by VK Fox
Jane held out her hand, nodding more seriously. “Yeah, okay. That makes sense. I’ll be careful.”
“Good. Wouldn’t want you to ding that halo.” Dahl tipped the pills into her palm and ruffled her hair. Then he was strolling down the hall without a trace of self-consciousness. Jane stood in the hallway, hand cupped, hair messed up, and a grin slowly spreading across her face.
Out in the parking lot, Jane hopped into Sister Mary’s truck as they rolled out for Longwood Gardens. The silly, girlish part of her wanted to ride with Ian, but Sister Mary’s reaction to the leather-bound book in the woods was strong, and Jane couldn’t shove aside the questions bubbling in her mind. She’d get farther with Mary one-on-one than with the boys chiming in. Bluegrass twanged on the radio softly, and Sister Mary hummed along as Jane settled on the right words to warm up the conversation. “Thanks for pulling me out.”
“Of course. Zapping him from the tub was a clever plan. Thanks for not electrocuting me.”
“Yeah, sure. You got the headshot, anyway.”
“Well, to be fair, I couldn’t have lined it up without you. He was one fast son of a gun. And it might have been redundant—I don’t know if he was still alive when I tapped him, but it seemed like a good idea to be sure.”
“Do you think we’ll get more cryptids at the gardens?”
“I’d be surprised if we didn’t.”
Jane shuddered. Best not to think about it. “In the woods at the campsite we found, you took that book . . .” What should she ask about it? Obviously the text was something significant and dangerous. Sister Mary acted with such intense caution about the volume, and Jane didn’t know if talking about it would set her off again.
She exhaled a sigh of relief when Sister Mary took up the conversation. “Yeah. I’m sure you have questions, but in this instance, I’ll direct the talk, since information can be dangerous. What do you know about linked books?”
“They’re like a magic spell connecting two people across the multiverse. That’s what Dahl said.” Jane cracked the window and lit up. Inhaling deeply enough to smoke wasn’t an entirely comfortable experience. She winced slightly and tried to muscle through.
“Not a bad explanation. So there are a lot of theories on how the connection works, exactly, and who holds the other side of the link and why, but without getting too far into a metaphysical discussion, you need to understand a few things. First off, my order does not use magic directly, because we haven’t been able to answer questions about the origin of power with any level of certainty. We don’t know where the magic comes from, and our religion does not permit us to act on an unclear conscience. Following so far?”
“Okay, so no linked Sisters.”
“Right. Now in the vein of ‘we don’t know why or how,’ some malicious irregularities can pop up with linked books.”
“Oh, yeah. Ian told me about people who are a bad match. Sounds like it causes all kinds of problems.”
“Yes, it can, but that’s not what I mean.”
“Okay . . .”
“Ian and Dahl are linked to Enkidu and King Arthur respectively. But those characters haven’t replaced them. They have their own personalities and will, their own likes, dislikes, and ways of thinking. Some of those aspects of their life or personality may make them a better match to link to King Arthur or Enkidu, but they’re still Ian and Dahl. They are whole, real men with a body, soul, and mind. The link gives them access to powers, but it doesn’t change those things about them. They have the same bodies, albeit magically altered, the same souls, and the same minds. It’s a link in a real sense, connecting them to power, not a possession where a spirit resides within them. You still with me?”
“I think so.” Jane watched the suburban lights go by, trying to fit together the pieces of all the things she’d learned over the last few days. There were a lot of gaps, but that was sounding like the case for everyone.
“So that works nicely. Linked agents get to be whole, real people with some pretty nifty powers.” Sister Mary paused for a few heartbeats to hang a left, and the lights of the suburbs disappeared behind them. “Except sometimes, the books wake up.”
A prickle on the back of Jane’s neck raised the little hairs along her spine and scalp. She stared out the dark window, letting her gaze slide over nothingness. “Wake up? What do you mean, wake up?”
