The Mysteries of Holly Diem (Unknown Kadath Estates Book 2)

by Zachary Rawlins

  “Isn’t it? Of course, the Voynich is hardly the only structure to become obscure in this particular manner. There are a number of other examples – the Tidal Chamber beneath the docks of Innsmouth, where the Drowned Empress once maintained an embassy, before she appointed a regent and undertook the Long Sleep; the Skai Playhouse, lost during the inaugural performance of Marlowe’s translation of The King in Yellow, before the end of the second act; and The Uncertain Library, constantly lost and rediscovered as the Pillars of Iram relocate themselves across the district. One could, I suppose, include the Night Market on that list, due to its constantly evolving location, but as it was designed to be temporary and mobile from the start, it is best considered separately. This, in of itself, poses interesting questions regarding the mutability of the Nameless City’s geography…”

  “Elijah,” I interrupted, struck by feverish inspiration. “What do you know about the Kadath Estates?”

  “Aha!” He grinned triumphantly at having gained my interest. Elijah was so hyped up that he practically bounced along beside me. “A fascinating structure in its own right. I would call it obscured, rather than lost…or perhaps unknown.”

  I had to watch my feet to avoid tripping. They seemed unusually distant.

  “I know where it is, kid. I live there.”

  “Of course,” he agreed, completely unruffled. “Perhaps you already aware, then, the Kadath Estates is the oldest building in the Empty District?”

  “Not aware,” I acknowledged, wiping sweat from my brow. “Not surprised, either.”

  “I’m sure. The building is in an atypical style, with elements of First Period and Georgian Colonial interspersed with architectural styles and techniques not yet developed when the Estates were built…”

  “Wait, what?”

  “…and is the only multi-unit structure of such age, and also the only one to employ an air shaft to provide light and ventilation. Despite legends to the contrary, the stone was not quarried from the city in the sea…”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “…but rather from the quarries of the Mnar Mountains, where the stone for the city in the sea was also cut. Statuary and embellishments were added over time, generally the work of architecture and art students from Carter who roomed there. The silver gate, on the other hand, predates the Estates – and the Empty District – by millennia. Rumor attaches it to the lost city of Carcosa, and a diary stored at the Main Library at Carter claims that it was salvaged, along with several other notable artifacts, from an expedition that never returned from Lake Hali…”

  “Then how…?”

  “The Silver Keys are assumed to have arrived together with it, as it is no longer possible to mine or work that peculiar ore.” Through slightly blurry vision, I noticed that Elijah was staring at me curiously. “Do you happen to have your key handy, Preston? I would love to give it a closer look…”

  “Sorry,” I muttered. “Some other time.”

  “As you say.” His turn to sigh. “The Estates has operated as a rental property, as well as a residence for the owner, for the whole of its recorded existence.”

  “Some things never change.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Who built the damn thing?”

  “An enigma,” he explained, with a smile. “The name of the architect is lost to time. Whoever they may have been, however, they were responsible for many of the iconic structures in the Nameless City; Dunsany Park, the Chambers Museum of Antiquities, the Tidal Chamber, the Prospect Hill Observatory, and the Carter Academy, to mention a few.”

  “Weren’t those all built decades apart?”

  “Yes! One of the many secrets of the builder. The assumption is that the Unknown Architect – a popular nickname for the figure, among architecture students, and a possibly source for the “Unknown” often attached to the Kadath Estates – produced the designs during their lifetime, but the buildings themselves were built from plans at a later date. That, however, is merely conjecture.”

  “You are really into architecture.”

  “The passion runs in the Pickman family,” he said, with such sincerity that I wanted to throttle him. “My ancestors were all artists or architects. My great grandmother always considered design something of a hobby, though she prefers an organic media. She actually endowed the Architecture program at Carter, among others.”

  “Huh. You know, Eli, I think you’re the first person I’ve met who’s actually from the Nameless City.”

  “Is that so? It isn’t so rare. It is true, however, that my family has deep roots here. You could even say,” he said, turning onto the dark of Leng Street, “that my family is an integral part of the Nameless City’s history.”

