border between France and Andorra, the valley I sought gave itself away. The many-colored glow of lights reflected off the bottoms of the clouds revealing a complex of buildings merged with a mountainside. Dancing lasers and spinning pinpoints of light filled the secluded crevasse, and music carried on the alpine wind.
My heartbeat rivaled the thudding tunes as I moved to a slope that overlooked the faceted main structure. Planes of glass tipped and soared in all directions, folding eventually into a giant spire. Steam drifted from outdoor canals and circular grottos to merge with the night. Inside, more pools bubbled beneath the play of lights and sound. Bodies danced and swayed in the waters.
I picked a place on the ground, just outside a collection of steaming tubs, and walked through the rolling clouds of vapor to the plate glass wall. A lake of a pool stretched away into the dizzying light. Swimmers clustered around an acrobat spinning like a spider in the air above them.
Hovering over the pool, large disks perched on enormous columns. Water trickled over the rims to rain into the pool below. I searched the sea of undulating forms until my eyes came to rest on a figure that didn’t sway. A young man with a thickly bandaged arm watched me from the highest disk. We locked gazes as he reached for a woman with flowing red hair. The sylphan beauty slid into his embrace then followed his gaze to me. The loose-lipped smile slid from her lovely face.
A hulking man with golden hair and a broken nose rose from the water next to them. With a glance that promised brutality, he leapt from the water and flashed up a set of stairs. The young man and his red-headed companion followed.
They wove through the crowd, crossing a bridge, and then poured out a door next to the canal. They fanned out as they stalked toward me.
Strike first if you can, Abdo had warned, so I did.
Invisible fire rolled up from the depths of me. I opened my mouth and shaped it into a missile of force. The energy struck the larger man in his chest and knocked him from his feet. Pain drove a wedge into my skull. The battering ram of energy carried the large man through the air and out of sight. The remaining two looked in the direction in which he had disappeared, then turned back to me.
“How dare you,” the dark-haired youth growled through gritted teeth. I caught him just as he crouched to launch at me. This time I used an outstretched hand to guide the searing force. The energy caught him and flung him in the direction my hand pointed. His ungainly frame tumbled through the air and crashed against the glass. The impact sent tremors through the faceted panes. The entire side of the structure buckled and vibrated with the collision. Another strike and the glass would likely shatter.
Inside, a handful of heads turned, but the rest seemed mesmerized by the flickering lights and hypnotic performance. The redhead took a step to the side, but I shook my head.
The blond brute rushed me from behind, but I translocated to just in front of the woman and gripped her by her slender neck. I unzipped her atoms and carried her away.
The top of the spa’s spire was just wide enough for me to brace my feet as I held the vampire out over the slanting glass. The mountain winds ripped at us from all directions. From what I knew of the undead, they could withstand a fall from several stories up, but our height was far beyond that.
“Where is Melisande Blythe?” I shook her for emphasis. She clawed at my forearm with inhumanly strong hands, but the power coursing through me pushed my muscles past their natural limits. “I would be still if I were you. If I lose my balance, I might drop you.” Part of me was loath to treat a woman this way, but the other part knew enough of vampires to see past the guise of femininity to the festering, demonic presence beneath.
“You’re too late,” it cackled. I swayed on my heels and almost lost my grip on it. Pressure roiled inside my stomach.
“No,” I whispered. My hand tightened on its neck. My thumb dug into its windpipe. The force inside me traveled down my arm, into my hand, and light flared like a necklace against its skin. The false woman’s aqua eyes flashed wide. Heat poured through me and I shook it again. “That is a lie.”
It tore at my fingers with its clawed hands. The perfect façade of freckled skin and dewy features fell away. Something alien and warped glared at me through a translucent layer of rubbery skin. It locked eyes with mine for a second longer then jabbed a bony finger up the mountain slope to the rocky crest.
“Take her,” it screeched. “She has served her purpose.” The vampire spat at me. “Take whatever is left.”
The revelation roared through me. Melisande might still be alive. I looked toward the mountaintop and tried again to open the broken connection between us. Desperation pulled me from my stupefaction just as the vampire swept its tipped fingers toward my face. I turned to miss the blow, but the sharpened hooks of its claws drew searing lines across my cheek.
I leaned forward. It would be so easy to drop it and rid the world of its defiling presence. The urge to crush its throat trembled through me. I could not know how this villain had mistreated my beloved, but something vicious and unredeemable flashed in the vampire’s eyes. It had harmed Melisande. Of that, I was sure.
I yanked the creature’s molecules apart and moved us to a point
lower down. Not so low as to provide a comfortable landing, but high enough to send a message. Gravity grabbed us, and I released my hold on its neck then translocated to the nearest ledge. I didn’t wait for the satisfying crack of its bones on the cement. Maybe it would get lucky and land in one of the grottoes. The water might cushion its impact.
With a last glance at the seething young man with the bandaged arm, I reached for the snow-dusted cliffs at the top of the mountain and the valley fell away.
Chapter Forty-Four
I was good and kind and angry and blind.
Melisande
The patch of moonlight crept like a criminal across the floor of my cell, steeling minutes, then hours. The Sisters had never left me alone for this long before. Any second, their crooked, white-robed bodies would appear in the doorway and the agony would start all over. I couldn’t. I couldn’t take any more. Rasmus was right. I had to save myself. There was no one on this mountain that would help me.
I used the bars to pull myself to my feet. My legs were made of rubber, but they stayed beneath me. I took heart from the small accomplishment. My fingers traced along a passing tendril of soul, and my hand went cold. Emptiness, despondence, misery. I grabbed for another spirit. Sorrow, suffering, anguish. I stretched through the bars to catch another and another. Every ghost in the dungeon was lost to their own agonies. They were bound to their afflictions and wrapped inside their disasters.
And I would meet the same fate.
I looked around at the walls of my cell. I was trapped by more than space. I was constrained by the belief that I was not in control of my own situation. The Sisters had scarred my mind as well as my body. A tiny piece of my old, familiar indignation flared to life. No matter how much damage they inflicted, I would never “go quietly into that good night.” That scrap of opposition began to clear my thoughts.
A Shiver of Shadows Page 24
