by Amy Cross
“You don't get to decide where you belong,” she spits back at me. “Jesus Christ, Dad, which one of us is the teenager in this conversation?”
“That's not fair!”
“She was your sister,” she continues, taking a step back, “and you left her to die. Maybe there was no chance to save her, I don't have a clue, but you should have tried.” She pauses for a moment. “What if had been me, or Michael? What if I was in danger and someone appeared to you in a vision and told you there was no way to save my life? Would you just walk away and leave me to die alone?”
“Of course not!”
She stares at me, as tears roll down her face.
“Maisie, please -”
“I don't believe you,” she stammers breathlessly, clearly on the verge of starting to sob. “I don't think you give a damn about anyone except yourself. And before you argue with me and tell me I'm wrong, maybe you should take a look at yourself in the mirror. Because from where I'm standing, maybe you don't belong in your dead sister's world, but you sure as hell don't belong in this one either. You're just an alcoholic asshole who spends his time coming up with excuses for his behavior.”
With that, she turns and walks away.
“Maisie!” I call after her, but she quickens her pace and starts running. I want to go after her, but I figure I'd only make things worse and, besides, she seems to have made her mind up about me already.
The hardest part is that I think maybe she's right.
Jonathan
“I didn't want to tell her,” Laura replies, standing in the doorway of the home we once shared. “She's been asking a lot of questions lately, that's all. She's growing up and she's not happy anymore just to know a few vague things about where you come from, Jonathan.”
“But you didn't have to tell her about my sister,” I point out.
“Really? Didn't I?” Sighing, she glances back into the house for a moment before turning to me again. “She's a teenager,” she continues. “She's a girl, her hormones are swirling and she's changing so much, but I don't know how much of that is just normal puberty and how much is...” Her voice trails off for a moment. “We never really worked out what we'd do if Maisie or Michael started exhibiting signs of...”
Again her voice fades, but I know exactly what's trouble her.
“I don't think Maisie is becoming a vampire,” I tell her finally.
“Don't say that word.”
“Why not?” I wait for an answer, but I can see that she feels uncomfortable. “I'm pretty sure I'd have sensed it by now if there was some darker side of her soul starting to awaken,” I continue. “Yes, there's a chance one or both of our kids could end up like that, but equally they could not. Right now, Maisie's not angry because she's discovering new powers and strengths in her soul, she's upset because...”
“Because she realized her father's a coward?” Laura asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow. She sighs. “I shouldn't have said that...”
“Can I see her?”
She shakes her head.
“Is she home?”
“Jonathan -”
“Just tell her I'm sorry,” I continue, “and that I want to talk to her. Tell her that when she's ready, I'd really appreciate a chance to set things straight. She should let me tell her the whole story, at least. She owes me that much.”
“She's your daughter,” Laura replies. “She's still so young. She doesn't owe you anything. You, on the other hand, owe her a hell of a lot, but I don't see you making much of an effort. You should be showing her how to live her life, you should be demonstrating how to be a good person.”
I can't help sighing. “Listen -”
“I think you should stay away for a while,” she adds, “and before you argue, hear me out. Some strange woman has been hanging around lately, watching the house, and it's giving me the chills.”
“What kind of woman?” I ask cautiously.
“It's probably nothing to do with you,” she continues, “but just to be on the safe side, I don't want to do anything that risks drawing attention to the kids. I'm sure it's just some lunatic woman who'll lose interest, maybe it's one of Barry's ex-wives or something like that, but please, Jonathan... For the sake of our children, I want you to stay away for a month or two, and use that time to sort your goddamn life out.”
“If I could just talk to her -”
“I'm busy,” she adds, starting to shut the door. “Just please, please keep away for a while. For Maisie and Michael's sakes.”
Once she's closed the door, I turn and look toward the street. I have no idea who might be watching my children, but Laura's right, I can't risk having any attention drawn to them. Hurrying away from the door, I glance around just to make sure that there's no sign of anyone, and then I head along the street. I'm due at work in half an hour, but first I need a drink. Beer at least, or maybe whiskey. Whatever it takes to keep from thinking about that looks on Maisie's face last night, and to stop worrying about my dead sister.
***
“Another overdue book, Mrs. Weaver?” I say with a sigh as I check the computer screen. “This one has been out since 1998. You owe two hundred and eleven dollars, and frankly you're lucky our fines are capped or it'd be even more.”
“Oh dear,” she replies with a frown, opening her purse and taking out a few coins. “I'm not sure I have enough...”
She pauses, and after a moment I realize that she's waiting for me to tell her not to worry, to just cancel the fine the same way I did the last time this happened. Frankly, I'm just about sick of her taking advantage.
“You'll receive a bill in the mail,” I tell her finally.
“But...” She seems genuinely shocked. “When I was here before...”
“That was then,” I reply, “and this is now. It seems you need to be taught a lesson, Mrs. Weaver, so you'll receive a bill in the mail and I strongly suggest that you pay it on time, or you'll be taken to court.”
