Vanished

by Kat Richardson

  “Next in line for what? You make it sound like this runs in the family.” I wasn’t sure it didn’t, but I hoped that wasn’t true.

  “Not exactly, but the possibility was strong in your case, and what your dad did made it stronger. It only needed a bit of pushing in the right direction and you’d be perfect for the job. And he’s pushed you ever since your dad blew his own head off. You’re knees deep in death, tangled up in the Grey since you was a child. He just needed you to die a little. Then he could shape you a bit while you were out of this armor of flesh.” He whipped out the cane and struck me on the shoulder. “Ah, there you are.”

  “Ow! Who? Shape me into what? A Greywalker? I think it’s too late to put a stop to that.” I stopped talking and eased aside, keeping on my toes to make less noise on the stonework and get a little closer to the steps.

  “The Pharaohn-ankh-astet. The king of worms. He has a plan. Has had since he and Edward first faced off here . . . two, three hundred years ago or more. I can’t tell you what it is—I don’t know—but whatever it is, you can be assured it is terrible. And he needs a Greywalker. A particular type. And as he couldn’t find one, he thought he’d make one.”

  “Make one?” That rang an uncomfortable bell for me. I paused and stepped back to where I’d stood a moment earlier. “Sekhmet said something about the asetem-ankh-astet. Who’s this Pharaohn?” I hoped it wasn’t who I thought. . . .

  Surprise reshaped his face. “You’ve talked to the Lady of Dread?”

  “You didn’t know that? I thought you knew everything I did and everywhere I went.”

  “I have the curse of premonition, but it’s not a bloody crystal ball, my girl,” he spat. “When and where did you converse with her?”

  “Today. In front of Sotheby’s. She told me Will was missing, that the asetem were involved. That’s why I went to see Michael, which was where the Red Guard picked us up after I chopped up the golem standing in for Will.”

  He stopped and tapped his chin with the handle of his cane, thinking. “She let you live. And the asetem . . . No, that can’t be right. It can’t. That’s how the trouble started.” He flicked the cane back up and jabbed me in the chest, shoving me back over the low parapet surrounding the sunken tomb.

  I rolled aside on the grass, kicking the cane out of his hands. Then I tucked up my knees and flipped myself to my feet. Marsden was more spry than I’d have thought and hopped up onto the wall after me, his hands scrabbling like spiders for the missing cane.

  “Damn you. I’m sorry to do this, but I have to.” He pounced in my direction and I danced farther back, but I moved too far, and the roaring song of London and the gasping mutters of the churchyard’s ghosts deafened me for an instant. Marsden could see me like I was spotlit and rushed forward, shoving me hard against and then through the fence in a flash of cold and a tearing of temporaclines across my back. He propelled me backward, toward the large old tree he’d pointed at earlier.

  Several hundred tombstones had been arranged around Hardy’s tree in a spreading sunburst; rank after rank of grave markers, their memento mori animated into chattering skulls with gleaming golden eye sockets by the tangled and knotted threads of a thousand displaced ghosts. The shrieking of them rose in pitch as Marsden pushed me back. I whipped a look over my shoulder. Where the tree stood in the normal, the Grey showed only a howling void—a hole where the energy around it had twisted up into a vortex. The hole was more than big enough to swallow me and the sound it made was like the baying of starving hounds.

  Primal fear ripped through me at the sound. I did not want to be forced into that hungry void. I knew with bone-certainty that what went in never came out. I dug my feet into the grass and ducked, toppling Marsden over my back.

  Something rustled and groaned, tipping out of a crypt with the cry of stone crumbling against stone. I glanced around and saw a pair of something tall and skeletal rushing toward me from the direction of the tiny stone building of St. Pancras Old Church.

  Marsden pushed me again toward the sucking void of the old tree. “Bloody hell, they’re on to us. Got to . . . get rid . . . of . . . you.”

  The white things, looking like undead famine survivors as they finally closed the gap between us, grabbed at Marsden and me. Marsden spun around, smashing his fists into the thing that had grabbed him.

  “Gi’roff, y’soulless bastard!” he yelled.

  The thing’s ribs collapsed where he struck it, but it kept on struggling, trying to throw him into the vortex. The other clutched me, keeping me away from the void.

