Dante closed the office door behind him. The room was large, replete with a couple of sofas, a couple of armchairs, and an intricately carved wooden desk that was several miles past ostentatious. He laid Ciye on a sofa and the large coyote shimmered, resolving into the familiar form of his former love.
“Thank you,” Ciye said with sadness in his eyes.
“Toto?” Dante asked, smiling.
Ciye smiled. “Hototo, actually. She misheard the first time my daughter told her. Shadow found it so funny, she adopted it.”
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Dante asked.
Ciye drew in a long breath, but winced.
“Here, let me see.” Dante knelt down and moved to lift Ciye’s shirt.
Ciye caught his hand. “I’ll be fine, it’s nothing serious. I’ve taken worse from Badger many times.”
Dante looked into his dark eyes. “You always excelled at finding trouble.”
“No, old friend, trouble never leaves my side.” Ciye’s smile faded a little. “And it seems I passed that on to my daughter.”
Dante took Ciye’s hand in his and kissed it. “Tell me.”
“The shadows aren’t the snatchers everyone is speaking of,” Ciye began. “Wraith is carrying a dark power inside her, and it feeds on fear and anger. Those shadows are her fears come to life.”
“She’s conjuring them?” Dante asked.
Ciye nodded. “And fighting them as well,” he said. “The survivors of the dark magi, they’re the ones who collect our children, the spirit children and the changelings. They torture and kill them. But before their tortured souls can find peace, the dark ones bind them to mortal children.”
“But why?” Dante asked.
“To give them more power,” Ciye said. “They give the children power, then turn them loose so the other mortals will see and remember the past they’ve chosen to forget.” Ciye swallowed. “They took my daughter and her friends, along with Wraith. She was powerful even before they got to her.”
Dante just listened.
“I don’t know how many they tied to her,” he said. “Hundreds at least, the last of which were my daughter and her friends.” He looked at Dante, fear in his eyes. “They wanted to make her into a Taleth-Sidhe, or perhaps force another to emerge, I’m not sure. She escaped, and chose to lock away her power.” He shook his head. “But like the ocean against cliffs, it wears away at the cage. I would’ve told you sooner, but I couldn’t leave that child alone. I was only able to come to you that first time when she and I were separated. I was trying to find her, and as soon as I did, I had to leave.”
Dante stroked Ciye’s dark hair. “I understand.”
“I did everything I could to help that girl,” Ciye said. “What I thought Shadow would want. I couldn’t save my daughter, and it seems I couldn’t save her friend either.”
“She’s not lost yet,” Dante said.
Ciye gripped Dante’s hand tight as he looked into his eyes. “I can’t finish this, but I can’t ask—”
“You don’t have to,” Dante said. “You rest, sleep, heal. I’ll find peace for your child, and maybe some for that lost girl.”
“Thank you,” Ciye said, tears welling in his eyes.
Dante bent down and kissed Ciye’s forehead. When he lifted his lips, Ciye was sleeping.
Quietly, Dante stepped out of the office and closed the door.
“Got a second?” Elaine asked from behind him.
Dante turned. “Just.”
Elaine nodded to a group of kids in the far corner. “That’s Charge, the girls with him are Mouse and Slink. They’re the ones that rat saw that night.”
“So they did escape?” Dante asked.
Elaine nodded. “They said these four kids showed up and teleported them to a squat somewhere in Kansas, they think.”
“That’s an interesting coincidence,” Dante said.
“Yeah, and other kids are telling similar stories,” Elaine said. “But the really strange part is, when they opened the door to leave their respective safe houses, they didn’t step outside. They stepped into this club.”
Dante narrowed his eyes. “Just like Wraith.”
“Who?”
“Later,” Dante said. “Are they all okay?”
“Well enough,” Elaine said.
“Good,” Dante said. “If you need anything just ask.”
Elaine nodded, then turned and went back to the kids.
Dante headed downstairs and found a marshal.
“I want a sentry on the office upstairs. No one goes in without my leave,” Dante said.
“Yes, Regent,” the marshal said, then called another over and the two went upstairs.
Faolan walked over. “Learn anything useful?”
Dante nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“How bad is it?”
Dante told him.
Faolan’s face twisted in a blend of rage and disgust, his hands clenched into fists. “I think it’s time we had a talk with that FBI agent.”
Dante ground his teeth. “Oh yes, let’s talk.”
Dante examined the circle, checking for any flaws. He trusted Edward, but there was no harm in being safe, especially now. The circle was almost perfectly spherical, as was the inner circle. Each symbol between the two was precise and clear. When he was certain it was adequate, he stood and looked at Faolan.
“When I break the slumber,” Dante said. “You close the circle.”
Faolan nodded.
Dante stepped over the circle and Faolan knelt down, his fingers resting just above the outer edge of it. Focusing, Dante unwove the slumber, letting the charm evaporate. Just before stepping out of the circle, he slapped the agent across the face.
The moment he stepped out, Faolan closed it.
The woman blinked and slowly lifted her head. It took a moment for her to realize she was bound to a chair. When she did, her eyes opened wide and she began struggling.
“There’s no point,” Dante said. “Those cords were made for holding things much stronger and more powerful than you.”
The woman looked at him with hate in her eyes. She tried to tip her chair back, but found it secured to the floor.
“We thought of that too,” Dante said.
“Dominum invocant te tenebras,” the woman said.
The circle flared bright with blue light and she cried out in pain.
Dante looked at Faolan.
“I used a silence charm,” he said. “So we’re good.”
