The Librarian flips through the Codex, stopping at a random page in the middle. She holds it before Sara. “What do you see?”
A soft smile lifts the corners of Sara’s mouth.
Goose pimples race across my arms. She sees something.
“You have it sideways,” Sara says dreamily.
Mary, the Librarian, and I exchange puzzlement, but the Librarian rotates the book. “Is this better?” she asks.
“Pretty golden words. I can’t read them, though. Don’t know the language.”
Gold.
A lengthy yawn and the closing of eyes delay any further comment. A tiny rivulet of blood seeps past the gauze.
“How much morphine did you administer?” I chide Mary. “She’s on the verge of sleep.”
Her arms tighten around her chest. “She was bleeding like someone was squeezing her bloody brains out. She still is! I figured she needed a decent dose.”
“Rest now,” the Librarian says in possibly the gentlest voice I have ever heard her use. “You have been of great help to us, Sara.” She passes Mary the padded sleep mask and earplugs. “We have our confirmation, ladies.”
Fear takes hold of my heart, squeezing out a rapid pace. “Finn saw gold upon these pages.”
“What?” Mary snaps her head up from tending Sara. “He saw something?”
“I am aware of that.” The Librarian marches over to me, teetering in her high heels. “Alice, what do you know of Finn’s time in Koppenberg?”
“He was tortured repeatedly.” Shame and anger beat against my ribcage. “One of my jailers remarked his eyes turned black a few times, but it never lasted, and was only ever momentary. He fought back. He never fully succumbed to the rapture. He managed to eradicate a number of Chosen.” Blood rushes from my face, leaving me dizzy. “I—I dreamed I was in Wonderland. I could not remember the Society, or the Piper. I could not remember his face.”
“This is not the time to blame yourself,” the Librarian snaps. “You are strong, but even you cannot fight against powerful magic.”
“The twelfth Wise Woman told me that as long as my love held true, the poison in his veins would remain nullified.” I grab her arm, desperate for her guidance for once. “Do you understand? Days passed during which I did not remember him.”
“But you did remember him.” She peels me away like a bandage. “You are allowing the Piper and his witch to cultivate doubt. This is not you, Alice. Remember who you are.”
I am the Queen of Diamonds, but I am also a woman in love.
The Librarian’s lips thin. “Do you know if Finn interacted with the witch?”
“He never specifically mentioned such an encounter.” I rub my own lips. “After I found him, there were times he acted strangely. It was as if he was speaking to someone who wasn’t present—or at least,” I say, gazing at the Codex’s blank pages, “someone I could not see myself.”
Who or what did he see?
The Librarian’s blue eyes intensify. “What did he talk about?”
“It was the other side of conversations.” I shake my head, desperate to reclaim memories from a time best buried and forgotten. “He directed us to where Victor was. Whether he knew, or had heard, I did not ask him. He had a fever. His wounds were infected.” More fiercely, “I refuse to allow him to succumb.”
She wipes the back of a hand across her forehead. “True love only carries a pair so far.” Once more, my hackles rise—only to deflate just as quickly when she adds, “Are you sure he made no specific mention of the witch?”
“No,” I say, but then stop. Finn did not say so, but Sara did.
“If he goes back to her. . .”
She was terrified of the prospect.
I look to her now, this woman who protected Finn in Koppenberg and who risked suffering today to reveal all that she knew. “Sara said something that I did not hold on to tightly.” The temperature in the room chills considerably. “She feared what might happen if Finn was to visit an unnamed woman once more. I cannot help but now surmise she meant the thirteenth Wise Woman.”
Mary snarls. “And of course, we have no idea what she did to him, which makes it all the worse!”
For a moment, shadows flock to the Librarian. She bares her teeth: white and sharper than they ought to be. A small hiss precedes, “Sooka!” before she snatches another hypodermic needle. “Let us suck the hag dry of her secrets.”
