Undertow

by Jordan L. Hawk

  Oliver leaned forward, intent on me. “So now you know the truth. These creatures have your father’s blood on their hands. And you understand why, for the good of humanity, we must wipe their filthy kind from our globe.”

  Chapter 8

  I sat very still, painfully aware of my heartbeat. I’d always believed Papa a victim of the sea—of chance. A rogue wave, or a storm, or a crushing floe of ice drifting down from the pole had wrecked the Bedlam. There was no one to blame beyond providence or ill fortune.

  But that hadn’t been the case at all. He’d died in terror, probably in pain, not at the hand of blind chance but at that of the ketoi. By creatures that looked like Persephone.

  I heard again the crack of the bullet, saw the bright splash of Persephone’s blood on the sidewalk.

  “I understand this is a shock to you,” Oliver said, and his voice surprised me with its gentleness. “It was to me as well. At first, I wondered if it could even be true. Or if Father’s diary merely chronicled his own descent into madness.” He swallowed thickly. “I regret ever doubting him, but at the time I had to be sure. So I left New Bedford and sought the truth. It took some time, but I did find it in the end. I came across men and women who knew things beyond the normal realms of human existence. Who showed me how to call upon a power most don’t imagine even exists.”

  He spoke a word I’d heard from Persephone’s lips, and the candle on the table burst into flame.

  “Our sorcerous friend,” Joanna had said last night. She’d referred to Oliver.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Oliver said, putting his hand on mine once again. “Magic is real, but I’ve vowed only to use it for the good of all humanity. I’m with an…an organization, one might say, that includes Mr. and Miss Ayers. We’re fighting to save our very species.” His fingers tightened around my wrist. “And you do see the ketoi are monsters, don’t you? Whatever you might have thought before?”

  I took a deep, trembling breath. I could remember my first reaction to seeing the ketoi, all too well. The night of the Hallowe’en tours, when they’d swarmed through the open doors of the museum, bringing with them the scent of the sea.

  I’d been utterly terrified. Nothing I’d experienced in Widdershins had begun to prepare me for the sight of such inhuman things. They’d been menacing, terrible, intent on taking us hostage. Probably on killing us. I’d clung to Dr. Gerritson’s arm, certain we were all going to die.

  Then the doors burst open, and Dr. Whyborne walked in, Persephone at his side. They’d saved us. Persephone had cut off the head of the old chieftess, held it up by its tentacle hair, and ordered the ketoi to leave. It had been bloody and barbaric, and I should have run screaming when I saw her next in the house where Dr. Whyborne rented a room from Mr. Flaherty.

  But I didn’t.

  “Oliver,” I said raggedly, “I know they’re frightening. I do. But please, listen to me. Papa made a terrible, tragic mistake. The ketoi of the Bering Sea compounded it, punishing everyone aboard the ship. But these ketoi had nothing to do with it. They don’t deserve to die because some ketoi on the other side of the world lashed out in revenge. You’re punishing innocents for a crime they didn’t commit.”

  “Innocents?” He laughed raggedly. “My dear, sweet, naïve Maggie. I’ve spent years searching for every report of mysteriously vanished ships. I know about the derelicts found off the coast here a mere two years ago. These creatures are just as murderous, just as guilty, as their kin.”

  I pressed my lips together. How could I convince him, when I didn’t have all the facts myself? I knew the old chieftess and Stanford Whyborne had banded together, seeking to rule the land and the sea. But as for the rest of it, Dr. Whyborne didn’t confide such things in me. No one did.

  I was only a secretary, after all.

  But I did know Dr. Whyborne wasn’t evil or cruel, no matter what blood ran in his veins. I knew that Persephone had saved my life, that she cared about me. That she would never hurt anyone who didn’t threaten her first. I knew Irene loved small animals, that she laughed at herself as much as anyone else, that she had been my friend even if she hadn’t told me why she’d moved into the boarding house with me.

  “Pirates did much the same—do much the same,” I said. “Should all of humanity be wiped out for their crimes?”

