Rage like I have never felt before explodes throughout me.
“Next, you will be jabbering on about the ‘quality’ of Young Adult books.” Hearts collects one of Alice’s shorn strands and stands up. “Leave me and Wonderland alone and you and mother can go and do whatever you like to the rest of the worlds. Create your magical utopia. Bathe in the bloodshed. Collect your souls. Do whatever it is you do.”
Melantha steps beside her husband. “All of this is moot if we do not reclaim the Codex.”
“While we do not need the Codex for the convergence to work,” the Piper wraps his hand around her throat, “we’ll get our book back. Before you kill Abraham Van Brunt, ensure you get its location. We must log in our deletions and changes, or they don’t count.”
“I still do not understand how anyone else hasn’t written in that book before,” Hearts muses.
The Piper’s smile is ugly and filled with false pride. “It was waiting for me.”
The room dims, and the fucking trio of horrors give a startled glance around. Blood surges through my veins, and with it, movement.
I fire. I fire again. Brom is right there with me, shooting. This time, the Piper isn’t too fast, and we pump his body with our lead.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Alice roll and jump up, tugging twin daggers out of her boot. Hearts launches herself at Alice at the same time a black mass churns toward the thirteenth Wise Woman.
Even though we’ve clearly hit him several times, the Piper manages to break free toward one of the staircases. Brom and I follow suit. The fucker tugs out a set of pipes from his tux pocket.
I cock my gun again.
“You go high,” my dad says as the Piper climbs, “and I’ll go low.”
Brom pumps his rifle as I aim at the Piper’s head. BAM. PFFT. Brom rips into the psychopath’s knee at the same time I lay one into the base of his skull.
The pipes drop over the railing first, splintering as they hit the hard, mosaicked floor. Then, its owner follows, face first. When the Piper hits the ground, Brom slams a boot onto his face. “This,” he snarls, “is for the love of my life.” He pumps the rifle again, lines up the shot, and cleanly shoots that bastard straight into his heart.
I turn in time to watch Alice slam Hearts into a shelf of books. Volumes from all three stories rain down upon them. “Help her.” Brom kicks the Piper away. “I’ll go help the Librarian.”
I don’t bother to look around to even see where Baba Yaga is.
Somehow, Hearts has gotten hold of the biggest damn battle-ax I have ever seen. It slices through the air, whistling as it barely misses Alice. The woman I love drops and rolls, snatching a fallen dagger.
She calls out, “The bag, Finn!”
I spring back over to where I’d dropped it earlier. Inside is the Sage’s rock. I wait until Alice sends Hearts sprawling to send a warning shot. It grazes the bitch’s cheek, leaving a nice burn mark. Hearts rears back, giving me enough time to toss the stone to Alice.
Hearts lunges for me, much faster than I expected she could be. She grabs hold of my shirt and twists, tugging me close. Her chubby fingers circle my wrist and lock on tight.
Everything blurs.
No. No. They—they fixed this.
“Finn, move!” the Queen of Diamonds barks. No—Alice. It’s Alice.
The Queen of Hearts yanks me up against her chest, the battle-axe crossing in front of us. “This time, my King of Hearts will not stray.”
“Wonderland did not choose him,” the Queen of Diamonds is saying. “You forced this choice upon the land. He does not want it.”
King of Hearts.
“Is that true, poppet?” The Queen of Hearts leans her head against mine. “Do you not want to be my king?”
I stare at the Queen of Diamonds, at the blood on her dress and face. At her uneven hair, at the strange rock in her hand.
Above her, a star appears. It’s bright and beckons me home.
North star.
“Shoot her, poppet. Just enough to incapacitate our enemy. We don’t want her dead yet, though. The Queen of Diamonds hasn’t suffered enough yet.”
Another star appears. They orbit one another, strong and bright, their pull undeniable.
Binaries.
I aim my gun at the Queen of Diamonds. She stands perfectly still, her back straight, her head held high.
She tells me, “I believe in you.”
I spin around and jab the gun into Hearts’ side, right where I know her kidney is. I pull the trigger and say, “I’m not the fucking King of Hearts. And you’re the enemy, bitch.”
