Was it possible?
There was only one way to know.
The Mi-Go arrived with the quietening of the storm. As the wind died down, he detected a great humming noise, like a hornet buzzing past his ear, but so much greater in volume that he felt the sound in his chest and behind his eyes.
Was there fear in his heart at the sound? Yes, but also a thrill that ran through him, body and mind alike. Body and soul.
“Are you there?” he cried. “Are you real?”
He received no answer. Jacoby called out several times, searching the night-darkened deck before he finally saw movement.
They appeared to him in stages. Perhaps his mind would not allow more, perhaps they emerged from one of the tunnels in the cosmos that the voice had spoken of in his dreams. The shapes were larger than he expected, half-hidden in the gloom of the dying storm and revealed best by the now distant strobes of lightning, moving off.
The warmth surged inside of him, drying the freezing rain on his skin. The frost on the deck melted beneath his feet. He stood and gazed at them, enrapt, and he listened.
The sounds were closer, but softer now and Jacoby saw the closest of the—
Angels!
—Mi-Go from behind as it looked down upon the chest that was not ivory, and upon the contents it had held, which were on display, there on the deck of the ship. One of the angel’s limbs was clear to his eyes. As it moved, other parts swam into focus, as if only certain facets of the thing existed in the world of his human senses at any one time. It shifted again and he saw that limb. The gray, multi-jointed appendage ended in three small claws, which held open the lid of the chest.
It shifted again, and his mind reeled, trying to contain an inner scream of denial. Though the Mi-Go was real and present, it did not match the beauty of the beast he had seen in his dreams. This nightmare was malformed, with truncated wings that flapped softly as it compensated for the waves that still rocked the ship. The grace and beauty he had seen were gone, replaced by a loathsome shape, some kind of man-sized crustacean with thick, ungainly legs and a series of long, curving barbs that jutted from the sides of its abdomen. Six legs, each ending in a claw, save the two at the front that ended in heavy pincers capable of cutting a man in half.
It released the lid of the chest, turning to look again upon the treasures that had been drawn from it.
“No!” Jacoby cried, and he dove toward them.
Did he reach for that cylinder, desperate for a weapon, or simply to deprive this disappointing, faded angel of its prize? Jacoby did not know. But the moment he touched the cylinder, he realized his error. His senses opened up and he saw, once more, the iridescent glory he had seen in his dreams.
How could he have doubted?
Surely the eyes of mere mortals were not enough. With the cylinder’s influence, his vision was clearer. The carapace was more graceful when seen properly, and the blunt wings that he’d seen fluttering were far greater, moving with soft ripples and causing an undulation in the unusual energies he only saw when he was in contact with his prize.
Jacoby saw them all, then. Touching the cylinder, he saw how many of the Mi-Go were with him. Though he should have been terrified, he rejoiced.
“I think I have waited all of my life to see you. To know you.”
He spoke aloud, though barely aware of that fact.
The closest of the Mi-Go spoke back, though perhaps only in his mind. It asked him to explain himself…his presence. The voice echoed within him, a symphony of noises made by the wings that existed only in the aether. He suspected that if he let go of his prize, he would have heard more of the horrific buzzing noises. He dared not let go, just in case the effect faded away and was lost forever.
“I know you are leaving here. I know you came for the stones, for your history, and perhaps for this.” He rubbed his hand over the surface of the cylinder. “But please, please take me with you. I need to know, you see. I need to understand the world out there, among the stars.”
The Mi-Go nearest him—the first he had seen—turned to look at him more closely. The different antennae and slithering tendrils that covered its head shifted and studied him slowly, absorbing the details of him. The massive claws clicked and clattered softly as it observed him.
The voice was still distorted, but Jacoby listened through the unsettling reverberations and focused as intently as he ever had. We cannot carry you easily, that voice said. There is no way to know if you would survive without the protection of the cylinder. We are made to breathe between the stars and you are not.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’m dying already. I can feel that. Please, take me with you. Let me see as you see, if only for a little while.”
The Mi-Go made noises that he could not decipher and the others, the ones that had already gathered up the stone carvings and returned them to the chest, responded.
They agreed.
Jacoby exulted, his heart full of a joy he had never known was possible.
The nightmares he’d seen would surely never have been able to fly with the malformed, stunted wings on their gray backs, but the Mi-Go, the vibrant, vital—
Angels
—creatures before him with their vast wings moving through the aether and beyond, were a different story.
He closed his eyes and felt those iridescent claws latch on, surrounding and embracing him. The wings of the Mi-Go sang and the one who had spoken rose softly from the ground and took him with it, lifting him through the barriers of the mortal world.
The clouds were alive. They hummed with their own song and that sonata joined briefly with the rapturous sound of angels’ wings. Above him, the Northern Lights painted the skies and the universe itself, stretching so much farther than he’d ever imagined. Those lights, those magnificent shifting colors so far beyond the human spectrum, extended into the depths of eternity.
Jacoby wept. The cold he had thought he would never feel again returned and grew worse. The ice that formed on his skin should have had him screaming in agony but it didn’t hurt, not really.