“The people in the books, the ones who have an affinity for our world, reaching out for our reality, can gain consciousness. They want to be real, whole people too, except they don’t have bodies. It’s unclear why it happens, but when it does, it’s seriously dangerous both for the agent involved and anyone who gets in the way. In those rare cases, we are talking about something like possession if it happens internally to the agent, or oppression if it happens externally. A supernatural force working to assert their own will on our reality, attempting to mold it to their own ends. I believe the book in the woods was an artifact of supernatural oppression. Something that shouldn’t exist in this world manifested because of a conscious book. Eileen may be hosting more than a regular link. She may be a gateway for an extranatural force to enter our world.”
Something that shouldn’t exist had been lying in the forest. Jane had read part of a book that was created from the imagination of a malicious spirit. No biggie, either. No mind-bending horror or screaming insanity or anything. “What did you do with it?”
“I’ll take it back to the convent and leave it with Father Gentle for study. He’s our resident exorcist.”
Of course the sisters had a resident exorcist. “I’m okay, though? I don’t need to drink a glass of holy water or anything?”
“You said you felt nothing when you read it, right?”
Jane nodded. “It seemed like a normal story.”
“And nothing weird since then? No intrusive thoughts or foreign ideas troubling you? Things that might fit with The Neverending Story? No confusion over who you are or the facts of your life?”
Jane rolled her eyes. Great, something else to watch for. “My thought life is as normal as it’s been for the last few weeks.”
Sister Mary cocked a grin. “Then you should be good.”
On any other night, the artificial grotto at Longwood Gardens must have been beautiful. The large stone enclosure was constructed around a central, cascading water feature, splashing into a deep pool below ground level. On most nights, the air would have been still, undisturbed by hundreds of wings circling around the central dome. On most nights, the water would run crystal clear, reflecting the lights strung across the ceiling like stars, not pigmented with blood and refuse and digestive fluid. On most nights, the focal point would have been the waterfall, not the bodies that hung underneath it.
Afterward, Jane could only remember their shoes. One had been untied—the soggy red Converse slipping partly from a limp foot under the flow of water. The ground was littered with damp, torn stuffed animals and bits of something gray and shiny, resembling uncooked sausage and smelling like sewage. Jane couldn’t remember anything that was said. She couldn’t remember the plan they’d agreed on. After an eternity of frozen moments, Ian put an arm around her and pulled her up the steps and out of that rank, damp hole in the ground. They were going to search for Eileen, and Jane didn’t wonder what would happen when they found her. She knew.
Chapter Twenty-Two
They were here. Eileen clenched her teeth and watched the scene unfold from the shadow of the central arboretum. Dozens of fountains in the gardens were lit by submerged, colorful lights for the evening show. Spray swept into the night by a stiff breeze made the air taste cool and humid. Trees danced, casting waving shadows. Empty walkways and greenhouses would ordinarily be swarmed with tourists on a beautiful autumn evening, but tonight only one figure stalked the path.
The man was a giant. He towered above the life-sized Greco-Roman statues and carefully manicured shrubs. He was more of a beast than a man. Eileen’s impression of the Minotaur from mythology wa
s reinforced by enormous, ghostly antlers. He grasped a wickedly pointed shaft of wood, long enough to impale a human any which way. Eileen squeezed her eyes closed. How was she going to survive this? Her dreams were taking flesh. She needed help.
Morty hunched his back next to her, warm and reassuring. He was ready to fight. He wasn’t scared, and that gave Eileen no small amount of courage. She rested a hand between his shoulder blades, hushing him. His pointed nose sniffed the air, and his huge head tracked up.
Eileen followed his gaze to the sky: two red stars side by side against the darkness. Wait, not stars. Eyes. The creature was black as a shadow, and she could only barely make out its mothlike wings in the moonlight. Those red orbs were her north star, showing her the way out of this nightmare.
She contemplated running, but a second glance at the muscle-bound thug made her reconsider. He was searching for her, spear at the ready, and with the size of those biceps, he’d be able to throw his weapon like a javelin. He’d probably roast her on a spit once he was done too.
The flutter of wings in the air drew her eyes once more. Her savior, her guiding star, was plummeting at breakneck speed toward the brute’s back like an avenging angel. Eileen beamed, holding her breath as it dove.
“Above!” A second man’s voice cut through the stillness. Who was that? But she couldn’t look away. The warning was too late, anyway. The giant couldn’t possibly turn in time, and she knew it.
Apparently, so did he.