She opens her mouth to reply, but it's clear that she can barely believe what I'm telling her.
“Now do you have anything else to do here today,” I continue, “or are you just -”
Before I can finish, I spot movement nearby. Turning, I see a figure slipping out of view behind one of the shelves, although I'm pretty sure I was being watched. I pause for a moment, waiting for the figure to step back into view, but I guess maybe I was wrong.
“I don't know if I have two hundred and eleven dollars,” Mrs. Weaver tells me .”With Christmas coming up -”
“Deal with it,” I tell her. “I'm just doing my job. Now if you'll excuse me, I can't stand here talking to you all day. Your bill will be in the mail. I'll post it myself.” With that, I step out from behind the counter and make my way toward the nearest aisle, but of course there's no sign of anyone when I get there. Still, as I hear Mrs. Weaver shuffling out through the main door, I can tell that there's still someone nearby, and it seems that this particular someone is interested in me.
Heading along the aisle, I stop at the next junction and look both ways.
“Hello?” I call out. “Is anyone here?”
“Just me.”
Spinning around, I'm stunned to find Emilia standing right behind me.
“Boo,” she adds.
“What the...” Taking a step back, I feel as if I might be about to faint. “You're dead!”
“Says who?”
“Says...” My mind is racing as I try to understand what the hell is happening here. “You died more than a decade ago! You died with Abby at Karakh!”
“Well,” she replies with a smile, “you know what they say. Everyone should be allowed to fake their death at least once, right? Besides, don't you think I look kinda hot for a dead girl?”
“You're dead!” I say again, more firmly this time. “My mother told me what happened!”
“Your mother?” She rolls her eyes. “Oh dear, this is all getting very Freudian, isn't it? Your mother's dead, I know that much, but as for me?”
She steps toward me, limping heavily, and then she reaches down and lifts the bottom of her skirt to reveal a prosthetic right foot. “What do you think?” she asks. “Cute? Not cute? I can't decide.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“You have very cute kids, by the way,” she adds. “Sorry, I was watching the -”
“What happened?” I ask again, grabbing her arms. “Tell me!”
“They killed Oncephalus,” she replies, her eyes filled with sorrow. “They turned her to dust just by staring at her, and then they started doing the same thing to me. Fortunately, most of them were too busy dealing with Abby by that point, so the process was much slower and I had time to crawl back out of the palace before I lost more than my right leg. By that point, I knew that Abby had been right when she said the whole thing was a trap, and I knew there was no point throwing myself into a battle I'd definitely lose, so I started to crawl away from the palace. I figured I could get help, maybe come up with another plan, something like that.”
“But that was more than a decade ago,” I point out. “What have you been doing since?”
“Crawling, mostly,” she says darkly. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to crawl all the way from Karakh to New York? I only got back a few months ago, and then I had to get a fake foot, track down the Book of Gothos, and then find you so I could leave it at your door. Frankly, I think you should be much, much more impressed with how busy I've been and how much I've managed to get done!”
I stare at her for a moment, still struggling to take everything in and understand what's happening.
“My mother told me you were dead,” I stammer finally.”
“Take it up with her. She sounds like a crazy bitch.”
“What about Abby?” I ask. “Is she still alive too?”
She opens her mouth to reply, but I can see the hint of concern in her eyes. “I honestly don't know,” she says finally. “Whatever the demons wanted with her, they've had more than ten years to get it. Then again, ten years isn't that long for a vampire, so I guess she would have had time to put up a fight. I have no idea what they were planning, but I doubt they went to all that trouble just to kill her.”
“When I was at the Great Library,” I reply, “I met someone who told me about some kind of grail the demons were after. He mentioned a thirteenth demon, whatever that means.”
“I've heard the same thing,” she continues. “There are different stories, different rumors, but the common thread is that right before they died out last time, the demons had this great idea that they thought would save their civilization. If they didn't get a chance to put it into action the first time around, maybe they're giving it a go right now. They're powerful, but they're not the all-conquering force of legend, so I think they're weak. For some reason, they decided they need Abby so they can sort out this grail thing.”
“So she might not be dead,” I stammer, feeling a rush of relief. “There's a chance she's alive out there! My mother might have been wrong!”
“A faint chance,” she replies. “What happened to you back then, anyway? You were supposed to come and find us.”
“I...” Pausing, I realize that she's probably going to hate me if I tell her the truth. At the same time, I can't keep hiding. “I allowed myself to get side-tracked,” I say finally. “My mother's ghost appeared to me on the path to Karakh and persuaded me to turn back. She told me you and the others were all dead, and that there was no point in me following and throwing my life away. She got into my head and...” Pausing again, I realize that every time Sophie spoke to me, my thoughts became clouded.
“And you didn't think to question this claim a little more deeply?” Emilia replies, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Seriously? Ghost Mom pops up out of nowhere and tells you a bunch of stuff, and that doesn't strike you as being a little convenient? Or weird?”
“My mother wouldn't lie to me,” I point out.