The battle-axe clatters to the ground. I step back just in time to watch Hearts collapse, clutching her side. She’s instantly pale, too weak to even cry or yell.
Alice darts forward, knife at the ready.
She stops, though. Grabs hold of the crown on my head and tosses it across the room. I tell her, “See? I told you so.”
“Is this how it will be for the rest of our life together? I doubt one small thing, and you lord it over me?”
“As long as it’s the rest of our lives,” I say, “I don’t care about the rest.”
She kisses me: hot, intense, and far too short. Then she drops to the ground, fingers upon the queen’s neck. “Hearts is dead.”
“Of course she’s dead. I shot her in the damn kidney.”
She takes a deep breath and nods. And then she carves.
“Brom?” The galley is empty, save Alice, Hearts, and me. “Baba Yaga?”
No one answers.
I rush over to where the Piper’s body fell, where my dad plugged a huge bullet into his heart.
It’s not there. He’s not there.
“Brom?” I cup my hands, scanning the galley. “Brom, answer me, dammit!”
Alice wipes her hands off on a bar towel from the drink cart. “They went after the thirteenth Wise Woman.”
“The Piper’s gone, too.”
She immediately darts back over to Hearts, but the dead queen is exactly where we left her. The Sage’s rock peeks out from the hole in her chest.
Alice would make a terrible surgeon, by the way. But she’s a damn fine executioner, because she claims Hearts’ battle-axe and, with one swing, severs the former queen’s head from its body. The mosaics below shatter. Her crown disappears.
“Unless she can resurrect her brother in order to reattach her head,” Alice says grimly, “this one will stay put.”
Darkness swarms the galley. I grab Alice’s hand and pull her behind one of the staircases. In one blink of an eye, Hearts is before us. In the next, Baba Yaga and the thirteenth Wise Woman are attacking one another.
Where did they come from?
When Alice moves to join the fray, I hold her back. I remind her, whisper soft, of our promise to Baba Yaga, to not interfere.
The thirteenth Wise Woman shrieks in fury, tearing at Baba Yaga’s robes. “How dare you hide from me! How dare you infiltrate my home!”
Baba Yaga swings her pestle, slamming it into the Wise Woman’s brow. The air between the women crackles, blue-white sparks flashing. Russian chanting fills the galley, growing louder and louder until my already aching ear is more than ringing—it’s bleeding anew. Horns curl out of the thirteenth Wise Woman’s head as she breathes fire, but Baba Yaga’s pestle grows larger, heavier. Stronger. When she swings it the last time, it’s the size of a baseball bat. The thirteenth Wise Woman hits the ground, half of her head caved in. Soon, her skull is completely shattered.
Even Alice has to look away.
Baba Yaga continues to beat the shit out of the thirteen Wise Woman. Just pummels Melantha into something that no longer resembles anything. She chants in Russian the entire time, beating and swearing and chanting, the pestle as gory as her dress and everything else within spitting distance.
When she’s done, Baba Yaga’s narrow eyes cut through the gloom into the small space behind the stairs where Alice and I are hiding. She knew we were here t
he entire time. “Where is Brom?”
We step out, but the room doesn’t grow any lighter. Neither of us come any closer, though, not while she holds her enormous, bloody pestle. I say, “I hoped he was with you.”
Her face, white as the full moon, crumples in horror. Her attention swings toward the ceiling, toward the third floor. “Don’t you dare!”
Her threat is too late. My father’s body hits the ground not a full second later. I collapse at his side. Jesus, there’s so much blood.
I grab his face. I love this face. It’s so damn strong and kind all at once. “Dad. Dad, talk to me.”
“It takes more than bullets to kill me,” the Piper calls from above.
I fumble for his pulse, but . . . but there’s so much blood. My fingers slip and slide against his slick skin. “Dad. Brom. Abraham. Answer me.”
Baba Yaga’s shriek shatters every window.
“If you think I will show any mercy after what you have done to my family,” the Piper says, “and to my people, I beg you to let go of such foolish hopes now. You wanted a reason for villainy? You’ve given me one.”