The Minotaur ducked his head, dropped to a knee, and braced the wooden spear against the bricks. An instant later, the Mothman slammed against him. Everything froze in one brutal frame: her angel’s glorious talons embedded in flesh. Spear bursting through her savior’s back. Ephemeral antlers and blazing red eyes. The sound of snapping wood and snapping spine.
The pair rolled in a tangle of muscular limbs and delicate wings, the tumbling momentum painting everything with blood. They came to a halt fifty feet down the path, terribly still.
Movement to her right. Eileen whipped around to see a skinny little thing, probably a girl, sprinting from cover toward the pile of limbs and blood on the brick. A light glowed around her. At first it seemed like a reflection from the fountains, but it grew as she ran until she was lit like a beacon.
Morty hissed and sprang forward to close the distance as if he was born for this moment—galloping across the open expanse, leaping the bordering hedge, and jumping to take her from behind. He slammed into the back of her knees and sent her sprawling forward on the moonlit grass.
“Good boy!” Eileen hadn’t meant to yell, but it just slipped out. What a clever critter. She’d picked a good one. Morty turned his head to stare at her and raised his nose in the air.
“Morty! Look out!” Eileen pointed at the tree line. From the edge of the shadows bounded a gray wolf. Hearing his name, Morty regarded Eileen, head tilted to the side, beady eyes questioning. Eileen pointed emphatically, jabbing her finger again. “Don’t look at me, you silly thing, over there—wolf! Wolf!” Morty didn’t turn to meet it until it was almost on top of him. At half his size, the wolf compensated with ferocity. It snapped at the scruff of Morty’s throat before her good boy threw it free, and the two circled, snarling. The glowing girl scrambled on all fours up the slight hill until she regained her feet and continued in a wobbly dash. At least she was limping.
The mess on the path stirred and groaned. All she could do was wait; there was no telling who moved in the dark jumble. Even in a best-case scenario, her would-be savior was not going another round tonight, and with the glowing girl and the man who’d yelled “above,” two more agents in black were closing on her. Morty was brave, but this was beyond him. Who could help her now?
A noise crept into Eileen’s awareness, a scraping of metal on brick. From a connecting path emerged the answer to her prayer.
The figure was man-shaped: two legs, torso, head, and two arms, but his large, round head; overstuffed, pudgy tummy; and long, tatty ears reminded Eileen of a rabbit. He looked like he’d been loved on. Mostly bald, pearly, gray skin was checkered with bare, crusty patches. An ear-to-ear grin was missing a few oversized, blunted teeth. Colored lights from the fountains twinkled in his huge, glassy eyes. Maybe he’d had a little outfit at some point, but it must have fallen by the wayside—now he wore only his lumpy old birthday suit. Behind, scraping the brick, he dragged an axe.
Bunnyman shuddered, shoulders rocking back as a spray of blood splattered the marble-white statue behind him. What hit him? Was there an invisible foe? Two seconds later, a distant rifle shot rang out. The sound transported Eileen to hunting season. She scanned the tree line but quickly gave up. With a two-second gap between the bullet and the sound, she’d never sight the shooter without a glass. Eileen hunched into the deep shadows. Hard to believe anyone could hit at that distance in the wind. A sniper was out there.
If the wound troubled Bunnyman, he showed no indication as he continued plodding slowly forward. His axe must be heavy. Eileen hoped he didn’t tire easily. She wouldn’t want him to tucker out before the action.
The girl reached both huge figures, gasping and frantically searching the unrecognizable pile. The light around her was growing brighter, and even when Eileen glanced away, it left spots in her vision. The girl sobbed as she lifted a massive, bloody hand. Light surged, and Eileen squeezed her lids closed to preserve her night eyes. She peeked when the crying abruptly went silent. The light was gone, and the girl was on the ground, unconscious.
A second shot rang out, much closer to Eileen’s hiding spot. That wasn’t a rifle. The immense sound forced her hands to her ears. A second shooter? If the bullet found its mark, she had no idea. Bunnyman ambled forward.