Neither Mary nor I move, let alone speak for several bewildering seconds. But then Mary asks slowly, “Are you a vampire?”
The Librarian hands her the full syringe. “Tick-tock, ladies.”
Tick-tock, indeed.
Four hours and three syringe-fulls of truth serum and one dose of adrenaline later, Grethel Bunting is allowed to return to oblivion. She needs it, as she frothed and raged at us the entire time. Her time at the Institute has done little to calm her sour attitude, and while she grudgingly answered our questions, fighting each response as if it were her last, she also hurled multitudes of threats and insults. Toward the end, she panted as if she had run all the way across the continent.
The rest of us are equally exhausted, although for different reasons.
Mary lounges on Bunting’s bed, oblivious to the woman drooling behind her. “We need to tell the others as soon as possible.”
The Librarian taps away on her cell phone. “An hour will do. Mary, see to informing the others of the meeting. You might want to freshen up.” She wrinkles her nose. “Vomit is not the loveliest of perfumes.”
Mary pats Bunting’s leg before standing up. “Oh, but there you’re wrong. To me, it smells like Traitorous Bitch Who Got What Was Coming to Her by Spilling Her Guts—and that, ladies, is a glorious smell.”
As she departs, the Librarian tidies up the numerous syringes and bottles littering the rolling cart. I take Sara’s hand and squeeze it lightly. She shifts in the bed, still languishing in morphine dreams.
“Jack will be in soon to ensure these ladies are taken care of.”
I let go of Sara’s hand and smooth her covers. “What we are putting Sara through seems more akin to torture.”
“Despite what your overactive imagination is concocting, none of us here are dispassionate toward her situation.” The Librarian slips the Codex into a leather satchel. “Jack provides her the luxury of movies and television via special glasses. She enjoys music, too.” She nods at Bunting. “This one receives the same benefits, although I wonder if it’s appreciated.”
“Perhaps Sara might have some of these so-called audio books?”
“I’ll make a note of it.” She leads us out of the door. “Alice, I would ask that you do not bother Finn with our suspicions that the Chosen can read the Codex. Not yet, at least.”
I’m surprised frost does not coat the walls. “I refuse to hide anything from him.”
“What if the knowledge triggered rapture? Would you be willing to suppress sharing then?”
The floor beneath me rises up, halting my steps. “Will it?”
“I have no idea. Anything is possible, as you well know. Allow me this evening to. . .” One of her infuriating smiles comes out to play. “Ruminate on the situation. All that is required of you is to remain close to him.”
“I am not his nanny, and I refuse to ever act as such.”
“No one is asking you to do so. I simply suggested you stay close to him tonight. How is this different than most evenings? One would think this would pose no problem, and would be welcome, considering how often you two indulge in carnal—”
“Enough.” My face burns. What in the world has come over this infernal enigma of a woman? “You go too far with that, which is none of your business.”
Her lightheartedness solidifies into something hard and unforgiving. “When it concerns the protection of Timelines, it damn well is my business, and there is never going too far.” Her voice is granite, her eyes fire. “Don’t ever think differently.”
“SOME STORIES HAVE FINITE ends, you
cow.”
My head is throbbing, and the ibuprofen I took the hour before isn’t helping much. Granted, neither is listening to Grethel Bunting shriek and curse on Mary’s recordings like some kind of possessed banshee.
My mind and heart are still in the medical wing. With my brother.
With my mother.
. . . My mother?
“Don’t give up, Finn.”
Alice nudges over a glass of water when she notices me massaging my temple.
“Does the Codex tell which stories should be ended?” the Librarian asks from Mary’s recording.
“You are such idiots! A book that talks. Honestly.” I have no trouble imagining the woman sneering.
“What specifically is written in the Codex of Life and Death?” the Librarian asks.
Howls serve as Bunting’s answer for nearly a minute. Then, panting, she says, “The closest thing I can relate it to is a card catalogue of all stories.”
“Does it tell the first story?” Mary asks.