Why does my dad feel so cold? Katrina always joked that Brom is a heater. It could be freezing outside and all she’d need was him and a blanket. “Dad. Please don’t leave me. I need you. Victor needs you.”
I can’t. . .
Jim.
Katrina.
Grymsdyke.
Brom.
“Finn, I need you to move,” Alice is saying. “Take your father and move. Find shelter on the other side of the room”
A storm of black and gray swirls by me, dripping blood and gore up the stairs.
“Dammit, Finn!” Alice grabs hold of my shoulder. “I know it is difficult, but you must move now. Take your father over to the other side of the room. Now.”
Katrina and Brom read to each other at the breakfast table. Victor thought it was weird, preferring to eat in silence. I loved listening to them, though, loved how they were genuinely interested in what the other had to say.
I hook my arms under his and pull.
The last time we all ate breakfast together was a few mornings before she went to visit Opa. Mary joined us that day, which was nice because it meant Victor wouldn’t be so snarky to our parents. When Mary was around, she stole all the sarcasm, leaving none for anyone else. Katrina found an article about a couple that died in bed together, on the same day. She’d found it romantic. My father was noncommittal. The rest of us thought it morbid.
“To be with the one you love when you die?” Katrina said. “To not be alone when you enter the unknown? What a gift.”
She had died alone, away from my father, away from Victor and me. I don’t know if she was with Opa or not. I like to think she had been.
“You’re not going to die here,” I tell my father. “This isn’t the end of your story. This isn’t how Brom Bones goes out. You’re the fucking Headless Horseman. You go out in a blaze of glory. This isn’t—”
Bücherei explodes around us.
BEFORE I AM ABLE to even open my eyes, sharp pain, the sharpest, cruelest kind I have never felt until this moment, wicks the air cleanly from my lungs. And then, when I manage a breath, I am seized by a coughing fit. Blurry, blackened dust and ash sparkle around me—and if it were not accompanied by rubble and destruction, it would be beautiful. But the remnants of Bücherei replace what was once a splendid space, revealing chaos amongst former grandeur.
I am on my stomach, my hips and legs beneath a large chunk of broken fresco which, only minutes prior, hung above me. Pain does not radiate from my lower half, though; in fact, I cannot feel anything below my waist—not from what must surely be broken bones and numerous cuts, nor the weight of the plaster and stone. No, what pierces each breath originates where my crown once sat.
I reach up and gently prod what is left of my matted, mutilated hair. When I pull away a shaking hand, it is painted with sticky crimson.
Blinking does little to clear my field of vision. Bücherei, or what is left of it, is dark, dark as the swath of clouded night sky visible overhead.
Is it finished? Is the Piper dead?
I cannot see him to know if the risks I just took are worth it.
“Finn?” Dust and stone have weakened my voice. “Finn?” Several seconds that last more than the span between birthdays stretch forth. My heart pounds frantically. “Finn?”
“Here.” His sweet confirmation is too hushed for my liking, too faint. Too much like it hurts to speak. “What happened?”
The compulsion to break down nearly mummifies me. I am not so fanciful to assume I am all right. That much is obvious. I cannot feel my legs; there is too much blood seeping on the floor around me, soaking my dress. What nearly shatters my composure, though, is the stark terror that he is the same or worse off. “Where are you? I cannot—” Another glance is stolen, craning my neck as much as my pinned body will allow. Greedy pain suctions my strength away as black spots dash across my eyes. “Did you find a space place for you and Van Brunt?”
At least, I think I say these things, but goodness, are words hard to get out.
“Think I’m . . . behind you, maybe.”
My chin scrapes against jagged bits of stone as I shift my head to the other side. The glowing eyes of mysterious beasts hidden by bushes and caves stare back at me. I cannot twist my neck enough to ascertain how massive this piece of the ceiling is, but it stretches into the darkness far enough that it might as well be a wall.
“Marianne gave me a small bomb as a last resort. It was in my bag. The situation rapidly descended into such a state. How do you fare?” I ask, I beg, I fear, I hope.
