Rise of the Poison Moon

by MaryJanice Davidson

  “Mom, seriously. Look up. Check it out.”

  The sorceress stepped back. “I can’t do anything else for you, Evangelina. Please don’t ask me. There’s nothing I can do. I’ve failed both of you. Skip has already come to this awful end, and now you face the same.”

  “Folks, if you could just tilt your heads slightly up and check this out . . .”

  “Maybe not tonight, maybe not for months or even years—but you are doomed, and damned. I did that to you. I’m so sorry.”

  Please stop apologizing, Mother. It upsets me.

  “WILL EVERYONE PLEASE STOP TALKING AND LOOK UP AT THE MOON?”

  They looked up.

  The sliver had become a more prominent crescent, and it was leaving a trail of virulent green in its wake. Even the dark side was pulsing with color.

  “Why isn’t the moon fixed?” Susan asked. “Skip’s dead. So is Andi.”

  “It’s like I told you,” Dianna told them. “He exists up there as well. Destroying him down here is not enough. We must do it again.”

  “How much time do we have?” Elizabeth asked.

  “None. We have to do it now. In fact, I’m surprised we’re still standing.”

  “We have to kill him on the moon now? How are we going to do that?” asked Gautierre.

  Dianna wiped her face. “Someone is going to carry me up there. And then I am going to make a sacrifice, for once.”

  Mother. You’re not making any sense. You cannot go to the moon. None of us can.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Jennifer added.

  “You’re both wrong—in fact, you are exactly the two among us who have the strength to bring me there.”

  I don’t see how that’s possible. I cannot survive without air, Mother.

  “Even if you fix that problem,” Jennifer added, “It would take months to get there, even at our fastest. We could barely keep up with Army helicopters down here. Do you have a rocket ship hidden somewhere under that dress?”

  “Speed is not an issue. Nor is air. The only question would be, which one of you will bring me. I’ve already decided that one.”

  She stepped up to Evangelina.

  I won’t take you. Not if you’re going up there to die.

  “Oh, sweet Evangelina.” Dianna stroked her daughter’s face with both hands, wiping the black strands of hair aside. “I’m not going to ask you to take me. Instead, I’m going to give you one last gift, before Jennifer takes me.”

  What do you

  Dianna seized Evangelina’s face and explained, as the younger woman shrieked.

  “I should have done this when I found you, after all those years you spent in the darkness. There’s no mother I know who wouldn’t gladly take all her daughter’s pain away. I am ashamed that it took me so long to do this. All I can say is, I’m sorry. I wanted time with you. I wanted the time that had been taken from us. You gave me some of that time. Now, I return it to you . . . and so much more.”

  Evangelina’s scream became higher, and her eyes brighter. Her hair shortened, and her skin tightened. Meanwhile, Dianna began to age.

  “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” Jennifer asked her mother.

  “Kid, I have no idea what either of us is seeing.”

  Moooooooom!

  “I give you the gift of years,” Dianna said. The creases in her face deepened, and she gritted her teeth. “All of the loneliness and misery you suffered, all of the horrible things you’ve done . . . I’ll take it all. You have a second chance, Evangelina. Use it well.”

  The girl’s face—for it was a girl now, no older than six—remained a reflection of pain. Her silver eyes sparkled with youth.

  Where am I what is this who am when am I am why?

  “Just a little longer, darling.” Dianna’s voice was heavy with age. Her shoulders were stooping, and she could barely lift the shrinking child into her arms. The loose clothes Evangelina had worn were now large enough to be blankets to the infant.

  Finally, Dianna looked up from the wailing cloth bundle in her arms, to the others. The skin sagged from her cheek-bones, and her eyes were dull with uneasy, shifting pastels. No one spoke.

  Slowly, step by step, the sorceress shifted toward them. She edged by the earthly corpse of Skip Wilson, and passed the gape-mouthed Catherine. She paused when she reached Gautierre and Susan, and reached out with a hand to the boy’s shoulder. Her nod passed him, acknowledging the giant black corpse on the other side of the river.

