The Lost Codex

by Lyons, Heather

  I appreciate the bullet I put through one of their brains even more.

  The tunnel leading from Cor to Hearts’ secret lair is narrow and unlit, its coarse walls and uneven, rocky ground slowing our pace. We pass out a handful of small flashlights to soldiers in both front and back, but the darkness devours the thin beams. The drone whizzes overhead, an opaque shadow barely distinguishable from the low-hanging roof.

  In front of me, Brom taps on his earpiece. He whispers, “Report.”

  Jack’s voice hisses in my ear, “The tunnel continues for approximately half a mile before a light source appears, AVB.”

  Alice lifts her hand to her ear. “Is the light coming from a door?”

  The A.D. is quiet for several heartbeats. “It appears so, AL. Or is it AR? Or maybe even QOD?”

  Alice’s hand drops back to her side.

  “Are there any guards?” I murmur.

  “None visible, FVB.”

  It doesn’t make sense. “Get the drone as close as possible.”

  Several more minutes pass. “No guards as far as I can see, FBV.”

  Alice and I exchange an uneasy look.

  “What about security measures?” I ask. The Piper, as Gabe Lygari and Gabriel Pfiefer, lived in modern-day New York City. A number of his minions did, as well. He would have had access to plenty of technology. Hell, there were things that didn’t make sense back at Koppenberg Mountain, such as the medical equipment Victor was hooked up to. “Lasers?” I prod. “Video cameras? Trip wires?”

  Suddenly—“Bloody fucking hell!”

  Brom halts, one hand reaching for the rifle. “Report, Mr. Dawkins.”

  “You ain’t going to believe me, bossman!”

  Alice glances about us as my father whispers, “Try me.”

  Our Wonderlandian soldiers ready their weapons, instantly shifting into defensive stances. Grymsdyke moves from Alice’s arm to mine.

  “That open door—I just had a good look at it.” The thief’s voice crackles in my ear. “And it looks like the one we saw at John and Paul School for the Gifted, which is what Her Majesty said the door at the Piper’s fancy library looked like, right? I saw it in 1816/18GRI-GT. She was right.”

  Alice’s nails dig into the meat of my arm, her eyes finding mine.

  “That’s this door. The same one. It’s a big door, too. Like, really big. And ugly—I mean, there’s a lot of ugly stuff on it, violent stuff. I’m a lover at heart, you know. I’m not into this kind of grotesque art.”

  Brom snaps, “Get to the point, Mr. Dawkins.”

  “Well, I snuck the drone inside, just a peek, since the door was open, and . . . and that’s a library in there, AVB. I think it’s the library.”

  How is Bücherei in Wonderland? Last we saw, it’d been in 1816/18GRI-GT, and even that’d been a mind fuck.

  A squealing sound, so incredibly painful that I see and hear stars, blows out my right eardrum. Before the same can happen to the other side, I yank out both earpieces to find every member of our party doing the same. Even the Wonderlandian soldiers, wincing, remove their spiderweb earpieces.

  “What just happened?” one of the Tweedles asks. Is it Dee? Dum? I can’t tell them apart.

  No one answers, because all of the Wonderlandian soldiers drop to the ground like windup toys whose keys have stopped turning.

  “That is . . . unexpected,” Grymsdyke comments. “What was it that the thief saw with his demonic flying machine?”

  An impossibility.

  Blood dripping from his ear, my father drops to the ground next to one of the soldiers. He presses two fingers against the man’s neck. “He’s dead.”

  Alice whisper-sings our fallen comrades a song for safe travels to the journeylands.

  How did they die so quickly? Was it the thirteenth Wise Woman? Hearts? How could they take out a team of elite soldiers without even touching them?

  I hurl the burnt, useless bits of technology I dug out of my ears against the wall. “Somebody inside the library must have seen the drone.”

  Alice peers into the gloom behind us. “Jack.”

  “Mr. Dawkins has a highly developed sense of self-preservation.” Brom wipes the blood on his face and ear with a handkerchief. “Do not concern yourself with his welfare, Alice.”

  She softens just a bit. As my dad and Baba Yaga collect the flashlights they can find, I use the back of my sleeve to dab the blood from her ear. “Why the smile?”

