by H. Duke
April glanced down at Thaddeus, he was looking away from all of them, averting his eyes. He looked deflated, broken.
“So what’s it going to be?” Randall asked.
“Fine,” Thaddeus said.
Dorian didn’t look thrilled with this turn of events, but must not have thought of any alternatives, because he only turned to Randall. “Keep him under control. We can’t afford him causing a scene over there.”
“I’ll get him back over here at the first sign of trouble,” Randall promised.
“Glad that’s settled. Let’s not waste any more time.” April handed Dorian The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and then stood in front of the gate.
“Come on,” Randall said, and Thaddeus reluctantly came and stood beside them, as did Rex.
“The dog isn’t seriously coming, is he?” Thaddeus asked.
“He goes where I go unless I tell him otherwise,” Randall said. “More useful than you’ll be, I’ll bet.”
Thaddeus winced as the gate opened, his eyes widening. A sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead.
“Are you okay?” April asked. He was the last person who deserved her concern, but he looked genuinely terrified.
“this is what caused me to… caused my…” he trailed off, but she knew what he meant.
“It’ll be okay,” she said.
“You think you know what this thing is capable of, but you don’t.” He looked away from her and back towards the gate. “Let’s get this over with.”
It was impossible to make out what was on the other side. The majority of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde took place at night, so that wasn’t surprising, but it would have been nice to see how much ink rot they were dealing with.
“Any hints to where the rot will be?” she asked.
“You won’t have to search for it,” Dorian said from behind her. “With a case this extensive, it should be evident everywhere.”
She nodded. At least there was one advantage of this.
“Be careful,” Dorian said. His eyes lingered on hers longer than was necessary.
She nodded again. “Let’s go.”
She, Randall, Rex, and Thaddeus began walking through the portal. Thaddeus didn’t move until Randall reached back and grabbed the edge of his shirt. “Guess I do have to drag you through,” Randall said.
Thaddeus didn’t respond. He closed his eyes as they passed through the glowing screen of energy.
April felt a pang of guilt. Thaddeus had saved them from Mason, and he’d been the one to use the wand to put wards on their homes and the library. Maybe he hadn’t done it for the right reasons, but he’d done it. He’d been suffering, and she and the others hadn’t done much for him except make sure there was a roof over his head—and honestly, the only real reason they’d done that was to make sure the Collectors didn’t get him.
Was that really any better than how the Collectors treated the witches and wizards they held captive?
She’d help him, once all this was over. She, too, knew the gate’s power and its influence, though perhaps not as intimately as Thaddeus did.
You can’t worry about him right now, she told herself. She looked straight ahead. They made it through to the other side of the veil. As she looked around, every thought about Thaddeus was pushed from her mind.
She’d been wrong about the scene on the other side being at night. It was the middle of the day—if the giant glowing orb in the sky was any indication. It was the sun, but she’d mistaken it for the moon because its glow was diminished by a smog-like layer of pitch.
Ink rot. The entire sky was covered in ink rot.
“Oh, my god,” Randall said from behind her. Rex whined in what she took for agreement.
It wasn’t just the sky, either. They stood on the edge of a seventeenth-century London street. She’d grown used to the British architecture and style from this time period, as it was the setting for many of the books in the Werner collection. Some buildings looked nearly unmarred, but most were covered in black, web-like spores. One building was almost entirely overtaken, the light and shadows of its edifice swallowed by the rot so that it looked like a featureless, edgeless mass.
It seemed as good a place to start as any, so she walked over towards it. The others followed behind her.
“Be careful, April,” Randall cautioned.
She nodded, then reached out and touched the black mass—whether she was touching the building or rot, she wasn’t sure; they were one and the same.
The rot fought back, but she had become too strong. When she opened her eyes again, the shiny blackness had become dry, then it exploded into a cloud of black powder that hung in the air, revealing a two-story house with a one-story building attached to it. The name “Jekyll” was embossed in the stone over the front door. Even the sky seemed slightly lighter.
“This is Dr. Jekyll’s house,” she said. She nodded to the one-story building behind it. “That must be his laboratory.”
Randall nodded, but he barely spared them a glance. “How do you feel?” Randall asked, his voice worried.
“Fine,” she said, truthfully. “I’ve gotten stronger. This is nothing.” What she didn’t tell him was that she knew this strength wouldn’t last, not through all the books they needed to save. She would be worn out before the night was over. It was just too much.
Rex whined, pawing at Randall’s leg.
“What’s up?” Randall asked, crouching down to the dog’s level.
Rex whined again, running around in a small circle, then looking at them pointedly. He sat and breathed out a frustrated huff.
A spark of intuition ran through her, and Rex’s actions suddenly made sense. “Where’s Thaddeus?”
They looked in all directions, but he was nowhere in sight, and he would have stood out. Not just because of his modern clothing, but because everything here seemed a shade or two grayer thanks to the ink rot. Randall and Rex practically glowed.
“He was right behind us,” Randall said. “I had him by the shirt. I know he entered the gate with us.”
“Then where did he go?” April asked, her brow furrowing.