  “I’m sorry for your losses, kid,” she croaked. “Find family where you can. Love them for who they are. Stay with them, in good times and bad. If you need guidance . . . look to the family my first husband built.”

  She kept going now, passed Susan and Jennifer with a slow wink, came to the last in the group, and held out her infant child.

  “Doctor. Please succeed, where I have failed.”

  Elizabeth staggered back a step. “Dianna. Ms. Wilson. I can’t—this is—”

  “We both know who the difference was, between what Evangelina became and what Jennifer has become. I have finally done something for her, worthy of your family. I cannot continue. It is up to you—the only one in this world whom I trust with her safety.”

  “Dianna. I can’t possibly be the answer. You and I—we just—”

  The sorceress presented the child again, more urgently this time. “Doctor. I would love to argue this all evening. My other child is about to ruin this earth. I know you ache for another child. I’m offering you this opportunity. If you don’t want it, I’ll leave it with Jennifer, and you can be a grandmother instead.”

  Elizabeth took the baby.

  “Thank you.” Dianna straightened her back and ran a hand through her gray hair. “Jennifer Scales. I am ready to go.”

  EPILOGUE

  The Elder’s Diary

  I was the last person to see Dianna Wilson alive.

  Since she asked, and I saw no other way, I carried her up. We went higher than dragons can, higher than helicopters or jet fighters, higher than satellites.

  She whispered the sorceries I needed for speed and survival, though the words she spoke did horrible things to her own withering face and limbs.

  My mother has asked me several times what it was like, up there. I find that all I can tell her was that it was cold and quiet. That’s what everyone expects to hear, and so that’s all I say.

  The truth was, I have never felt more heat or heard more noise than I have when the earth and we raced through the sky together.

  The white-streaked stone beneath us was powered by an engine more ancient, slow, and sure than ours; but the short sprint to the moon was ours to win, and the heavens roared and the stars cheered. The more I think about it, the more I realize the heat and noise came from within—Dianna’s magic was no longer what kept us alive.

  She held her own head close to mine, and I began to hear her voice in my head. At first it was stuff I could understand—mostly things about her daughter, and the travels they had shared together in dimensions that existed only in dreams.

  But her words made less and less sense, the farther we went. Things she said had happened, couldn’t possibly have yet: a river town vanishing under a billowing cloud of fire, a dark twist of a creature obliterating herself in the midst of a holocaust, a faceless figure hunting ceaselessly for blood, a world without dragons or spiders or beaststalkers. Maybe she was hallucinating, or peering into the future.

  When the crescent moon was so large I thought its lower end would pierce us, I heard her thoughts return to me: please stop here.

  Are you sure? I asked her.

  I’m sure. You should go now. Thank you, Jennifer. Give Evangelina my love. Help your mother look after her. Help your mother . . .

  I tried to hold on to her, but with one last wink and wry smile, she forced distance between us. Without my heat, her skin began to glisten with blue frost.

  You’ve got about ten seconds, child. Move it.

 
I moved it, still unable to tell for sure if my newfound speed and fire came from within, from her grace, or both. By the time a cloud of emerald fire consumed the night sky, I was already piercing the atmosphere.

  According to my mother, it initially looked as though Dianna had failed, and that the moon and everything had been lost. It wasn’t until her last sorcery faded enough to let the slim, white crescent shine through that she relaxed and realized all was well.

  But I knew all along that Dad’s first wife would do fine. That woman had no clue how to lose. Turns out, though, she did know how to die in style.

  The shimmering curtain that lay over Minnesota for the next fifty nights let only two lights through: the sun, which washed out most of the aurora’s colors; and the cleansed moon, which kept its crescent shape the entire time.

  It turns out this was the beginning of something even bigger for all of us—but for those fifty days, it was amazing enough to see the universe bow to that martyred sorceress.