  She reciprocates in kind. My ear feels like it’s on fire, or like TNT exploded in it, or possibly both. I tilt my good ear toward her to hear. “Your father called me Alice.”

  She kisses me before I can ask what that means.

  Baba Yaga blocks the passage, her gray hair matted against the blood on her face. “The thirteenth Wise Woman is mine. Is that clear?”

  Alice counters, “Hearts is mine.”

  Which leaves the Piper to my dad, and me, which is exactly how it should be, considering that bastard orchestrated Katrina’s death. Only . . . “Victor ought to be here, too.”

  Brom neatly folds his bloody handkerchief and stuffs it back into a pocket. “Someone needs to protect Ms. Lennox and Ms. Brandon.”

  “There are thousands of soldiers out there who could have done it.”

  He grabs his rifle. “He would never allow a stranger to protect Ms. Brandon, let alone Ms. Lennox.” Fine, that’s true. “And there are those on the battlefield who will need him far more than we will.” One-handed, he pumps the rifle’s chamber. “And, selfishly. . .” My father clamps a hand on my shoulder. It’s warm and large, covering most of my well-defined muscle. “I cannot bear the thought of all of the Van Brunts gone.”

  I’m not insulted. Brom is a realist. There’s an excellent chance we’re not walking out of Bücherei alive. There are two witches in there and the fucking Pied Piper of Hamelin. Who knows who else could be hiding inside?

  “You made the right choice,” I tell him.

  BÜCHEREI IS EXACTLY AS I remember it. Three stories high with mosaicked floors depicting monstrous scenes from various fairy tales and legends, the library is stuffed with countless priceless books. Dozens of glass cases filled with author paraphernalia pepper the galley; above us, glowing eyes stare down from nightmarish frescos of crashing waves, dark forests, and eerie caves.

  “Our guests have arrived! You don’t know how long I have waited for this moment.”

  Over by a small cart filled with bottles of wines and liqueurs is the Piper. He’s dressed in a sharp tuxedo, his hair immaculately combed and gelled back. “Champagne?” He holds a drink aloft. “It’s an excellent vintage that I’ve saved just for this occasion. Brandy?” He clicks his tongue. “No, I seem to remember that Abraham Van Brunt and his kin are scotch men.” He cups his mouth, shifting slightly to the right. “Melantha! Our guests are finally here. Do you remember if we brought any scotch?”

  A voice made of whiskey answers, rich with a heavy German accent, “Alas, my love, we do not have any in stock. Nasty stuff, scotch.” A pause. “Margaret! Did you bring any?”

  Alice readies her dagger. Both Brom and I have our guns pointed. The Spider on my shoulder hisses. The Piper chuckles when he notes our intensity. “Whoa, whoa. None of that right now. Not when we’ve gone to all this trouble. It’s the convergence!” He flashes jazz hands. “It’s time to celebrate and have drinks, not,” he waves dismissively while sipping his champagne, “well, ruining the floor and all. I had hoped to celebrate with a much larger crowd, but as you . . . people,” he side eyes us, “keep shooting at them and blowing them up, you’ll have to do. Witnesses are always lovely to have at grand events.”

  Alice throws her dagger anyway. The son of a bitch catches it between two fingers a split hair before it sliced open an eye.

  The Piper tosses the blade onto the drink cart. “You know, Alice. I tried. I really, really tried to talk Margaret out of this whole vengeance quest. Your feistiness is refreshing amongst a sea of yes men.” An infuriati
ng leer slicks across his mouth. “You and I could have had some fun together. That first night together was exhilarating.”

  “We could still have some fun together,” Alice counters. “I can make you pay for all of the atrocities you have committed.”

  A woman with flaming-red hair strolls out onto one of the second-story balconies. She’s dressed in an elaborate red and black gown that looks more sci-fi than anything else. I know her, unfortunately. I know the cruel twist of her blood-red lips. I know how her brown eyes are fathomless. I sat at her feet, chained, and felt her hands twist into my soul.

  The thirteenth Wise Woman chides the Piper in a language I don’t know. When he scowls, she adds in English, “You were warned, my darling. Too bad you do not listen to your tohter.” Those dark pits of despair zero in on me. “I am very vexed with you, mīn scōnī. Ruining my beautiful mountain and running off without even as much as a goodbye kiss.”