  He might have said more. He probably said more, knowing Elijah. It washed over me with a tide of feverish disconnect, however, and was lost to the night.

  ***

  I stood in the shower until the water ran clear, letting warm water pummel my head and thinking about nothing in particular. The wound above my hip was shallow but jagged, and continued to leak pink fluid, while the one next my belly button was uglier. I would need April to look at that, eventually. As a concession to basic first aid, I grabbed the antiseptic below the sink and dumped the contents on the two knife wounds, grunting loudly in lieu of a scream. I also needed to talk to Holly this evening – which honestly sounded less pleasant that a session with April’s needle and thread.

  One thing I can absolutely say in the Estate’s favor – hot water is plentiful. I lingered until my fingers looked like pale and shrunken prunes.

  After I was dried and presentable, I microwaved a chicken breast, and put it on a stale tortilla with a slice of Swiss, and it was delicious all out of proportion. I drank water out of the sink and swallowed a couple more pain pills.

  Dressing in the dark, I listened carefully for any change in April’s breathing. I located my boots and jacket after a brief search, and then tiptoed to the front door. I only relaxed when I had shut and locked the door behind me. Stepping into my boots, I headed upstairs to Holly’s apartment.

  It took Holly a while, which wasn’t unusual. My guess is she just liked making me wait.

  Then she opened the door, barefoot, in a black dress and a suggestive smile, and I forgave all.

  That phenomenon was the basis for April’s dislike of Holly, incidentally.

  She led me inside. It was a mess, like always, as if she had purchased the contents of several antique stores, and then arranged it all with no particular attention paid to organization or aesthetics. A stuffed raptor with shiny black marbles for eyes sat beside a bronze icon of a fertility cult with grossly engorged belly and breasts. Lovecraft lounged, chin between his paws, on the top level of a teetering bookshelf, tail waving lazily in greeting. I gave the old cat a scratch beneath his chin and followed Holly to the kitchen, taking a seat at the table wedged in the breakfast nook.

  Lovecraft wandered in on old bones and tired hips, and I rubbed his back sympathetically. I felt as if we were old comrades in arms, survivors of a war that everyone else had forgotten.

  Holly proceeded to bustle about in the kitchen, preparing tea, her impeccable composure restored. When she smiled at me, I noticed she had refreshed her lip-gloss. When she leaned in to set the table, her chest brushed against my shoulder. The skin beneath her linen dress was warm, and smelled pleasantly of cinnamon and cognac. Before she returned to puttering in the kitchen, she gave me an amused look that told me she knew exactly what was on my mind.

  “Not exactly. Just generally,” Holly said cheerfully, taking the kettle off the flame, and then turning off the burner. “Men are fairly predictable in that regard. No offense.”

  I laughed.

  “None taken.”

  She crowded the table with plates of sugar cookies, a round of soft white cheese, green grapes, and a pair of toasted muffins with butter, jam, and marmalade. A moment later, Holly poured tea for both us, which I sniffed suspiciously.
/>   “Green,” she said, reassuringly. “With a little bit of jasmine.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting…”

  “I have no intentions of drugging you, Preston. Not this time,” she said, sitting down across from me. “I like to think that we are friends, after all.”

  “I like to think that, too.”

  She giggled, her fingers hovering thoughtfully over the cookie plate.

  “You say the sweetest things, dear.”

  I ate a grape to have something to do.

  “I hate to ask, but why did you want to talk to me? Did you have something you wanted me to do?”

  “Yes, actually.” She settled on a bar of sugar-flecked shortbread, picking it up carefully with tapered nails the color of a nosebleed. “Before we get to that, though, I have something to confess.”

  I perked up.

  “Oh?”

  Holly nodded, biting into the shortbread with apparent joy.

  “About the case. You know, about Sumire.”

  Hopes dashed.

  “Oh.”

  She swallowed, wiped powdered sugar from glossy lips.