Nor would it ever.
He was in the presence of angels.
GHOSTS OF ALBION
ILLUSIONS
by Christopher Golden and Amber Benson
In my whole existence, I have never seen a lovelier sight than my Louise smiling up at me before our lips touched for that very first time.
Her face was like the most precious of gems; there was always another facet to discover. On first appraisal, she was quiet and demure, her translucent skin and pale green eyes only adding to the air of fragility that surrounded her. Yet, I realized later that it had been a mistake to judge her on appearance alone, for there was a core of iron underneath the girlish façade.
I first met her at a dinner party thrown by my friend Ludlow Swift in honor of the famed illusionist, Capernicus. It was the first and only time I encountered the man, but I sensed in him a great thirst for power that I knew could only end tragically. I once tried to explain this intuition to my friend Ludlow, but he was blind to the other man’s faults. Perhaps he could not see the darkness in Capernicus because they were brother magicians, or perhaps it was because Ludlow himself had a great thirst for knowledge, and he wanted to believe that this was what he saw in his friend as well.
As dessert was being served, a tiny pianoforte was wheeled into the dining room by one of Ludlow’s servants. A small child stepped out from behind the wooden frame of the instrument and sat down at the bench, smoothing her skirts underneath her.
I can still see in my mind’s eye her tiny fingers as they began lovingly to coax a melody from the ivory keys. Then she opened her mouth and the voice that issued forth was that of a seraph. I was utterly charmed and spent the rest of the evening watching her every move as she sat beside her father – the ill-fortuned Capernicus.
She was just thirteen at the time, but I sensed that our paths would one day cross again.
Four
years passed, and then Ludlow received news that Capernicus had been killed in India, attempting one of his extraordinary illusions. In this same letter of loss was a postscript: Louise was now on her way back to London by train, where she would take up residence with her new guardian… Ludlow Swift. Needless to say, this came as a shock to my friend. His son Henry was barely seven at the time and the Swift household had a full coterie of maids and butlers and cooks, yet it seemed the idea of having another child in the house was daunting to him. Perhaps it was that he was intimidated by the mere thought of having a young woman only now coming into full blossom under his roof.
I alone was unsurprised at this turn of events. Capernicus would never have trusted another soul save his brother magician. For my part, I endured the days awaiting her arrival with great impatience and wonder. As barely more than a child the girl had enchanted me. I hungered to discover what she had become.
“Nigel, when you speak the words, you must have utter confidence in the magick or it will not work.”
Ludlow, in his shirtsleeves and wearing an exasperated frown on his face, stood on the lip of the stage at the Theatre Royal in Edinburgh, watching as I tried to levitate a caged bear. To our knowledge none of my breed had ever been Protector of Albion before, but Ludlow was determined to leave me that legacy when he passed on. I felt the taint of what I was all through me, and yet his faith in me was a cleansing flame in my mind. I aspired to be the man he believed I was.
We were alone in the theatre. The rest of the stage crew would not arrive until the morning, but by then Ludlow would have postponed my “magickal” training in order to prepare the mechanical illusions for his stage show that evening. In their way, the tricks he performed in a theatre were more difficult for him than the spells, wards, and glamours of actual sorcery.
“I cannot concentrate on magick, Ludlow, when you lecture me as though I am a school boy,” I exclaimed. It was true. I could not focus under Ludlow’s critical eye. Instead of the swift and agile creature of shadows I had become over the centuries, I became in his presence an insecure, awkward oaf that couldn’t juggle an apple, let alone float a three-hundred-pound bear.
My keen ears detected the sound of a door being opened somewhere in the vicinity of the dressing rooms. I jerked my head in the direction of the sound and Ludlow moved to stand beside me.
“There is someone in the theatre,” I hissed to my friend, who nodded.
“I sensed it, as well.”
Even as he spoke these words the thick, red velvet curtain was parted to frame the angelic face of my dear Louise. She smiled widely at the two of us, exposing perfect bone china teeth.
“Hello, my handsome men,” she laughed. Her voice was low and throaty. My heart thrilled with every word. I looked over at Ludlow to see if he was also in her thrall, but he appeared to be more annoyed than charmed.
“Louise, I hope you did not leave the lodgings without your lady’s maid.”
She sighed and shook her head at her guardian’s over-protectiveness. “No one saw me. I was quite sly and hid in the shadows whenever a carriage passed.” She looked very pleased with herself. I was always amused by her capricious adventures, each little impropriety, particularly when they flustered the otherwise unflappable Ludlow.
Ludlow’s handsome face flared with irritation, then he let good sense win over and he sighed. “I suppose that nothing I say will ever curtail your impulsiveness.”
Louise laughed and nodded. “It’s true. I’m sorry to have upset you, but I just wanted to make sure Ali was comfortable for the night.” She inclined her head, then gracefully walked over to the bear’s cage and thrust her hand inside the bars. The bear lovingly licked her slender hand. “A magician’s assistant isn’t worth her salt if she lets the animals go untended.”