  She takes hold of a railing and winds down a curved ladder.

  Brom nudges me and we both fire at the Piper. The bastard somehow sidesteps both our bullets, which end up destroying medieval manuscripts.

  “Those,” the Piper says irritably, “cost me a fortune.”

  I glance around. Where is Baba Yaga?

  I fire again to the same end. Grymsdyke leaps off of me, his silk flying behind him. Alice charges the Piper, only to freeze midway, her blade glittering in the bright Tiffany lamps spread out throughout the library. And then, I’m paralyzed, too—and as I can’t see any movement out of the corner of my eye, I fear my father has fallen to the same fate. Grymsdyke hangs in the air.

  The thirteenth Wise Woman saunters past Alice, to me. “I told you he would come.”

  The Piper shrugs. “Where is Margaret?”

  “Taking her time, as always.” The Wise Woman lifts the crown off my head and runs her fingers across what’s left of my hair. “Where is your mane, mīn scōnī?” She leans closer, her skin perilously close to my own. I drown in the smell of belladonna and decay. “What happened in here?” She taps on my forehead, and then on the spot where one of the rods was inserted into my skull. “Who did this to you?”

  The Piper finishes his glass of champagne. He strolls over to where Grymsdyke hangs in the air and plucks the assassin like a flower. “What are you jabbering on about, my love?”

  The thirteenth Wise Woman drapes her arms over my shoulders, and my stomach instantly revolts. I am back in Koppenberg Mountain, at her feet. Pain, it seems, can be more than a memory. Her pain, at least. “This one has been naughty. I’ll have to cleanse him.”

  “Margaret will be displeased.” The Piper drops Grymsdyke to the ground and crushes him with his well-polished shoe. I just about lose my goddamn mind at the bitter crunch that follows. He may have been a spider, but Grymsdyke deserved better. He was fierce, strong, and loyal.

  He was a friend.

  The bastard who just killed him scrapes the heel of his shoe on the drink cart and pours another glass and drinks half of it straightaway. Bits of brown and blue hair and blood smear the floor; chunks drip from the cart. Jesus. Alice has to see this, standing where she is. I have no doubts her fury and grief are just as venomous as mine.

  The Piper says nonchalantly, like he didn’t just murder a member of our team, “You know how she is about these things.”

  The Wise Woman hums as she lays her head on my shoulder.

  I am going to make that asshole pay for what he just did.

  He nudges his glass toward her. “She gets that from you, you know.”

  “Tell me, mīn scōnī.” The Wise Woman’s breath tickles my aching ear. Fire ants invade my ear canal. “Did you enjoy the blood of mīn sun on your hands?” Her own tighten on my shoulders, digging past muscle and into the bone. “Was it payment for agreeing to give you to mīn tohter?”

  “Melantha.”

  The Piper’s warning is a sharp crack of a shot, but she doesn’t release me. His stride eats up the distance between us before he physically wrenches her away. He slams the crown back down upon my head, and I’m pretty damn sure it cuts into my scalp. “Margaret chose this one. She went to all the trouble to crown him. You will leave him alone. She has plans, remember?”

  She crowned me. Not Wonderland.

  A witch crowned me. I wasn’t chosen.

  The thirteenth Wise Woman—Melantha—growls as she whirls away. “You coddle her too much.”

  He backhands her so hard, she sprawls a good three, four feet across the floor. She wipes the blood from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, the tip of her tongue erasing the rest. But rather than fight back, she laughs delightedly.

  “Before we sleep, my love,” she says, “You will scream for mercy.”

  He moves out of my line of sight. “Make it hurt, darling. Make me bleed.”

  “Enough of your disgusting public displays of foreplay. What will our guests think?”

  I can’t see her, but I know the Queen of Hearts’ voice. I will every muscle, every joint in my body to break free, for my trigger finger to flinch.

  “Margaret!” The sharp slap of well-heeled loafers on mosaics sounds behind us. “We were just discussing you.”

  “Müeterlīn!” Hearts brushes past me, icy fingers trailing down my arm and across the barrel of my gun. She stops at Alice, hands on her couture-swathed hips. “I told you that this bitch is mine.”

