by Kat Ross
“It did the same with Mary Elizabeth Wickes,” John said. The spirits had put some color back in his face, which he’d scrubbed clean of blood and soot with a damp towel provided by the butler. “When we visited her at the Tombs, she said she let it through. Something about paying the blood price. Do you know what that is?”
Alec nodded. “There are two ways to open a portal to the Dominion. Talismans like the amulet can unlock a Greater Gate. But a lesser gate can be conjured by shedding the blood of an innocent. It won’t stay open long, but even a few seconds is enough if something is waiting on the other side.”
“Mary talked the girl in the next cell into cutting open her wrist. It was a few months ago—the same day this daemon possessed Mr. Brady and killed Becky Rickard.”
“That would do it, if Mary knew the words of opening.”
“So we know how it came through.” Harry turned to Orpha. “The count said you told him it was a daemon. That would have been useful information to share.”
She looked confused. “But I didn’t. I only learned that fact from Mr. Kaylock an hour gone.”
Vivienne’s eyes narrowed. “Who is this man?”
“He’s the last descendant of the House of Habsburg-Koháry in Hungary,” Harry replied. “He told us his family has known of the Dominion for generations. That he’s fought ghouls.”
“I find it strange we’ve never heard of him.”
“Necromancer?” Alec said to Vivienne.
“Possibly.” She snicked her lighter open and shut. “But he’s not our immediate problem. We need to track down this daemon before we do anything else.”
“Are the gates being watched?” Kaylock asked.
“Of course. And none of them are nearby. It will have to take a ship again. And whichever gate it chooses, we’ll be ready. Cyrus Ashdown has sent cables to all his agents. They’ll come out in force. If the body it takes can be killed before it switches to another, it will be banished back to the Dominion.”
“But which gate will he choose?” Kaylock asked. “There are twelve, correct?”
“Yes.” Alec ticked them off on his fingers. “One in Afghanistan and another in the ruins of Memphis, Egypt, just south of Giza. Then you have Rome, Damascus, Jerusalem, Babylon, Karnopolis, Samarkand, Athens, Luoyang, China, and Kush, now called Karima in Northern Sudan. And London, of course.”
John broke the silence. “Begging your pardon, but are you certain there are only twelve?”
Alec turned to him, mouth quirked in mild amusement. “We’ve already established that this daemon came through a lesser gate by inducing a human familiar to pay the blood price. But every reference we’ve ever found to the Greater Gates says there are twelve. Without exception.”
“I’m sure you’re correct. But just before the daemon started the fire, it was complaining about Claudius Ptolemy. That they’d made some kind of bargain, but Ptolemy betrayed it. And Araminta said, The thirteenth gate will open.”
“He’s right,” Harry said. “I heard it too.”
“A thirteenth gate.” Alec’s eyes narrowed in thought. “I don’t suppose either of them was kind enough to say where it was.”
Harry and John looked at each other. They both shook their heads.
“What if it’s here in New York?” Mr. Kaylock said.
“One we never knew about?” Vivienne asked doubtfully. “Then why isn’t the city plagued by ghouls?”
They were all silent for a moment.
“Perhaps it’s a new gate,” Orpha said. “Would that be possible?”
“I don’t know. There’s nothing says it couldn’t be,” Alec said. “The Dominion is a strange place. In many ways, it’s alive. Organic. We don’t know why the first gates appeared, but it’s a fact that they attract human settlements. And New York’s a relatively young city.”
“The de Lusignan letter we found at Cyrus’s said the gate rejected the daemon and wouldn’t let it pass,” Vivienne pointed out. “That neither blood nor talisman sufficed.”
“But if it was a new gate, it wouldn’t be warded. Or not as strongly as the others.”
“Goddess,” Vivienne breathed. “A thirteenth gate. The question then is where.”
“There’s one consistent fact about gates,” Alec said. “They’re always in water.”
“That hardly narrows it down. Manhattan is an island,” Kaylock said.