~~~
Thaddeus opened his eyes to a cobblestone street. The place seemed to be set during the industrial revolution, so nineteenth-century. He wasn’t sure if the book was set in the United States or Britain. He’d never actually read it.
Everything looked conspicuously dark; the buildings, sidewalk, and even some of the figures milling around the street were partially covered in a shiny black substance that seemed to spread in a spore-like pattern. So this was the infamous ink rot.
He looked around for the others, but they were nowhere in sight. Had they moved up ahead of him?
He turned back towards the gate, which was set into the doorway of a building. The character, Dorian, would have to deal with his presence. He wasn’t going to stay here by himself…
Commotion up ahead drew his attention. Was that where the others were? It would be just like them to cause a scene—they weren’t exactly adept at the art of stealth.
He approached the throng of people. From what he’d learned of the portals while with the Agency, he was confident that this one was cloaking his presence, making it look like he belonged on an eighteenth-century street in whatever country this was, so he wasn’t worried about being noticed.
He searched the faces of the crowd for the Pagewalker and Corporal Washington but saw neither. Was it possible that the gate was masking their appearance even from him? From what he understood, that wasn’t how it worked.
“Pagewalker?” he said into the crowd. “Corporal Washington?” and then, “Rex?”
No one responded, except to throw him suspicious looks. He decided not to call them again. It was best to blend in.
But where had they gone? They’d been just in front of him, walking through the portal… He felt suddenly uneasy. What if this was an episode? He stumbled back, away from the gathering of people. Not
here, he begged the gate. He should never have stepped through the veil…
“My good sir—you look lost. May I offer my assistance?”
Thaddeus turned towards the voice, noting the British accent—so they were in Britain. Its source was a man who looked to be in his late thirties, around the same age as Thaddeus himself. He wore a well-tailored tweed suit, and despite the muddy streets his shoes were clean and shiny. Thaddeus wasn’t an expert on classes from the late nineteenth-century, but this man was obviously wealthy.
Thaddeus took a step away from the man. “I don’t know. I was with some people a moment ago, but they’ve disappeared.”
“An American?” the man said, his eyebrows raising in surprise. “How wonderful. Though however you got here is anyone’s guess.” He extended his hand. “My name is Mr. Enfield.”
Thaddeus waited for the man to offer his first name, but he didn’t. Perhaps this was normal in nineteenth-century Britain. He took Mr. Enfield’s hand and shook it.
“Thaddeus Broker,” he said. “I guess you can call me Mr. Broker.”
Enfield shook his hand vigorously up and down. “Splendid, simply splendid. A pleasure to meet you.”
Thaddeus allowed his hand to be raised up and down, wondering what he should do next. Movement over Enfield’s shoulder caught his attention. The ink rot on the largest building on the street began to harden and flake away, like a quickly-evaporating patch of mud in the desert.
Once all the rot had dissipated, he could tell that the building was a residence. It also had a longer, one-story building behind it.
The Pagewalker must have done that, Thaddeus thought, but where was she?
Enfield glanced behind him and followed Thaddeus’ gaze. “My friend, what has startled you?”
Thaddeus pointed to the newly-clean building, which stood out starkly against the rest of the street that was still covered in the rot. “What is that place?”
“Why, that is the Jekyll residence, of course.” He turned back towards Thaddeus. “There’s no need to be afraid of that house or anything in this area. It can look a little rough around the edges at night, but what city street doesn’t? Look—even entire families are gathering.”
He gestured towards the throng of people that Thaddeus had been approaching earlier. The throng included children, teens, and elderly people.
Enfield continued. “You simply have nothing to fear. Come.” He began walking down the street towards the intersection where the people he’d indicated were milling about and talking.
“I’m not afraid,” Thaddeus muttered, but could see nothing else to do than to follow Enfield.
As they walked, Enfield waved to a man dressed in a long coat that flared out at the hips and ended slightly past his knees. The chest of the coat was embellished with two rows of large golden buttons. On his head he wore a round, nearly conical hat. A thick strap extending across his chin held the hat in place.
A patch of ink rot marred the right side of his face like a huge, unfortunate birthmark.
“Good evening, Officer Powers,” Enfield said jovially. “My companion is an American. Brilliant, wouldn’t you say? He’s lost his friends, so I’m going to help him locate them.”
“A-a-all r-r-right,” Officer Powers stuttered in response, but he eyed Thaddeus suspiciously, almost fearfully.
Enfield leaned in towards Thaddeus. “Of course, he doesn’t offer to help. A coward, that one. Why he joined the police force in the first place is anyone’s guess. Familial pressure, most likely. Anyhow, the fact that they’ve stationed a yellow-belly like him here is all the proof you need that this is one of the safest streets in London. Now, about your lost companions—”
Enfield was interrupted by a yell from the street. “Outta my way!”
The voice was brutish, almost monstrous. Thaddeus’ neck snapped towards its source, the action mirrored by Enfield: a large man, just as monstrous as the voice he produced. The man seemed almost deformed, though Thaddeus couldn’t say exactly which of the man’s features made him so.