  As for me, I landed safely in Pinegrove. Of course. I’m always safe. It’s the people around me who seem to die.

  Mom was waiting for me, holding the bundle in her arms tightly against the chill. Fog formations slipped over the river behind them, and one of them was shaped like a large bird. I thought of Sonakshi, and Xavier, and the hundreds of dragons who had followed me to the end.

  I poked at the bundle and lifted the cloth from her face. Evangelina’s eyes reflected all the shifting colors from the mourning heavens, until I let the blanket drop a bit. Then they were gray, just like Dad’s.

  Turn the page for a special preview

  of the next novel in

  MaryJanice Davidson and Anthony Alongi’s

  Jennifer Scales series

  Coming soon from Ace Books!

  The Last Interview of Dr. Loxos

  The following is a transcript of a recording recovered from the Saint Georges Secure Medical Facility in Cloudchester, Minnesota. According to staff at the facility, the conversation took place in a secured room in what would have been the facility’s psychiatric emergency care center.

  The Cloudchester Police have blacked out some information for reasons of decorum, and to maintain discretion during their continuing investigation into the death of Dr. Collin Loxos and the disappearance of at least one other patient at the facility.

  [Recording begins.]

  LOXOS: September 18, 5:12 P.M. Dr. Collin Loxos, conducting our second interview with a female patient, age approximately twenty, height five feet eleven inches, weight one hundred fifty-five pounds, hair black, eyes gray, refers to herself as , no given surname. has been with us at Saint Georges for just under twenty-four hours; she was a voluntary self-admit. She has barely spoken to anyone since her arrival. Her first interview an hour after entry was, in the words of my colleague Dr. Eisenstadt, “an hour-long staring match with the table.” Since then patient has become increasingly agitated. Under Dr. Eisenstadt’s direction, staff have attempted sedation with a progressive schedule of benzodiazepines. None have had any discernable effect. Patient has submitted to restraints, which I have recommended due to the increasing danger she presents to staff and herself. has made multiple vague references to deaths, and to the town of Winoka. This has caught our attention, for obvious reasons. I have notified local authorities, but would like to see if I can learn more prior to their arrival. , I am Dr. Loxos. You can call me Collin.

  [Long silence.]

  LOXOS: ? Are we going to have another staring match with the table?

  : you, Collin.

  LOXOS: , I wonder if you can tell me why you came here.

  : I wonder if you can tell me what you think these restraints and all the drugs are for.

  LOXOS: We’re taking measures for your safety, and the community’s.

  : I’ve heard that line before.

  LOXOS: Where? In Winoka?

  : I didn’t come here to talk about Winoka.

  LOXOS: But you’re from there, right?

  : You don’t know about Winoka.

  LOXOS: I know there was a natural disaster there—

  : The Regiment is not a natural disaster.

  LOXOS: What is the Regiment?

  : You know what the Regiment is. They probably run this place. If they don’t, they know the people who do. That’s why I’m here. Well, it’s the first reason I’m here. You’re taping this interview, which means they’ll get a transcript. Right?

  LOXOS: Let’s suppose for now that this “Regiment” exists. What message would you like to send?

  : I would like to tell them they are wasting their time.

  LOXOS: How so?

  : The people they’re hunting don’t have the

  information they want.

  LOXOS: This Regiment is hunting people?

  : Doing a good job of it, too. I’m sure you’ve seen the headlines.

  LOXOS: I have. They are gruesome, some of these headlines.

  : Nothing worse than what I’ve seen for years. It’s easy to treat people like that when you consider them “not human.”

  LOXOS: What do you mean, “not human”?

  : Don’t insult my intelligence, Collin. Everyone listening to this tape or reading this transcript is going to know who’s dying and why.

  LOXOS: Because this “Regiment” of yours is killing them, is that right?

  : It’s not my Regiment, Collin. It’s yours. You’re a member.

  LOXOS: Who else is a member?