  Oliver sat back, pulling his hand away. “You can’t truly be that ignorant. Don’t you understand? The ketoi aren’t human. Our nature might vary, but theirs does not. They’re like a mass of schooling fish, without individuality. That’s why the bone mask works on them. And that’s how we destroy them.”

  Fear made my mouth dry. “Persephone said you killed a god.”

  The cold edge to his smile chilled me. “We did. A madhouse doctor—from this very town, in fact—uncovered an ancient spell to summon them. We were able to adapt his work, using the bodies and life energy of the god’s own subjects to fuel the magic. Until at last it rose. Men died, a fleet of ships gone to the bottom. Their sacrifice hidden, lied about, so it will never appear in a newspaper, and no one will ever know the truth of their heroism. But it was all worth it, because now wiping the ketoi out will be so much easier.”

  “No,” I whispered. “No, Oliver, please.”

  “You still try to defend them?” His hand shot out, catching me by the chin. I yelped, and he shoved me back against the couch. Pain flared through my skull again, his fingers tight enough to leave bruises. “Even after all I’ve told you? Have you no loyalty to your father, that you would side with the very animals that killed him? How could you betray his memory like this?”

  “Oliver, please, you’re hurting me!”

  “Perhaps I ought to. You are either with us or against us,” he said in a low, ugly voice. “I thought you were still the girl I knew in New Bedford. But you aren’t, are you? You’re corrupted.”

  My breath refused to come. My head ached, and my muscles felt locked into place. If I fought him now, was there any hope of escape? He was a sorcerer. He’d kill me.

  He might have killed Persephone.

  I let my fear show, whimpering as I said, “No, I’m not, I’m just confused. This is all so much.”

  It was difficult to speak, with his hand clamped to my jaw. For a long moment, he merely stared down at me, as though asking himself whether or not he believed my pathetic protest.

  There came a knock on the door. “Mr. Young?” called a muffled voice. “The ship is ready.”

  Oliver released me and stepped back. “I’ll be right there,” he called. Then he turned back to me. “I have matters to attend to. I’ll take revenge for us both, whether you wish it or not. Until then, I think you should remain here. Consider everything I’ve told you.”

  He left, and I heard the key turn in the lock once again. A part of me wanted nothing better than to slump down on the couch and weep. I wasn’t even certain whom my tears burned for: Papa, or Persephone, or all of us together.

  All of my memories of Papa seemed to come rushing back. His strong voice, singing of mermaids and shipwrecks. The warm glow of his pipe as he drew on it. Lifting me up when I was little, tossing me in the air and laughing.

  Why hadn’t he listened to Martinez? Why hadn’t he taken the lesson of the ballads and returned the “mermaid” to the sea? Mr. Young’s diary had spoken of greed, of dreams of fame and fortune beyond what an ordinary whaler might hope for.

  “Why, Papa?” I whispered. “Why couldn’t you have just let her go?”

  The tears broke free, spilling down my cheeks. Oliver had accused me of betrayal, but I couldn’t help but feel they’d betrayed me: Papa by killing the ketoi and setting events in motion, Oliver by shooting Persephone…

  Oh God, Persephone. Why hadn’t I just taken the initiative once in my life and told her how I felt? That I’d fallen in love with her.

  And maybe she would have laughed, but at least I wouldn’t be sitting here with regret like a stone in my chest, crushing the breath out of me.

&nb
sp; I dashed the tears impatiently away. Now wasn’t the time to crumble. If the worst had happened, if Persephone hadn’t made it, then the ketoi would have no idea of the plot against them. Which meant I had to get out of here and find help.

  I forced myself to my feet and crossed the room. Pressing my ear to the door, I listened intently for any sound of voices or movement.

  Nothing. The other man had mentioned a ship. And Oliver meant to destroy the ketoi.

  Whatever they were going to do, it would happen tonight. Ayers had said as much last night. Depending on how long I’d been kept here, there might not be much time left.

  I gathered up the rags of my courage and pulled a pin from my hair. Crouching down on the floor, I set myself to picking the lock.

  ~ * ~

  I made my way to the Ladysmith, because I didn’t know what else to do.