“Still water, not running. Which rules out the rivers and harbor.”
“I’ll fetch some maps,” Kaylock offered.
He returned a short time later and unrolled a large map of the city across his desk. They all crowded around.
“There are two obvious locations,” Kaylock said. “The reservoirs in Central Park and on Forty-First Street.”
“But they’re manmade, aren’t they?” Alec said. “Gates are always in natural water sources. The one in London is beneath the lake in Hyde Park. In Rome, it’s a pond in the Villa Borghese. And so on.”
“Wait. I’ll fetch the 1874 Viele map.” Kaylock dashed off. He returned a minute later with a long rectangular map that showed the topographical features of the city. “Egbert Viele used surveys and historical maps to reconstruct the original hydrology of Manhattan Island. It’s become absolutely indispensable for building engineers. They call it the ‘water map.’”
It was hand-drawn in exquisite detail, with shaded lines to illustrate the island’s original contours. Most of the map was colored in hues of tan and green, but a few splotches of blue indicated water. Harry easily recognized the twin squares in Central Park labelled Receiving Reservoir. At Fifth Avenue and One Hundred and Sixth Street, a river snaked east from the edge of the park. The orderly grid of streets and avenues had been superimposed over the natural features, creating the impression of a phantom world of marshes and meadows now displaced by bricks and cobblestones.
“What’s that?” Vivienne pointed to an unmarked blue splash on the map only a few blocks from the S.P.R. offices.
“The old Collect Pond,” Kaylock said. “It was drained and filled in eighty years ago.”
“What’s there’s now?”
Harry and John looked at each other, eyes widening. “The Tombs,” they said in unison.
John slapped his forehead. “Of course! It’s where it all began. The prison is only a few blocks from the flat on Leonard Street where Becky Rickard was murdered. Mary Elizabeth Wickes said she’d brought something through. What if it wasn’t through a lesser gate but one of the Greater Gates?”
“And that gate is somewhere in the prison itself,” Harry finished. “I have to say, it does fit the facts.”
“Tell me about this Wickes woman.” Alec leaned forward. “Mr. Kaylock said she was a poisoner.”
“Yes. She murdered children with arsenic, beginning when she was only sixteen.”
“Such a person might well be susceptible to dark communications from the Dominion,” Orpha Winter said in a theatrical whisper. “The spirit world is only visible to those with sensitivities. Many mediums are no strangers to traumatic death. If Mary was already corrupt, she would have attracted the most dangerous entities that roam the shadowlands.”
John nodded fervently. Mr. Kaylock examined his fingernails as though they were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.
“By all accounts, Mary was sane when they first brought her to the Tombs—or as sane as a repeat killer of children can be,” Harry said. “A jury thought so. They found her accountable for her actions and sentenced her to hang. But when we visited her, she seemed to have been driven half mad. She rambled about the master, just like Araminta.”
“But if the Collect Pond was drained, how can there be a gate?” Connor asked. He’d been listening quietly from the shadows.
“Gates persist no matter what people build over them,” Vivienne explained. “They can’t be destroyed, only warded. If there truly is a Greater Gate at the Tombs, I promise you it will be standing in water somehow.”
Alec used his
cane to push himself to his feet. It was an oddly graceful gesture.
“We must go immediately,” he said. “The daemon might start with the gate here, but I’ve no doubt he’ll try to open all of them. And I don’t have to tell you how disastrous that would be.” He looked at Harry and John. “Speaking personally, I find you both to be highly competent agents.”
Harry flushed at the praise. John straightened his collar.
“Would you be willing to take us there?” Alec continued. “If you visited Mary once before, it might make it easier to get inside.”
“Of course,” John said immediately. Harry nodded her agreement.
“I would only ask that you let Lady Cumberland and myself deal with this creature when we find it.”
“Understood.”