“Aren’t you the little-miss-know-it-all?” The hacking of phlegm is all too obvious. I wonder if Mary smacked her when Bunting let it fly.
“Is that a yes?” Alice presses.
“Yes.”
“Does the Piper ever add to the book?” the Librarian asks.
Choking sounds follow. Eventually, Bunting hisses, “Yes.”
“Did you see him do so?”
“I was blessed once to witness it.”
“What specifically does he write?”
It’s clear she struggled against answering. “He logs which stories must and do come to an end.”
After a long moment, the Librarian follows up with, “Does he base this on what is already written in the Codex?”
When Bunting calls the Librarian a particularly nasty name, blaming her for delaying her attendance at the convergence, Mary fast-forwards the recording, informing us the next ten minutes offer no pertinent information. “The truth serum was wearing off,” she says. “We had to pump her full of another dose.” She clicks the recording back on. Bunting wheezes, “The Lord and Lady dictate which stories lasted past their expiration date.”
“What does that mean, expiration date?” Mary asks.
Bunting snaps, “Are you truly so stupid that you do not understand what that means?”
Mary smiles as she fast-forwards a bit more of the recording. “The serum needed time to adjust.”
Once the recording resumes, Bunting is panting. “Some stories are not worthy of continuation.”
“What are the qualifications to determining such worthiness?” Alice asks coldly.
“The Lord and Lady never saw fit to inform me.”
“If you had to guess,” Alice presses on the recording, “what would you surmise are the qualifications?”
Hissing, screeching, and sobbing fill the next minute before Bunting eventually answers. “Some of us wondered if the Lord and Lady did not tolerate worlds where magic did not exist.”
My eyes fly to Brom’s. While he never personally witnessed any magic in his original Timeline, there were several stories within The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent. that are questionable. Ghosts are mentioned in several of the tales, although Brom always scoffed at the veracity of the tales.
“Worlds without magic,” Bunting continues, “are pointless anyway.”
“You, yourself, do not possess magic,” Mary points out.
A pregnant pause grows. “Don’t I?”
“Do you?” Mary is clearly startled.
Bunting didn’t even fight her next answer. “Enough.”
“What kind of magic?”
“The kind,” Bunting sneers, “a whelp like you could only dream of.” Her sniff sounds like the tearing of paper. “Your story has no magic, Mary Lennox. None. At. All.”
“Mine does.” A sharpness slices across Alice’s word. “So let us ask, why was my Timeline targeted?”
“Was it?” Bunting grunts. “If I had to guess, it’s because you are a bitch who deserves to be forgotten.”
Several minutes of bickering between Mary and Bunting ensue.
“What does the Piper use to write whatever it is he does in the Codex of Life and Death?” Clearly frustrated, Alice breaks into the spat. “Does he utilize a special instrument?”
Bunting mimics, “Does he utilize a special instrument?”
“How does the Piper log the information about which Timelines he wishes to destroy?” the Librarian snaps.
“He writes in the Codex.”
Further questioning goes nowhere. The Librarian’s hiss of frustration is audible across the recording. “Why can some people see what is in the Codex of Life and Death and others cannot?”
“Those who are blessed can.” Bunting’s pride is all too evident. “Those who are Chosen.”
Wait . . . what?
The Librarian reaches for the recording. Brom says, “Let it run.”
She glowers. On the recording, she is saying, “How?”
“The Lady’s great magic has allowed the Chosen, those who carry her magic within their blood and bones, to have the ability to see what others cannot.”
I . . . I thought I saw something earlier today. Didn’t I? Faint golden splotches.
“Can you read what is in the Codex?” the Librarian presses. “Tell me what it says.”
Fresh choking sounds become more pronounced. Mary rasps, “Oh, for goodness’ sake, she’s turning blue. How bloody convenient! I’ll go get some adrenaline.”