  “You don’t want to hear?”

  “No, I do.” I sighed and tried my tea, which was entirely too hot. “Go ahead.”

  “Sumire was looking into a rumor for me,” Holly said, abruptly melancholy, “the night she was attacked. It was…personal business. Private. Nothing that should have attracted any sort of attention.”

  “It did, though.” I tried one of the cookies. They were buttery and delicious. “Why are you being so reticent?”

  “It was family business,” Holly admitted, her shoulders slumping. I nodded and pretended to relate. “Have I ever mentioned my family?” Holly sighed and dipped a cookie in her tea. “Two sisters, one younger and one older; and a big brother whom we all adored who doted upon all of us.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  “It was.” Holly’s eyes were far away, clouded by the sort of nostalgia that leaves a mark. “For a time. The Nameless City then was only marginally more hospitable than its current incarnation. The curse our family labored beneath was as vast and heavy as the sky.”

  I gnawed on a cookie and listened. It was a solo performance, anyway – Holly wasn’t looking for more than an audience.

  “My brother followed the family trade, and went looking for secrets.” Holly sighed bitterly into her tea, the wound raw and obvious. Despite what everyone says, time is an inept healer. “Eventually, he found what he was looking for. We lost him in the process.”

  “That’s sad. And abstract.”

  “Exactly.” She nodded seriously. “Relations between my sisters and I grew strained. Words were exchanged; things said that ought not to be said. My little sister went mad; became convinced that my older sister was sneaking into her dreams at night, and poisoning them.”

  That sigh, like mist coming in off the water on a cold night. She crossed her legs, her tan slightly faded by the rainy spring, and curled her toes.

  “And perhaps she was. Who knows?” Holly sipped her tea, and I did the same. It wasn’t bad. “I attempted to soothe their tempers, but failed. There was violence, and then a great deal more violence.”

  Holly took another cookie, swirled her tea with it, and then munched on it joylessly.

  “What happened to your sisters?”

  “We tried living apart, but they wouldn’t leave each other alone, or forgive each other.” Holly picked up a grape, and rolled it between her fingers. “You have hardly eaten, Preston,” she scolded. “Have a muffin.”

  I moved to obey, reaching for the butter and current jam.

  “They did each other harm, but my younger sister was more successful. My older sister was maimed in the conflict and remains…poorly.”

  Holly appeared crestfallen, so I gave her a moment to collect herself. She hesitated, lost in contemplation of the ripples and currents created when she swirled her tea. Impatience got the best of me, and I tried to talk around a mouthful of buttered muffin.

  “That’s terrible…what happened to her?”

  Holly was jarred from her melancholy by the question. She looked up at me from her tea as if she were surprised to find me there.

  “Oh.” Holly shrugged, and then dragged her forefinger across her lovely throat. “Decapitated.”

  “What?”

  “My younger sister decapitated my older sister,” Holly explained, sniffling. “Family is so difficult.”

  “Particularly yours. I’m sorry you lost your older sister that way, though. It must be hard.”

  “It is hard, but I didn’t really lose her, Preston.”

  I set my partially eaten muffin aside, appetite lost in confusion.

  “What does that mean?”

  “We are witches, Preston.” Holly dabbed at her eyes with a napkin, careful not to smear her slightly-too-intense eye makeup. “We don’t die that easily.”

  “I see.” I toyed with my teacup. “Does everyone in this building have a skewed view on mortality, or just you and Sumire?”

  Holly put a finger to her lips thoughtfully.

  “No,” she said slowly, after serious consideration. “I’m certain that it is just the two of us.”

  “Fine. Have it your way. If your older sister…”

  I made a pained face. It took Holly a moment to notice the prompt.

  “Oh. Yes. My elder sister is Constance, and the younger is Madeleine.”

  “Constance and Madeleine Diem? That’s terrible. You got lucky, Holly.”

  “Perhaps. It’s hard to be certain of anything, when it comes to my family,” Holly mused. “Growing up, it was never very clear how many of us there were. Sometimes we were three sisters, or four, or seven…I think even nine, once. Eventually, though, it settled down to just the three of us.”