The man was barreling down the street, directly towards the throng of people. Thaddeus felt an inexplicable fear in his heart. He knew he had to get out of the man’s way. Enfield must have felt the same, because he grabbed Thaddeus’ wrist and pulled him to the side of the road, well out of the man’s path. All around them, people dashed for cover.
A small feminine cry from the street drew his attention. Malloria?
He pushed aside a man who was blocking his view. A young girl had fallen in the road. She tried to stand, but the cobblestone was slippery and she lost her footing again. She whimpered in fear as the beastly man barreled towards her. If he saw her he didn’t care; he kept running full-speed.
Thaddeus waited for someone, her parents, perhaps, to pull her to safety. No one did. She tried one last time to stand, but again fell. The stone street shouldn’t have been that slick…
Thaddeus knew he shouldn’t get involved, but he couldn’t let the girl get run over by the man, now only ten or so paces away.
He ran out into the street and scooped the girl up, running to the opposite walkway only moments before the man would have trampled her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he felt tears fall onto the collar of his shirt.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes. That… man…” her voice wavered, and she let out a tiny sob. “Don’t let him get me!”
“I won’t,” he said. “You’re safe, now. Where are you parents?”
The girl pointed back towards the throng of people, but her brow furrowed as she did.
Aware, suddenly, of her rapidly increasing heartbeat, he turned in the direction of her outstretched finger.
The throng of people was coming towards them, but not in the thankful way that Thaddeus expected. Their gazes were empty, their eyes dark and hooded.
They began to slowly shuffle towards them, like zombies.
“Put her back in the road,” one voice called, and a murmur of assent rippled through what was quickly resembling a mob.
“What do you mean?” Thaddeus said. He’d never had a child himself, but he felt a need to protect the girl. He turned so that she was on the opposite side, away from the mob.
“You ‘eard us,” another voice said. “Put ‘er back where you got ‘er from, or else.”
“This is one of your children,” Thaddeus said. “Surely someone will come forward and take her? Protect her?”
“Mama?” the girl said. She held her hand out to one of the woman zombies. The heart-like shape of the woman’s face and the golden brown of her eyes matched those of the girl almost perfectly, but the woman’s gaze was just as empty and void of emotion as the other faces.
“Put her back,” the girl’s mother said. “She’s got a part to play.”
Enfield pushed past the crowd. His eyes did not have the same empty, darkened quality that the others’ had.
He turned angrily to the crowd. “Have you all gone mad? This man saved one of your children and this is how you repay him?” he placed a hand on Thaddeus’ shoulder. “I assure you, this is not how things are normally handled here. You, copper,” he said, snapping his fingers at the meek Officer Powers, who was standing on the edge of the throng. “Are you going to do nothing about this?”
Officer Powers blinked. His eyes were also dark and empty, but they didn’t seem quite as emotionless as the rest of them. The nasty ink rot covered the middle of his right cheek to the middle of the cheekbone and extended up into his hairline.
The dark-eyed people nearest to him pushed him forward, muttering, “Get her back,” and “Do your job!”
“P-p-put her b-b-back…” he said, gulping. The crowd began to echo his words, sans the stutter.
The girl began to cry even harder. “Shh,” Thaddeus said, not sure of the best method to calm a child. Over the heads of the mob he could see the other end of the street. The beastly man was coming back, running more q
uickly and furiously than the first time.
Thaddeus pointed at the man. “He’s coming back.” He expected this fact to convince the mob to cease their demands. Instead, they began to yell more furiously for him to put the girl back in the road.
“The story must go on,” the girl’s mother insisted from over Officer Power’s shoulder.
“You’re crazy,” Thaddeus said. “This is your daughter!”
Suddenly, he was back in the black of the cellar, Malloria’s scared whimpers in the darkness next to him. Above them her father was being dragged away. He’d spent his last moments concealing his daughter’s location, and then allowed himself to be carried away to distract the agents.
The Collectors, a voice in his head whispered, and just like that, he was back on the dirty London street, the girl trembling in his arms.
That father acted how a parent should act, how any person should act to protect the defenseless. Not the way this mob was acting.
“Now, now,” Enfield said. He stood between Thaddeus and the slowly approaching mob, holding his hands out towards both sides in a placating gesture. “I’m sure we can work this out…”
Not likely, Thaddeus thought to himself, and began looking for an escape route. He saw a small opening between two buildings—an alley, barely two feet wide. He ran towards it, grabbing a nearby handcart, pulling it with his free hand until it lodged in the alley’s mouth behind him. The mob would dislodge it soon enough, but it would give him a head start.
“Mama! Mama!” The girl said, wriggling in his arms, trying to get back to the parent who had forsaken her.
“Shh,” Thaddeus said. “Everything will be okay, Malloria. You just have to trust me.”
Enfield’s voice receded behind him. “Please come back, Mr. Broker! I swear we will get this sorted posthaste…”
Chapter 3
April, Randall, and Rex stepped back through the veil. Dorian sat at one of the tables. The stack of blackening books on the table in front of him had grown. He looked at them through Mae’s spectacles.