  I didn’t want its help, sure that whatever it was saving me for was worse than Marsden. I struggled with it, kicking it with the heels of my boots. I felt the brittle bones beneath its stretched white skin shatter and it fell against me, not letting go its grip on my arms.

  I spun and stopped short and hard, the creature slingshotting off one arm to flail wildly at me, trying to reassert its hold. I ran toward the vortex, bashing at its remaining fingers until it lost its grip and fell away. I kicked it and it tumbled into the whirling hole in the Grey, vanishing with its empty mouth agape as if it would scream if it only could. The vacuum of magic tugged at me and I fought my arm free, feeling the edges of the thing bend and flex like rubber as they clung to me. I struggled and twisted my hand loose, feeling a tiny bit of the emptiness break away and spin off into another sucking black hole the size of a pinhead. But the original hole was no smaller. Instead it had grown ragged around the edges and seemed to be reaching for more substance to swallow. I had to crawl across the tombstones, digging in with my fingers and toes against the magical tide, to get out of its pull.

  Once out of the maelstrom, I turned back toward Marsden, who was having a rougher time with his monster. He tore off its remaining hand and shoved it away, battering it to pieces with his cane until it fell to the ground in a pile of grave dust.

  In the shriek of the vortex, even the chorus of the city was hard to hear, so I was sure Marsden wouldn’t hear me as I crept up and snatched his cane away again. Then I used it to poke him backward toward the hole as he’d done with me.

  “What the hell were those things?” I demanded, watching him slip on the tiny hole and fight the edge of the Grey whirlpool’s grasp.

  “Lych wights,” he panted. “Animated corpses.”

  “What did they want?”

  “How the bloody hell should I know?”

  I poked him again and he stumbled a little, grabbing at a fence railing near the tree to keep himself from being sucked backward.

  “They’re probably the advance guard!” he shouted over the scream of the vortex. “Now we’re out in the Grey, someone can feel us moving around. Whoever sent those Red Guard after you and the lad, most like. They’d have killed us both, no doubt.”

  “I don’t think so,” I snapped. “They could have just let you push me in that thing and then tossed you in, too, but they attacked you. They only tried to hold on to me.”

  “They must be working for the Pharaohn-ankh-astet, then. He’d want you alive—such as you are. I can’t believe it—the asetem working with the brotherhood . . .”

  “What are you talking about?” I screamed against the storm of noise at the vortex’s edge.

  “Egyptian vampires,” Marsden panted. “The asetem are the commoners; the Pharaohn is the king—like the word ‘pharaoh,’ y’see? He’s the one what’s after you for his own. He’s the one what tormented your father till he killed himself. That’s why I have to get rid of you. So he can’t use you, like he’s been trying to use one of us for centuries.”

  “You were going to kill me!”

  “I can’t bloody well kill you, you stupid git! You have a limited number of deaths—it’s like a damned reset button for our sort.”

  “What? You mean like a cat’s got nine lives? Are you insane?”

  “It’s true! We bounce back from death—you’ve done it! For a while afterward, you’re malleable. If I killed you, they’d rush in
and grab you in limbo and reshape you for whatever he’s got in mind! It’s only a few minutes but that’s all they need here—we’re in the middle of the biggest magical well in southern England and they’re looking for you. The moment your body was shut down, they’d be on you like jackals! I was just going to put you somewhere else for a while. Someplace safe.”

  “Safe? Where does that . . . hole lead?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then you don’t know if I would have survived it!”

  “I don’t care! I only care that they couldn’t have got at you. I don’t mean it’s safe for you! I mean safe for the rest of the world. You need to stay out of the Pharaohn’s clutches and you ain’t got a lot of choices, girl. I couldn’t do it on the Tube—there weren’t nowhere to put you. I had to get you here, to the tree. But you couldn’t just fall in. No! Now they’re looking for us again—for you.”

  His hair whipped in the preternatural wind around the shrieking hole of the Hardy tree. His hands were locked on the protective fence around it like the claws of some dead white bird.

  “My choices are not yours to make! Why doesn’t this Pharaohn come after you? You’re a Greywalker, too.”