“Yeah,” she mutters, “but your mother's dead, and dead people don't make a habit of coming back to interfere like that.”
“She told me she came to help me when I needed her the most.”
She shakes her head. “It doesn't work like that.”
“Then what happened?” I ask. “Why did she appear and get me to abandon Abby?”
“Don't take this the wrong way,” Emilia replies, “but you're an idiot. I don't know what you met on the path to Karakh, but I can tell you one thing. I'm pretty damn sure it was not your mother.”
Jonathan
“The book's in the dresser,” I explain as I lead Emilia into my motel room. “Sorry about the mess.”
“I don't mind the mess,” she replies. “The smell's not great, though. Are you living in complete filth?”
“My wife left me,” I tell her, opening the dresser and taking out the Book of Gothos, along with a small bag of items that I've kept from the old days. “She took the kids, the house, everything. I guess maybe I haven't been dealing with it too well.”
“Rough. When did that happen?”
“Ten years ago.”
“Well that's just pathetic,” she replies, holding up a crumpled old beer can. “Nice to see that you didn't let yourself fall apart.”
“I thought my sister was dead,” I continue, placing the book on the bed before turning to her. “I kept telling myself it wasn't my fault, but deep down I knew I should never have left her at Karakh. The guilt was crippling, but it was only in my subconscious mind. It's as if Sophie, or whatever was pretending to be Sophie, found a way to slip into my head and force me to believe something different. How could I have been so -”
Suddenly I see her.
Standing in the doorway behind Emilia, my mother is staring at me. Or at least, the thing that has been pretending to be my mother. She's watching me with calm detachment, as if she already knows that the game is up, and the parking lot lights are bright enough to shine through her white gown, outlining the silhouette of her body beneath the fabric. Whereas before I was always so certain that she really was my dead mother, something feels very different this time.
“You're looking at me weird,” Emilia says with a frown. After a moment she turns and sees Sophie, and she quickly steps away.
“Emilia,” I say with a hint of anger in my voice, “meet my dead mother.”
“You realize that's not your mother, don't you?” she hisses, backing toward me. “It might look like her, but you're being tricked.”
“Jonathan,” Sophie says, stepping forward, “you have to listen to me. Don't let yourself get tempted back onto the wrong path. You made the right decision all those years ago, and you need to stay focused on your new life. Abby was already dead by the time you turned around and left Karakh.”
“What are you?” I ask, suddenly shocked and ashamed that I could ever have allowed myself to be fooled so easily. “I know you're not Sophie Hart, so don't even bother trying to lie to me.”
I wait for her to reply, but she's simply staring at me with a faint smile.
“I took her from your mind,” she says finally, stepping forward. “You didn't think the kidnapping in New York was just an attempt to bag you up and sell you to the demons, did you? Please, Grimmholm and I are much smarter than that. The first part of our plan was to get close to you and reach into your mind, to understand your fears and dreams. And the second part, the part that really made the demons sit up and listen, was to stop you in your tracks on the path to Karakh, to make sure that Abby went on without you. The demons needed some way to get you out of the picture, and they wanted to avoid direct conflict wherever possible. So we suggested this little plan, and it worked so very well.”
Before I can say anything, her body starts to shimmer slightly, and after a moment I realize that she's changed form. Instead of Sophie Hart, I now find myself facing Sharon, the woman who captured me in New York.
“That dumb bitch Oncephalus really should have bothered to check what misoforms are capable of,” she continues. “Crushing my
head was impolite, but I'm glad to hear she met her end at Karakh. My species are wonderful mimics provided we have information to work with, and the demons paid us a lot of money to interfere with your progress.”
Behind her, Grimmholm steps into view.
“Don't feel too bad, though,” Sharon continues, as her body shimmers again, this time becoming a younger woman wearing glasses and a lab coat. “This plan was laid long, long before you came onto the scene. I also spent quite a long time pretending to be a woman named Katie Chambers, working alongside Abby Hart and getting to know her. I knew she'd feel me reading her mind if I went too deep, so I just took my time and flicked the edges of her consciousness a little more each day. The work was boring, but important. After all, the demons paid us a long time ago to infiltrate Abby's life. I even managed to learn things that were buried in Abby's subconscious mind, things she'd never acknowledged such as...” She smiles. “Well, such as the fact that she'd had a twin in her mother's womb. Now that was some valuable information.”
“Can we just finish this and get out of here?” Grimmholm hisses, nudging her arm. “The job's over, we don't need to gloat!”
“We have to go back to Karakh,” Emilia says, turning to me with panic in her eyes. “We have to see if Abby's still alive!”
“Have fun,” Sharon continues, having reverted to the physical image I met in New York. “It's a long journey, though, even if you can find the way. And just between us, I think ten years has probably been more than enough time for the demons to get whatever they wanted from your sister's mind. She's most likely just a straggly piece of meat now, tossed out a window long ago.”
I step forward, filled with anger, but Emilia grabs my arm.