Eileen glanced at Morty. His coat was puffed and he was chattering and hissing. At first glance, the fight was grim. That wolf was so quick, he couldn’t fend it off. But as Eileen watched the wolf come in for another attack, Morty only lost a mouthful of fur. Eileen knew his beautiful coat was made for something! The wolf came in again, and Morty got low, angling his body to take the force of the charge on his shoulder. Flowing with the wolf’s momentum, he reared on his haunches and seized the wolf in his front paws, raking open long, ragged gashes with his hind leg. It seemed like an odd behavior for a dog. Oh well, you couldn’t argue with results.
Sparks blossomed in the darkness as a bullet struck the axe-head and, a heartbeat later, another distant shot echoed. On the brick path, the pile of gore stirred where the giant and her Mothman lay. The wind picked up, ruffling the grass and flower beds. It blew spray from the fountains fully against her, chilling her skin. Eileen wrung her hands. Her angel was cast aside like so much meat while the massive man rose from the aftermath, his eyes locked on her hunny bunny.
The spear wasn’t coming out of the corpse, and the Minotaur abandoned it as Bunnyman continued to approach at the same unhurried pace. Less than thirty feet now separated them. From a back holster, the giant drew an enormous, curved machete and adopted a ready stance. Eileen wasn’t even sure Bunnyman had seen him, because his pace and posture remained untroubled and unchanged. Twenty feet. Bunnyman was nearly his equal in height, ears and antlers towering over them in odd symmetry. The axe-head sounded gritty and metallic on the brick. Ten feet.
The Minotaur lunged forward with a speed shocking for his size. The blow was without flourish or preamble. He struck at Bunnyman’s torso with enough power and momentum to cleave through bone. Bunnyman turned and took the blow on his shoulder, the machete slicing deeply into his huge body. He didn’t flinch or scream but stood there, blood squirting over the two of them for a few seconds while the giant wrenched his weapon free.
Oh no, Bunnyman was so slow! Eileen needed him to be faster. She couldn’t stand to see him fall as quickly as her angel.
The giant lunged forward again, and this time Bunnyman dodged with a surprisingly quick step back. The antlered man, still extended, took the back side of the axe to his head and stumbled on the
uneven ground. Bunnyman followed with another swing, wielding the axe like a club. This time, he got a real good wind up, smashing the blunt side against the giant’s ribs and sending him crashing off the path, his huge body snapping the border fence chain, bending decorative posts and flattening several lovely boxwoods on the way.
Eileen pumped her fist like she’d used to at kid’s soccer games. Score! Bunnyman reverted to his casual, dignified amble as he followed after. The antlered man struggled to his feet.
Again on the offensive, the giant came in low, and Eileen winced as the machete connected across Bunnyman’s bulging, pudgy tummy. Bunnyman backhanded him to the ground, and Eileen scanned her hero, desperately hoping he somehow kept his insides in. He had not. Through a ragged gash, bloody, gloppy chunks plopped onto the brick. A putrid stench washed over the garden. Eileen balled her hands into fists. Those were his insides—he needed those! He could not end her rescue like a gutted fish! Bunnyman peered at his oozing stomach, shifted the axe to one hand, and took a minute to shove some of the mess back in. Then he gave himself a little pat and started toward where the giant lay.
On his back on the brick, Eileen could see the Minotaur’s huge muscles contorting in an effort to sit. Bunnyman stood over him, head cocked, shoulders relaxed. Some of the wet stuff plopped back out. Eileen’s stomach twisted in anticipation: the nightmare was almost over. She could go home soon. With a sudden burst of speed, the axe came down, passing through one of the shadowy antlers, connecting where the huge head had lain the second before. Sparks showered the Minotaur as the axe-head rose and fell, ringing on the brick with each blow. The impacts were lightning fast—a blur of fantastic force, but each strike was a split second too late.
With a roar, the giant surged off the ground, machete in hand. He grabbed Bunnyman around the middle, plowing him back. The pair traveled for a dozen feet before connecting with a white concrete statue of a goddess and toppling over in a bizarre trio. The goddess broke in half at the waist with a terrific crack, legs and body rolling in different directions. Bunnyman and the giant were silhouetted by the purple fountain light: giant on top, Bunnyman on the bottom. Cold sweat beaded on Eileen’s brow. The machete had sunk to the hilt in his bunny heart. The giant heaved a huge sigh and let his head drop.