Vivienne swept a hand across her skirts and produced a wicked-looking dagger, which she examined and then caused to vanish. A moment later, it had been replaced with another. Harry watched in fascination as the process was repeated several times. She realized Vivienne had sewn secret compartments all over her gown. They must have been designed by an expert seamstress, as nothing unusual was visible when she moved. Finally, Lady Cumberland seemed satisfied that her armory was in good working order.
“How will you proceed?” Mr. Kaylock asked.
“We corner this daemon in whatever body’s it’s taken and cut its head off,” she said, heading for the door. “If that doesn’t work, Alec and I will drag it through the gate and hand it over to the Shepherds.”
“Shepherds?” John asked, hurrying to keep up.
“The creatures that keep order in the Dominion. They herd the dead along to their final destination and have no fondness for souls who try to return to the living world.”
Harry and John’s coats had been lost in the fire, so Orpha Winter found a pair of blankets they could wrap around themselves for the short ride. Harry wished she had her pistol, but that too had been left at the Sabellines. John’s gift had only lasted three days, she thought ruefully.
“Count Koháry said you have another key,” John said to Alec as they waited for Connor to bring the carriage around. “Is it true?”
“Yes. I always thought mine was the only one in existence.”
“May I see it?”
Alec slipped a hand in his pocket and pulled out a smooth grey stone. “It may not look like much, but it’s a powerful talisman. We’ve used it to close all twelve of the Greater Gates. And I can use it to lock the thirteenth as well if we don’t manage to get the amulet.”
Darker striations made a whirling pattern on its surface. They bent the eye in a queer fashion. John found himself looking away after only a few seconds.
“Makes one dizzy,” he said with an uneasy laugh.
“Most talismans have that effect.”
“How is it used?”
“Words can be spoken, but they aren’t strictly necessary. Incantations are merely a tool to focus the will of the user. The only thing that matters is that one has the spark.” He slipped it back into his pocket. “Very few mortals can wield talismans, Mr. Weston. One in a thousand, perhaps less than that now.”
The carriage jolted to a stop before them on the deserted street. Connor leapt down and opened the door for Lady Vivienne. Harry went next, then John and Alec.
Orpha Winter and Harland Kaylock huddled under umbrellas at the curb. Before closing the carriage door, Mr. Kaylock leaned in and gave them each a brusque nod.
“Good luck,” he said, his black eyes resting on Harry and John. “Particularly you two. Despite any prior lapses of judgment, you’re quite valuable to this organization. And I’d say your nine lives are nearly used up.”
25
That a portal to the underworld existed beneath Manhattan’s most notorious prison made a strange kind of sense, Harry reflected as the carriage raced east on Fulton Street.
She’d read enough local history to know that the Collect Pond had been a focal point of human misery for quite some time. One of the first gallows in New York was erected on an island there by the British before the war for independence. As the city grew, it became a convenient receptacle for waste from factories and tanneries. When the pond (not surprisingly) turned into a breeding ground for disease, it was filled in and transformed into the worst slum in America: The Five Points.
Now she understood why the tenement buildings leaned so drunkenly against each other as they sank into the muddy, uneven streets. Apparently, the underground spring that fed the Collect Pond continued to flow. And something else had emerged there. Something even worse than the cesspool that lay above.
At Broadway, the carriage turned north and passed City Hall Park, where Harry and John had stumbled over the entrance to Brady’s lair in the Beach Transit Tunnel. In fact, most of the key locations of the Hyde case were within walking distance of each other—and of the Tombs prison.
Though full dark had fallen on the city, the unseasonably warm weather was only intensifying. It rained like a monsoon now, utterly cockeyed for the end of December. Water rushed and ran, dripped and drummed. The sewers overflowed, turning the streets into a dirty brown morass. By the time they arrived at the Tombs, water lapped at the bottom steps of the entrance. Connor let them out, then moved the horses down to the corner to wait.
The massive front doors were locked tight and repeated pounding failed to rouse any guards. In fact, there was no one in sight at all, though lights burned in the upper windows of the fortress-like structure.
Alec closed his eyes and pressed a palm against the door. A look of concentration sharpened his features. Heavy tumblers spun. He dropped his arm and pushed. The door silently swung open.