  “Holly, you’re losing me here.”

  She ignored me, lost in reverie.

  “We lived beside an orchard that grew the most beautiful golden-skinned apples. Our reasons changed – sometimes we were guarding the orchard, or tending to it. Sometimes we lived within it, and hosted guests. Other times were very lonely, as if we were on an island at the end of the earth. We weren’t supposed to eat the apples, but they were delicious, so we would steal them on occasion.” Holly smiled fondly. “Maybe that’s why we had to leave. I don’t really recall, just that it was very sad.”

  Lovecraft watched me from the corner, his eyes barely open, sprawled on the kitchen tile. I coaxed him over to curl up on my shoes, so that I could stroke his bony back.

  “When we first came to the Nameless City, we were too frightened to do anything other than stay together. The orchard, the apples, and ourselves – that had been the extent of our world, until the day it wasn’t.” Holly chewed on her merlot-painted lower lip. I watched, breathless, transfixed by the uncomfortable eroticism of her distress. “I think it was my fault. My sisters were always nicer to me than they were to each other; I was a bridge between them, and also a buffer. I never realized how poorly they understood each other until they started to fight in earnest. They had always bickered, but in the way of sisters.”

  Holly stirred her tea with her finger.

  “Constance was old when I was a child, after all, before Madeleine was born. I suppose that might have been the root of the misunderstanding. Not long after we came to the city, Madeleine became obsessed with the notion that it was impossible for herself and Constance to coexist – as if her sister’s presence made her own presence impossible. She started passing notes through me, and timing her comings and goings for when Constance slept. Constance was confused at first, but her confusion turned quickly to hostility. The notes I carried dutifully between them grew ever bitterer. Constance refused all food, fearing that Madeleine would poison her, while Madeleine complained that Constance had taken to tormenting her in dreams. Eventually they crossed paths, and a fight over dinner turned violent. Madeleine attacked Constance, stabbing her in the stomach with a pair o
f scissors. Constance was injured and enraged. She took the scissors from Madeleine, and cast me aside when I sought to intervene. She marred Madeleine’s face – and Madeleine was beautiful, more so than Constance or I – and cut out her eyes.”

  “With – with scissors? That’s terrible!”

  Holly nodded gravely, putting her hand on the table and looking at me plaintively. I covered her hand eagerly with my own, which felt huge and crude by contrast.

  “Madeleine struggled and spat, enraging Constance further. Constance severed her arms and legs, and then threw them into the fire, and walked out, leaving us forever.”

  Holly sniffled and squeezed my hand.

  “I nursed Madeleine as best I could, though she would be forever blind and reduced. I did what I could to try and mend the relationship between them, but Constance refused my entreaties, and Madeleine nursed a hatred of her sister that I could not diminish, even as she returned to a sort of health.”

  At this point, I was feeling sympathetic to Madeleine on that particular score. Holly seemed to view the incident as an unmitigated tragedy, however, with no right or wronged parties. I suppose, as sister to both women, she had little choice.

  “Madeleine was always the most daring. She was the death of the night, and the night feared her. She had paramours and suitors from the Outer Dark, and they were dismayed at her maiming. Many offered recourse. I suppose that Madeleine chose one of their solutions, eventually, or perhaps all. What do I know? She spat at me at the front door, cursing me as one of her suitors carried her away. She warned me that she would return, that Constance and I both would be sorry for it.”

  Beneath the table, her foot came to rest against mine, bare toes brushing my instep.

  “I heard that she found her way to the Empire of the Deep, to the Drowned Empress and her forges and armories in the undersea trenches, to join her endless war with Dagon and his children. They say that, somewhere in the cerulean abysses, the Drowned Empress fashioned her terrible new limbs from the ivory of the internal tusks of the Dhole, strung together with a pliable wire of unknown metal, and made her regent, while the Empress slept. One heard all sorts of rumors, in those days.”