  Melantha presents a cheek for Hearts. Two dutiful kisses are offered. “She still lives, does she not?” Hot coals glow upon Hearts’ face. “Mīn tohter, you must reconsider the man, though. I understand your reasoning, for it is sound—”

  The Piper reemerges to pour himself a third glass of champagne.

  “But,” Melantha continues, “can you not think of your bruoder?”

  Bruoder. Brother?

  Hearts yanks Alice’s hair out of its tight bun and twists the strands into what must be painful coils. “What’s done is done.” She yanks the dagger out of Alice’s immobile grip and slices off one of the golden chunks. My vision hazes red. “I will cut her up and stitch her back together in his honor.”

  Where the fuck is Baba Yaga?! Why is she letting this happen?

  “You are all focusing on the wrong things anyway.” The Piper wanders over to join them, still hovering around Alice. He lifts one of the intact coils and sniffs it. “The convergence is upon us. All that we have worked so hard toward for so long will be permanent in the annals of history.”

  Hearts saws off another chunk of Alice’s hair. Bile stings in the back of my mouth. “What you have worked so hard toward. This is not my game, Vater.”

  He slaps the dagger away. It clatters onto the ground, a few specks of red beading below it. “It is not a game, Margaret. This is about reconstructing the worlds to fulfill your mother’s vision. Those without magic come to fear us, daughter. They hunt our kind down. They butcher our peoples. They burn them on pyres. The more worlds that inherently reject magic, the more dangerous it is for the rest of us.”

  Hearts presses the back of her hand against her forehead. “Oh, so noble.” She laughs bitterly. “I wonder if they believe it, if they think you have sound reasoning behind your actions.” She leans against Alice, a long fingernail digging into the woman I love’s injured ear. “Not that you deserve it, Diamonds, but I will tell you an ugly secret. There are not always wondrous reasons behind my parents’ madness, nor are there extensive, reasonable experiences that lead them to their deeds. I suppose I inherited this from them.”

  Her dark hair presses against Alice’s blonde. “I despise you. I despise your smugness, your stubbornness, and the way you always act so infuriatingly noble. It wasn’t fair, not fair at all that you could come into Wonderland and be so utterly accepted while I had to force the land to give me what I wanted. This is my world. I chose it. They gave it to me. It was my birthday gift.” She pushes Alice to the ground.

  I do not know how I stay in one piece.

  “Was there somethi
ng specific you did to me?” Hearts pets Alice’s mangled hair. Streaks of red mix in with the gold. Can she breathe? Black splotches of panic burst in my bones. “I honestly cannot remember. It does not matter, though.” She presses a kiss in the golden strands, leaving behind a ruby lipstain. “I will destroy you anyway, just as my parents destroy anything they dislike, too. For no good reason at all. Because it makes us feel good. The power of life and death feels good. And as I am a goddess, I am allowed such rights.”

  The Piper’s sigh is audible. “That is overly simplistic, Margaret.”

  These three are a family. The Queen of Hearts is the Pied Piper of Hamelin’s and the thirteenth Wise Woman’s daughter. The sister of the creature who tortured my brother.

  “I apologize, Vater. You destroy worlds because you find their stories unworthy of your good opinion. You create armies because mīn müeterlīn adores chaos.” She grabs a handful of Alice’s dress and inserts the blade. “You cultivate followers to carry out your deeds, all the while finding it hilarious that they offer blind obedience without any knowledge as to why.” She tears off the chunk of dress, revealing Alice’s pale back.

  He turns toward the shelves behind him. “I’ve read the most interesting op-ed pieces lately, decrying the romance book industry. Many critics feel that such books are junk food, rather than quality meals to be savored. We should turn our eye toward these pieces of so-called literature.”

  Wait—what? No, really.

  What. The. Actual. FUCK?

  This piece of shit has been deleting Timelines because . . . because he doesn’t like the original books the Timelines were based one?

  Could the reason be so simple? So asinine? So . . . petty? Were all of those trillions of lives snuffed out due to this jackass’ book snobbery? Because he felt the story wasn’t good enough, so their lives weren’t, too? Did he create a whole group of people to carry out his deeds simply because . . . he could? Because he gets off on power? On death?

  My mother died because this asshole didn’t like her story.