Stationed at the front of the conference room, the Librarian wrangles the recorder away from my father and turns it off. “Whatever preventions the Piper laid upon his followers to guarantee their silence are maddeningly effective.”
Sara talked, though. We heard snippets from her conversation before Buntings. I’m damn proud of her for continuing to fight.
“So we still have no idea what the book says, other than it tells a story about darkness and lists . . . Timelines?” I’m pretty sure my father has a raging headache, too, after the afternoon we’ve had. Victor woke up long before any of the doctors thought he would, ripping through his restraints as if they were tissue paper.
A good portion of the newly cleaned and refurbished medical wing is once more destroyed.
“We do know that it is important to the Piper.” When Alice leans forward, her chair creaks. “And therefore imperative to keep from falling back into his hands. You heard what Bunting said—he wants it for the convergence.”
Which must just chap the Piper’s ass something fierce.
“And yet, we’re still unsure about what exactly the convergence entails,” the A.D. points out. “Except that a bunch of crazy Chosen are to attend.”
“It’s unlikely to occur in Koppenberg,” Mary muses. A thick scarf twists around her neck. I simultaneously want and don’t want to see just how bad my brother hurt her. “If the explosions did what we hope they did, there shouldn’t be a lot of space left for it.” A wicked smile curves her lips. “Or a lot of attendees.”
So far this evening, Mary is acting like nothing happened earlier. Like my brother didn’t rip out more than her hair and grind his heel all over it. Like he didn’t try to silence her forever.
I’m envious, actually. I don’t know if I can just turn an internal switch and ignore what I’ve seen and heard today. Victor’s fury barrels through my skull, like he’s right next to me.
“Don’t let me go. Promise me, Finn!”
“Without Koppenberg, or the school in Connecticut,” Henry Fleming asks, “where would they go?”
“Do we still have eyes on the Piper’s Manhattan apartment?” Alice asks.
“Don’t turn your backs on me. Don’t let me go into the darkness.”
Mr. Holgrave says, “Yes. We’ve bugged the school. I’ve been checking in every other hour to see if anything pops up.”
“Although mīn hërzeliep is prone to exaggeration, in this case, I can see that you are exactly as
described.”
Although he’s clearly hanging overhead, it feels as if Grymsdyke just danced across my back, only to brush his fiery hairs across my brain as these words whisper throughout my mind.
It’s not Victor’s voice I’m hearing.
It’s . . . it’s. . .
“Are there any connections we can make to Timelines other than 1816/18GRI-GT,” Franklin Blake is asking. “Perhaps one of the other Grimm Timelines?”
“I normally do not indulge such pettiness, but there are times when a müeterlīn must consider the whims of a temperamental juncfrouwe.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, my headache is so intense. If someone were to saw open my skull, I’m positive they would find tiny monsters with ice picks hacking away at pink tissue.
“Such a scōnī as you will do nicely for mīn tohter . . .”
The light is too bright. Everyone’s voices are too loud. The metallic tang of blood drips down the back of my throat.
The sound of my chair scraping, then clattering backward as I lurch out of it, stills the room.
“Sorry. I need to—” I wipe at my nose; blood once more stains my hand. I stumble away from the table, toward the door. I don’t make it to the trashcan before I drop to my knees and lose the contents of my stomach.
The monsters in my skull hack away with a renewed sense of fervor.
Alice is immediately by my side. I groan, “I must have eaten something bad. I’m sorry, I—”
Have I eaten today?
“There is no need to apologize.” She wraps her arms around me. “Perhaps you ought to lay down and rest.”
I ought to be listening to what everyone has to say. I ought to be hunting the Piper down.
He hates worlds without magic. That’s . . . countless Timelines.
Wait. But what about 1886STE-JH? Or is that a more scientific Timeline?
I fold my hands around my head and squeeze as hard as I can, and let her lead me out of the room.
A cool washcloth presses against my forehead. “You have a fever. I’ve sent for one of the doctors.”
The Lost Codex Page 16