John gave a low whistle. “That’s a neat trick. Another of your special talents, Mr. Lawrence?”
Alec smiled briefly and went inside. A deep, quiet chill greeted them beyond the threshold. The usual rustles and mutters of more than fifty women were completely absent.
“Where are all the guards?” Harry wondered aloud.
“And where are the inmates?” John added.
Alec and Vivienne exchanged a quick glance.
“We’d better find Sister Emily,” Harry said. “She’s the matron in charge of the women’s prison. The offices are on the Centre Street side.”
“It may be too late for that,” Vivienne said. “Where’s Mary’s cell?”
Harry pointed to the left. “That way. The other side is Bummer’s Hall, where they put the vagrants and drunks.”
They started down the long corridor leading to the Leonard Street wing of the Tombs. Water condensed on the stone walls and coursed down like blood from an open wound. The prison had been bad enough during the day, Harry thought, with the smell of unwashed bodies and sounds of soft weeping. But this perfect silence was much worse.
They’d just reached the end of the first tier when Sister Emily strode around the corner. She gave a short gasp of surprise when she saw them, one hand flying to her mouth.
“Miss Pell! However did you get in here?” She glared at Vivienne and Alec. “And who are these people?”
“Lady Vivienne Cumberland and Mr. Alec Lawrence,” Harry said, ignoring the first question. “Mr. Lawrence is with Scotland Yard.”
“Scotland Yard?” The matron blinked in confusion.
“We need to know if anyone’s come to visit Mary Elizabeth Wickes today,” Alec said in the calm but forceful tone he’d heard D.I. Blackwood use on reluctant witnesses. “Someone claiming to be a relative? A grandmother, perhaps?”
“No, and I wouldn’t let her in if she had,” Sister Emily said briskly. “Visiting hours are long past. I can’t imagine who’d be out on a night like this anyway.” She squinted at them with suspicion. “The water’s been rising steadily for the last several hours. All the women have been moved up to the boys’ reformatory on the second tier.” She sighed. “All except Mary. She hissed and spat like a wildcat when anyone tried to get near. I suppose I shouldn’t care, she’ll be de
ad in six days anyhow and no one will mourn her passing. But I thought I’d check on the girl. Most likely I’ll have to send some guards from the men’s wing to move her by force.”
“Is she still in her cell?” Harry asked.
“She’s in there all right. Won’t budge.” Matron shook her head. “You’ll have to go now. Come back tomorrow during visiting hours if you must speak to her.”
“That won’t do,” Alec said. “I’ll give you $500 right now for five minutes with your prisoner.”
He removed a roll of bills from his coat pocket and held it out. Harry wondered if Orpha had given him the cash for precisely this eventuality.
The matron’s mouth dropped open. When she realized she was gaping, she shut it with a click. It was an exorbitant sum, possibly more than she earned in a year. Still, she hesitated. The woman has a decent heart, Harry thought.
“Why would you offer me such?” she demanded. “What do you want with Mary? I’m not defending her crimes, but she was convicted by a jury and the State of New York will carry out the sentence those men handed down. If it’s vigilante justice you’re after, I can’t oblige.”
“We’ve no desire to do Mary any harm,” Vivienne assured her. “Only to ask her a few questions. You can stay outside the cell if you like.”
The matron considered this, her eyes fixed on the money. She licked her lips. “All right. Are the lot of you going?”
“No.” Vivienne cut a look at Harry and John. “Those two will wait in your office.”
Harry bit her tongue. She didn’t like being relegated to the sidelines, but she’d made a promise and Lady Vivienne obviously wasn’t a woman to cross.
“We’d best be about it then,” the matron said, tucking the cash into her dress. “Water’s rising.”
Harry and John took seats on the hard wooden chairs before Sister Emily’s desk and settled in to wait. The room was tiny, with a battered wardrobe occupying the rest of the space. A plain wooden crucifix on the wall completed the décor.