  Twilight had swept its purple cloak over Widdershins by the time I let myself out the side door of the Undertow, shaking with fear of discovery. If any guard had been left behind, though, I hadn’t encountered him. Clearly Oliver believed me contained.

  I briefly considered returning to the boardinghouse for a change of clothing. But I wasn’t certain Mrs. Yagoda would let me in. Vanishing for a night without explanation wasn’t the sort of behavior she expected from young ladies, and there was a good chance I’d find all of my possessions either sold off or thrown out. Either way, I didn’t have time to argue with her.

  Had Dr. Whyborne not left town with his friend, I would have gone straight to Mr. Flaherty. He would have known what to do. But if that had been the case, I wouldn’t be in this situation to start with—they would have been with Persephone last night, not me.

  Persephone wouldn’t have been hurt. She wouldn’t possibly be dead.

  Curse Oliver for taking my summoning stone. I might go to the shore, but I had no way of calling the ketoi to me without it.

  As it was, Mr. Quinn was the only ally I could count on now. I’d go to him, and together we’d find some way to warn the ketoi, which hopefully didn’t include the blood of any junior librarians. Find Persephone…

  A sob threatened to choke me. I tried so hard to lock away the memory of her blood, her still form, but it kept intruding no matter what I did.

  An empty space opened in my heart such as I’d never known. It wasn’t right; it wasn’t fair, that someone like her—beautiful and sweet and strong—should be taken out of the world. I loved the way she laughed, the way she tugged on my hair with hers, the way she grinned when she made sly comments about my manner of dress.

  I lacked the funds for a cab, and unfortunately my disreputable appearance—dress torn at the knees, hair in complete disarray—meant the omnibus conductor took one look and ordered me off. As a result, I had no choice but to walk the entire distance to the Ladysmith. I could only hope not to encounter Dr. Hart once I reached the staff areas. If he saw me like this, I’d be fired on the spot.

  Fortunately, I made my way through the staff area without encountering anyone save a night guard, beginning his first rounds of the evening. He looked at me in surprise, but I only shook my head to indicate I didn’t require his assistance. He was a Widdershins native, so after a long moment of hesitation, he turned away and pretended not to have noticed anything amiss.

  The lights in the library still blazed when I entered, but the front desk was deserted. “Mr. Quinn?” I called. “Mr. Quinn, are you here?”

  A librarian emerged from the stacks, a forbidding frown on his face. “The library is closed for the evening, Miss Parkhurst.”

  “I know, but please—is Mr. Quinn here?” If he wasn’t, I didn’t know what I’d do.

  “The library is closed,” he repeated.

  My temper snapped. “I heard you the first time. Where is Mr. Quinn? I must speak with him on a matter of urgency.” I narrowed my eyes and stiffened my spine. “I promise, if you thwart me, I’ll make certain both he and Dr. Whyborne know about it. I can’t say for certain what they would do…”

  He paled sharply at the implied threat. “One moment. I’ll fetch Mr. Quinn right away.”

  Thankfully for my nerves, it was only a few minutes before Mr. Quinn himself appeared. His pale eyes focused on me, and as I opened my mouth to explain my presence, he said, “You seem unharmed. Excellent. Widdershins has been greatly distressed about your safety.”

  For the first time in hours, I felt the stirrings of hope. “She’s here? Persephone?”

  “Yes.” A smile crawled across Mr. Quinn’s thin lips. “She came to the library. To me. Because I have proved my loyalty.”

  “Er…yes.” I bit my lip. “And she’s…all right?”

  “Wounded, but we have cared for her. And she says her people are more resilient than humans.” He cocked his head. “Come. She’ll be most pleased to see you.”

  I half wanted to collapse with relief. Instead, I followed him back through the library. The place was a labyrinth—literally, thanks to the mad architect who had designed the museum. As if hearing my thoughts, Mr. Quinn said, “This seemed the safest place to hide her. No one else knows all the twists of the labyrinth. Not even Dr. Whyborne.” Another smile flitted over his mouth. “Only me. When I was first hired, I walked its halls day in and day out. When I could navigate it blindfolded, I finally knew I belonged.”