Too much time lapses. Madness whispers in my ear. I keep my focus on the chipped, ruined paintings before me. Dimmed eyes judge me for my failures. Dark waves and bits of caves beckon me to let go and accept the hand I’ve been dealt.
He answers me, and, as if on cue, raindrops splatter across my face. He says, “Can you see the Piper? Is he . . . finally taken care of?”
I choke back a sob. Well, then. Finn is likely as injured as I am, but refuses to disclose it just as I did.
I tell him, “I do not know.”
The roar of cannons briefly lights up the sky above us. We have broken through the mountain, into the clean space of Wonderlandian air. Our friends, our colleagues and loved ones, are still combating the hordes of Chosen beyond these battered walls. No one will come for us, not any time soon, at least. And even if they did, would there be anything left to save? No healing spray can tend these injuries.
“I love you,” Finn says. “I will always love you. I’m here with you, Alice. I’m with you until the end, and then beyond.”
My lips press together. My eyes seal closed. My heart bleeds just as surely as any Wonderlanders. I reach out, fumbling for the wall, desperate for a connection we are unfairly denied as we undoubtedly drift closer to our last sleep, our final goodbyes.
Oh, how I despise goodbyes—and this, the worst one of all.
I find a crack, though. And in that crack, I find his hand. He searched for me, too. “You have my heart, my loyalty, my trust, and my hopes and dreams. You are and always will be my north star, Huckleberry Finn Van Brunt.”
One always imagines embracing death gracefully, as if it were an old friend, ready to lead you home. It might be on a field of battle, pride and honor carrying last thoughts. It might be in bed, a gentle farewell after the width and breadth of a life lived. It might be suddenly, tragically, inexplicably, too quick for any proper reaction.
I never considered that I would cry as my life ebbed violently from my body—not so much for my own loss, but for that of a bright future with a loving man cut short, and for the same man who reminded me, in so many strong, wonderful ways, that life and purpose could go on, even when sometimes it felt too hard to believe in such hope. For the uncertainty over whether or not my actions tonight and over the last year have ensured that all Timelines are now safe from th
e Piper and his quest to reshape the worlds to meet his vision. For leaving Wonderland behind once more—this time, more permanently than ever before.
And yet, here I am, tears mixing freely with dust, dirt, and rain. I am ready to pay the price for what is right. I have always been ready to do so.
I just never imagined that those I love would also pay such a steep cost.
My fingers, my palm, press against the chipping paint and plaster. If only I could hold Finn this one last time, if only I could assure myself that there wasn’t something more I could do for him, to save him, to save all of those fighting outside, those living blissfully unaware in their Timelines, those suffering here in Wonderland from the Queen of Hearts’ wrath.
Save him. Save them. Save them all.
A conversation several days old scratches its way forward, of when Van Brunt begged the Librarian to save Finn and Victor, but she refused, unwilling to allow the grieving father to assume any debt toward such a feat. That was when she was merely another agent within the Society, the so-called heart, as she once dubbed herself, of its inner workings. But she is more than that, is she not? She is Baba Yaga, a great witch capable of both terrible and wondrous magic. She vanquished the thirteenth Wise Woman.
Could she. . .?
My inhalation is sharp and shuddery, and yet the strength I was so recently lamenting steels what’s left of my shattered body. I whisper, I call for Baba Yaga.
Only a second, perhaps two pass before the rustling of fabric draws my attention. Dirt and rocks scrape the already bleeding cut on my chin as I angle my head toward where a staircase once spiraled upward. Inky darkness hides the source of the sound, and it isn’t until more cannon blasts briefly illuminate the sky do I see what appears to be an old woman hunched over a body on the second-story landing. But then the skies fade black once more, and I am left wondering if my mind is playing tricks on me, if I am only seeing what I wish to be there.
I have nothing to lose, though. I lick my filthy lips and hoarsely ask if whoever is present to make herself known.
The rustling of cloth and the scratching of sharp pebbles against tile mix with Finn’s weak query of whom I am talking to.
The Lost Codex Page 34