  “I’m damaged goods. He’s tried with me already and failed. He’s sent ghosts and monsters to kill me and shape me, but he made a mistake with me he can’t unmake. I’m at my limit. Next death’s for good and all.”

  “What?”

  “I told you: We got a limited number of deaths. It’s more than one, but it’s not infinite. I’m at my last.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do! You will, too. It’s like . . . gravity. You get close enough to final mortality and it grabs on. You can feel it holding you to the earth.”

  “Then what happened to my dad?” I asked, poking him again. He was getting too comfortable and I didn’t trust him to keep on spilling his guts if he wasn’t afraid I’d topple him into the sucking hole in magic. I knew there wasn’t a lot of time, but I thought I was probably risking his life more than mine.

  “He tricked ’em. A clever man was your father—though not half clever enough to save you. He diverted their attention to his nurse—”

  “She was his receptionist, Christelle. She died. I think your asetem killed her.”

  He shrugged it off, but he couldn’t hide his fear of the hungry void behind him. “As you like! I’m not sure what he did—and I’m not sure how she died neither—but he got them chasing after her, dividing their attention, and then he shot himself, made his brains into pudding. They didn’t see it coming, so they couldn’t stop him and they couldn’t put him back together. The Pharaohn punished him for that, but he couldn’t use him for his . . . whatever it is he means t’do. Whatever he’s been shaping you for since then. Whatever he put that . . . thing into your chest for.”

  “What?” I was too shocked to keep pressure on him and dropped the cane. He’d confirmed my worst fear and the implication fell like a blow.

  Marsden dropped to the ground and scrambled away from the Hardy tree and its aurora of shackled ghosts and blurring, shining energy. He whipped back around, but even shocked as I was, I wasn’t falling for his tricks. I dropped and swept his legs out from under him with a low, round kick.

  He fell on his back and I knelt down next to him, furious, grabbing a handful of the velvety moleskin coat. I resisted the urge to beat him into the ground. Barely. “Don’t try it. I’m not as soft as you think I am and I won’t hesitate to throw you in there this time.”

  “I tell you—”

  “Save it. As you say, we’re out of time here.” I hauled him back to his feet. “There is one way they can’t follow us. I know you can manipulate the temporaclines, so shuffle up the right one and we’ll go back to the canal. Water’s a good barrier. We can take the boat out and they’ll have a heck of a time getting to us. Now, do it.”

  “It’s not that easy, girl—”

  “Bullshit. But I can leave you here if you prefer. . . .”

  THIRTY-TWO

  The trip back to the boat basin was faster than the walk to the churchyard had been, but exhausting. We pushed our way through the Grey the whole time, and I at least hadn’t eaten for hours and felt wretched by the time we emerged into the normal on the canal side. It might have been less dreadful if I hadn’t kept thinking of Wygan and everything that spun out from that.

  Wygan was the Pharaohn-ankh-astet. He had to be. He’d tied a bit of Grey into my chest. He’d pushed me. He’d . . . shaped me. He’d tried again and again to make me a bit more dead—I knew this, but I’d never thought there was a plan behind it all. That it had been going on since . . . forever. Since my dad died. Since before that. It hadn’t occurred to me. What a fool I’d been.

  And now what was he up to? If the asetem had influenced Purcell and that had resulted in Jakob delivering the charmed note to Will, then it was the asetem—and Wygan—who were behind Purcell’s disappearance and the destabilization of Edward’s control in London as well as the kidnapping of Will. But why? How did any of that fit with Wygan’s plans for me? It seemed too elaborate just for a ruse to get me out of Seattle. . . .

  Seattle. I felt sick as I wondered what was happening in Pioneer Square, down in the dark where the dead are. And Quinton. It was where Edward held power, but things were falling apart and vampires were attacking one another with tools built to look like Quinton’s. I couldn’t breathe; my chest felt crushed in a grip of icy steel, squeezing my heart. I wanted to cry with fear for Quinton and my home, but I couldn’t let Marsden see me fall apart. I didn’t think he was completely on my side and he’d take advantage of any weakness.