  : You know it’s not like I have a directory! I just know you—

  LOXOS: . . . have you considered that you may be a member of this Regiment? Or more precisely, that the Regiment is nothing more than a psychic construct you use to distance yourself from your awful actions? That all of the hunting you are talking about . . . that it’s you doing it?

  : That’s not true. That’s not who I am.

  LOXOS: You’re so sure of that?

  : I’m sure. You’re not going to confuse me with psychiatric games, Collin.

  LOXOS: You think these are games. Yet you checked yourself in here. Nobody came in with you to Saint Georges. How long have you been alone, ?

  : I’m not sure. A few years.

  LOXOS: What about before that? Did you live in—

  : Let’s stop talking about Winoka. You’re trying to pump me for information. You’re stalling until the authorities show. It’s not going to work. I’m here because I want to be here, Dr. Loxos. Like I said, I wanted to get a message to your friends in the Regiment.

  LOXOS: Yes, you said that was the “first” reason you were here. Was there another reason?

  : Yes. I wonder if you know a .

  LOXOS: Of course I do. She’s a patient here. Has been for years.

  : Why is that?

  LOXOS: I don’t see why that’s relevant—

  : Let’s get to the point. You preach the fiction that suffers from severe, chronic psychosis.

  LOXOS: She’s been experiencing secondary delusions for over a decade. Possibly since childhood.

  : Her “delusions” have been documented and disseminated worldwide, using unedited video—

  LOXOS: Please, . We both know the Internet is a storage house for manufactured fantasy. Those special effects films she crafted to impress the world were nothing more than a clever stunt to get attention after the death of her mother and subsequent emotional abandonment by her father—

  : Who believed her, after the rise of the Poison Moon.

  LOXOS: You are referring, I presume, to the unusual but completely explicable phenomenon of the “green moon,” which happened most notably approximately twenty years ago. Astronomers have noted that certain phases of the moon, when viewed through an aurora borealis, can give the impression—

  : You and I can interrupt each other all day long, Collin, but we know has never suffered a psychotic episode. Neither did her father.

  LOXOS: Well, he’s no longer alive to tell us what he has seen, is he?

  :
Yes, that’s very convenient for the Regiment.

  LOXOS: Convenience has nothing to do with it. He died in a military training exercise at the air base he commanded. He was highly decorated and received a hero’s funeral. I suspect he would be very sad, as are we all, to see the depths to which his daughter sank shortly after his demise.

  : The Regiment is all over the military. All over law enforcement. All over every level and agency of government, in schools and hospitals . . .

  LOXOS: You’re suggesting the Regiment killed ’s highly trained and decorated father during a military exercise. That doing so somehow supported their false case that she should be committed. That she never suffered any delusions about dragons, and enormous spiders, and interdimensional travel, and pixie dust. That these things actually exist. That there is a conspiracy to hide this truth.

  : Not just hide it, Collin. Destroy it. Murder it.

  LOXOS: Murder it, like you’ve murdered innocent people?

  : I’ve never murdered anyone. Not in this lifetime. Not yet.

  LOXOS: You believe that will scare me? I don’t know who you think you are, but let me tell you where you are. First, you’re strapped down in a bed with steel and leather restraints. That bed is in a locked room here with me, inside the most secure wing of the most secure psychiatric facility known to North America, and likely the world. We use highly trained private security forces, at an unprecedented guard-to-guest ratio, to ensure the safety of everyone inside and in the surrounding community. You walked in here, , but you are not walking out. You’re a woman with deep emotional problems who likes to hurt people to avoid the awful truth.

  : What truth is that, Collin?

  LOXOS: You’re a monster. And you belong in here, in a place far deeper and danker than any cell your friend will ever experience. You cannot be cured of your need to kill. With luck, whatever unfortunate bastard serves as your public defender will lose his or her bid to plead insanity on your behalf, and they’ll inject poison into your veins within a year or two. Meanwhile, you’ll be our guest here. Get comfortable.