She said these last words with a mischievous smile, barely attempting to conceal the truth, that it was merely a ruse, an excuse to spy on Ludlow and myself. Louise was an intelligent girl and she had immediately realized that there was something more to the Swift fortune than mere currency. She had been raised by a father who was a master of illusion, but in Ludlow’s presence, she had seen feats of magic that baffled even her. Yet, there was no way that she could ever guess the truth.
“Nigel, would you please escort Miss Louise back to our lodgings. I have some unfinished preparations for tomorrow night.”
Had my heart been capable of beating, it would have thundered.
I nodded, happy to oblige.
She looked lovely in the moonlight. Her skin was opalescent, her eyes bright and eager. She looped her long slender arm through mine and I could smell the blood as it gently coursed through her flesh.
“I came to see you, my love.” Her lovely green eyes were downcast as she intoned those few heart-wrenching words, but I knew that coyness was not something that came naturally to her.
I pulled her tiny frame to me and guided the two of us into a quietly darkened alleyway. My mouth was immediately upon hers and as we kissed, I counted the beats of her racing pulse.
She pulled away and rested her head against my chest. “Oh, Nigel, love, I want to stay like this, just the two of us, forever.”
Her curiosity about Ludlow’s secrets was only one of the reasons she had escaped the watchful eyes of her lady’s maid and come to the theatre. I was the other. The knowledge that she belonged to me both repelled and attracted me. If Ludlow ever learned of our affair there would indeed be hell to pay. And if he even suspected that Louise knew of my true nature, he would surely blame me. Never would he believe that she had guessed it herself. Always a clever girl, she had observed my comings and goings, had taken note of my hesitance to walk in daylight, of the coldness of my skin.
I never told her, but I was grateful that she knew. That a woman such as this could know my nature and love me regardless . . . it was more than I had ever hoped.
“Nigel, please,” she whispered, kissing me between words, her hands boldly roaming. “Make me as you are so that we may explore the night together. You need never be alone again.”
Her words were like salve on my wounded soul, that she should be willing to make such a sacrifice out of her desire to be with me. Yet I could not let selfishness sway me. I had tried to impress upon her over and over that my state was far more a curse than a gift. To die, even to rise again, was an end of life, and a beginning of something else, some horrid parody of existence. I took my pleasures where I found them, but I would have traded my cold heart for one warm and beating without hesitation.
“Louise, my little one, I would not inflict such misery upon one I love so dear.”
I saw the disappointment in her eyes . . . and then pain. Her body tensed, thrown against mine, and then I caught a scent in the air, like nutmeg. That was what magick always smelled like to me. I looked down at Louise and saw embers of fear in her eyes as she slipped into unconsciousness. Holding her limp form in my arms, I gazed past her, deeper into the alley, even as Ludlow emerged from the shadows, scowling at me.
“You have shared too much with her, Nigel. You have abused my trust and friendship. Louise was given into my care by her father. I have always feared that this would prove Capernicus’ most terrible mistake. But I always imagined that the dangers she would face would come from my enemies.”
I shook my head. “Ludlow, things are not as they appear. I swear to you. My heart is true. I never told her—“
“Your heart is dead,” he said, his countenance as grave as I had ever seen it. “And I won’t have you swear any oaths to me this night, Mr. Townsend. Such is for gentlemen of honor. If you have any at all, you’ll stand aside now. Even if you were merely an ordinary man, you have shamed me by bringing dishonour to a young lady of my house. But you are not a man. Are you so full of passion, and so empty of reason, that you would invite this girl to share the nightmare of your life, the curse of your Godforsaken thirst? Fool. I won’t allow it.”
I wanted to argue that he was wrong, that I would never have endangered Louise, or tainted her with the curse of my own damnation. But I could not be certain that such a declaration would have been the truth.
“Where will you take her?” I asked.
His eyes flashed with anger. “Far from here.”
Ludlow reached out and lifted her from my arms. There came a familiar chiming sound and the air rippled as he translocated, the two of them disappearing into the darkness, leaving me alone in the alley with the scent of nutmeg.
There was a terrible weight of pain in my chest, the darkest of ironies. My heart was not as dead as both Ludlow and I had believed. I could still grieve.
I returned to London alone, never knowing if Ludlow had canceled his performance in Edinburgh. My rooms were suited to my nature and could be shuttered tightly during the daylight hours. I had learned a spell to protect me from the sun, but used it only sparingly. In the ages since my death I had come to prefer the night, and even with magick to shield me, I was anxious in the light of day.
Bitter hours passed into numbing days. It had become customary for me to spend most nights at the Swift estate and I missed the life there, the bustle of the staff and the laughter of young Henry. Alone in my lodgings I extinguished the hope that Ludlow had given me, and I wondered how many nights I could manage before hunger drove me out into the pubs in search of a woman willing to give herself to me, to bare her legs and her throat.
On the ninth day after my departure from Edinburgh, I woke abruptly, sensing that it was only early afternoon and wondering what had roused me while the sun still shone.
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