  My impulse was to flee back home and save my lover and my friends if I could. But I didn’t know what was happening or even if my fears were grounded. I knew there was something happening here, in London, but I didn’t know how it connected to Wygan or to Seattle, except that it had to and Alice had to be involved. She’d worked for Wygan before. If he’d saved her from the fire, then she owed him everything, and Wygan being what he was, he’d make sure she paid him back.

  There was a link between Seattle and London, between my father and me, and the vampires of both kinds—and they all came together in a single plan of Wygan’s. Before I could stop it, I’d have to know what it was. I couldn’t just run back to Seattle half-cocked with hostages left in London, business left undone, and Alice walking the night. I had to move faster, but I couldn’t be stupid about it.

  What was I supposed to do for Wygan that Marsden couldn’t—that my father was supposed to have done but hadn’t? And what was I going to do about Will? I had to get him back—the rest be damned.

  It was a nightmare. Wygan running the asetem, who seemed to be central to the whole puzzle of who and what I was and what was happening now. Alice in Wygan’s debt. Alice who hated Edward and hated me more. If she had Will, I’d have to negotiate with her or find a way around her. . . . It all whirled in my head and left me fatigued and unquiet.

  Michael had the boat warm and lit when we arrived. The sun hadn’t been down long, though it felt like hours to me.

  “Sorry,” Michael said. “There’s no food. And I’m starved.” He looked me over. “You look awful.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Umm . . . no, I mean . . . ummm . . .” He gave me a significant look and touched the corner of his mouth. I touched mine and felt something sticky. Blood. I didn’t recall having bit my lip or been hit in the mouth, but there it was.

  He pointed the way to the “head” when I asked: a compact little room—cabin, I guess—with a small toilet and a shower and a sink with a metal mirror over it. I looked like I’d been dragged backward through a wood chipper, and I had no idea how I’d gotten so filthy, cut, rumpled, and bruised. The shower was very tempting, but I put a hold on that and settled for washing my face and finger combing the worst of the rats’ nests from my hair.

  When I’d washed and brushed enough dirt and anxiety off,
I snuck out into the kitchen, listening to the lap of water on the hull and the mutter of Michael and Marsden outside, and paged Quinton. I left an urgent reply code and hoped he’d call soon. I waited but no call came.

  I forced my fears down and rejoined Michael on the aft deck. Marsden was sitting on the edge of the railing as if he’d jump off and vanish any second. He might at that, I thought. I put one hand on his nearest forearm to keep him still. His skin was cold and felt like paper.

  “Michael, do you think you can get this boat moving?”

  He gave me a puzzled look. “Sure . . . but why?”

  “Some things don’t like water. I’d like to reduce the number of things that might show up unannounced. I think we’ve had enough for one day.” The gods knew I had.

  “Oh. OK. Yeah. The fuel gauges show full, so I suppose we could go a while if you want.”

  “Any place we could tie up and buy food?”

  “Umm . . . I think there are a couple of inns and pubs that have docks in both directions, but it’s a bit late for the shops.”

  I glanced at Marsden.

  “Head for Little Venice—we shan’t have to go through the lock,” he said, his eyes darting about and not meeting anyone’s.

  Michael pottered around and had the boat ticking happily away within ten minutes. I helped cast off, forcing Marsden to stay aboard. I still had a lot to discuss with him, and I didn’t trust him, but he seemed disinclined to swim for it.

  Sailing in the dark on the unlighted canal was eerie. Only our quiet chuffing and the lap of our wake bounded from the brick embankments. Light reflected off the water’s surface from buildings and distant sources, and streamers of colored Grey power lines drifted, distorted by the waves, just beneath us. Occasionally, eyes peeped at us from corners of the towpath or within the water itself. I told myself they were cats and fish and reflections, not the luminous saucer eyes of Jakob’s kin.

  The boat moved along the canal for less than an hour before Michael spotted a lighted building above the dark jut of a small dock. As we drew near, it became obvious that the restaurant was floating on the water, moored to the canal side, on a long barge. Another narrow boat and a small motor cruiser were tied up to the water side, but Michael reversed the engine and our yellow vessel stopped a foot or two from the float. I grabbed a mooring line and jumped across the gap as someone trotted out from the restaurant and offered to help tie us in. With his help, we were safely docked within minutes.