  “That’s…a good skill to have,” I said, though I couldn’t imagine any practical use for it.

  “I could hide anything back here,” he added, “and no one would ever find out.”

  “But you, um, haven’t? Have you?” I asked. “Other than Persephone, I mean?”

  “Not as far as anyone knows,” he replied. “Ah. Here we are.”

  One of the curtains used to block off exhibits under construction or repair stood in front of an alcove, a sign reading KEEP OUT pinned neatly to it. Mr. Quinn gestured and gave a small bow. “Summon me when you’re ready. I’ll remain nearby.”

  I lifted the edge of the curtain and ducked beneath. The alcove contained a table and two chairs. A thick nest of overcoats, probably those of the library staff, formed a bed atop the table.

  Persephone lay there, a long, black coat thrown over her like a blanket. It was impossible to judge her color, though I thought perhaps the darker swirls were lighter than usual against the pearlescent white.

  At my entrance, she pushed herself up on her elbows, blinking groggily. “Maggie?” A grin split her face, revealing those terrible teeth. “You escaped!”

  A mixture of relief and tenderness rushed over me, and I hurried to her side. “Don’t move. You’ll hurt yourself.”

  She ignored my advice, pushing herself into something of a sitting position. The coat slipped down, pooling in her lap and revealing a swath of bandages around her middle. “Are you all right?” she asked. “I was worried about you. Mr. Quinn said the librarians would go to the theater tonight to save you, but I feared they’d be too late.”

  “I’m all right.” I sat on the edge of the table beside her. “Oliver—the man who shot you—didn’t want me dead. He wanted me to join him.” I told her everything I had learned—about the Bedlam, about Papa’s death and Oliver’s plans for revenge. My voice trembled in places, but I continued on until the end.

  Persephone had stilled while I spoke. Even her tentacle hair rested on her shoulders, unmoving. She gazed at the small lantern Mr. Quinn had placed in the alcove for light, but not as if she truly saw it.

  “I’m sorry, Maggie,” she said at last.

  “Why? You have nothing to apologize for.”

  “No. But I regret…” she trailed off and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve been foolish. I already knew how my kind seems to you land dwellers.”

  Feeling as though I stood balanced on the edge of a precipice, I reached out and caught her chin in my fingers. She let me lift her head, until I could see her features. The sleek bones of her inhuman face, the delicate points of her ears, the dark swirls of color like war paint. “You a
sked me a question, before.” My voice shook, and I took a steadying breath. “Here is your answer.”

  I kissed her.

  Chapter 9

  For a moment, she didn’t respond, and I thought I’d made a mistake. But Persephone wasn’t me, wasn’t fearful and cautious and paralyzed.

  She kissed me back.

  My heart felt as though it meant to beat free of my chest altogether. The kiss was slow, careful thanks to her rows of shark teeth, but somehow that made it all the more delicious. She tasted of salt and the sea. When her fingers found my hair, sinking into the half-pinned locks, I moaned against her mouth.

  I longed to climb onto the makeshift bed with her. But we were in the middle of the library, with only a flimsy curtain between us and anyone who chanced by. So I pulled back reluctantly. My breath came short and fast, and so did hers.

  A grin curved her mouth. “Pretty cuttlefish,” she said, twining my hair around her fingers.

  My cheeks grew warm, and I glanced away in embarrassment. “I’m not pretty.”

  “I say you are.” Her hand withdrew, and when I looked at her again, a slight frown curved her mouth. “I thought you didn’t…how do you land people say it? Like me? Not as friends, but as more. This.”

  I blinked in shock. “Of course I do! You’re—you’re amazing.” I gestured at her vaguely. “You’re beautiful and strong and funny.”

  “But you didn’t like the squid,” she said, as though making an argument.

  “The squid? What…oh.” Realization dawned. “You’re the one who left the squid on my windowsill?”

  “How else was I to court you?” She must have read my shock in the expression on my face, because her brows drew together. “This isn’t a human custom?”

  “Not…not quite.”

  She shook her head in frustration. “I should have asked Mother. Or my brother.”