When the woman recovered, she examined the circle, then looked up again. “Tu ausus ad me?”
Dante rolled his eyes. “Yes, we’re all impressed you speak fluent Latin.”
The woman snarled. “What have you done with the Taleth—”
“She is not a Taleth-Sidhe!” Dante roared. “She is a child you tormented and twisted!”
The woman smiled. “She was a child, but now she is the dark light that will cast away the false shadows.”
“Where are your compatriots?” Dante asked.
The woman spit at him, but it hit an invisible wall and hung in midair. “You think you can defeat us? Kill me, kill a dozen others, or a hundred, it doesn’t matter.” She leaned forward. “We are countless.”
“If you were so many,” Dante said, “you wouldn’t have to resort to petty intrigues. I was there. I fought alongside the true Taleth-Sidhe when he killed your leaders. Even your master’s power couldn’t stop him.” Dante leaned in close, though still conscious of the circle. “You and the rabble that remain are nothing. You will fall much easier this time.”
The woman started laughing. “The all-knowing fae; how you love to dabble in the affairs of mortals.”
Dante felt a chill run down his spine.
“T
he Theurgic Order was born from the ashes of that eons-long war,” she said. “We are everywhere, faerie. Even a magister of your own court chose to serve at our side rather than lay in our wake.”
“Donovan?” Dante whispered.
“When faced with our power, our mission, all will fall,” she said. “Either they will fall before us, or in line with us. With every whisper, every mention of our master’s name, we grow in strength!”
Dante looked at Faolan. “She’s right.”
“You’ll have nothing more from me, elf, so you may as well kill—”
Her words were cut off by a single gunshot. It echoed in the small room, but the silence charm dampened it significantly.
Faolan lowered the gun.
Dante sighed. “That was a good silence charm.”
“I did it myself,” Faolan said.
“You know I normally deplore executions—”
“Good thing I’m the one who shot her, then,” Faolan said, then looked down. “Oh, and this is her own weapon.”
“We’ll need to make sure she’s found,” Dante said. “She might’ve been a dark magi sleeper, but she was also an agent. The FBI doesn’t know what happened, and they’ll want to find out. They won’t stop looking for her.”
“When night falls,” Faolan said, “I’ll take care of it.”
Dante glanced at the body slumped in the chair and gritted his teeth. He reached into his pocket and drew out a small stone engraved with a single symbol, over which was a smear of dried blood.
He handed the stone to Faolan. “Bring Donovan to me, alive.”
“You don’t really believe he had a hand in this, do you?” Faolan asked, accepting the stone. “He was Dawn Court!”
“Have you ever read Nietzsche?”
“That’s a little, well, dreary for me,” Faolan said.
Dante nodded. “For the most part, but in Beyond Good and Evil there’s an aphorism. Mortals never seem to remember the whole thing: ‘Whoever fights with monsters should see to it that he does not become a monster in the process. And when you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.’ ”
Faolan nodded. “I know that one.”
“Well, it seems some of us are more diligent in our fight against monsters.” Dante glanced at the body in the chair. “We need to remind ourselves how easy it is to let that diligence slip. Damnation is a journey of a million small steps.”
Faolan looked from the body to Dante. “You’re right, but I took no joy in it.”
Dante’s smile faltered. “Really? I did, a little.”
“That it bothers you should be reassuring.”
Dante sighed. “Bring Donovan in. I want to know what’s going on. If he had any part in this—”
“Justice, not vengeance,” Faolan said.
“Sometimes they can be hard to differentiate,” Dante said.
“No,” Faolan said. “Sometimes they just walk the same path.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Wraith heard the door close. She lowered the goggles and looked around, making sure she was alone. The room was empty except for cases of liquor and beer. It was a dark and dusty room, maybe twenty feet square in total. There was the cold, clammy chill that seemed to fill all underground spaces. Satisfied it was just her, some spiders, and rats, she sat on the cold floor cross-legged. Slowly, almost reverently, she removed first the goggles, then the glove, and set them down beside her. The silence was heavy, and it hadn’t occurred to her before this moment just how long it’d been since she knew silence so complete. She pulled her bag off and removed the drill, trying to pretend her hands weren’t shaking.
“I’m already on the tracks,” she said softly. “All I’m doing is turning to see the train.”
Her fingers found the dial in the dim light and turned it until it would turn no more.
She held out her right hand, palm up. It was still trembling.
“Just get on with it, already,” she told herself.
Hesitantly, she set the drill on her palm.
There was a sudden whirring sound, the drill clamped tight, and she felt the spinning needle bite into her hand. No, it was more than just her hand. Blinding pain surged through her and everything went, blessedly, black.
Wraith opened her eyes.
The whole world was swirling gray mist, like a black-and-white painting that had once been a picture, but someone had smeared. Only the ghosts of details remained and the harder she looked, the more obscure they became. She looked down and could see her feet, but the ground beneath them was the same smeared gray.
Choosing a direction at random, she began walking. After a dozen steps of nothing changing, she gasped.
A massive cathedral appeared out of nowhere. The stained glass windows were smashed, and the stone walls were crumbling. It looked like something left behind after a carpet bombing. It was a disquieting sight, all the more so for its familiarity.
She walked around it, which took much longer than she would’ve thought. There was no sense of time, but it felt like it took days. When she finally reached the front, there was an archway that should’ve been an entrance. Instead of doors, however, there was a wall of mortared stone. She touched the barrier and found it to be made of the same stone as the church itself, but the mortar was of a different shade. This was done recently.
Wraith turned and looked around, keenly aware someone was watching her, and she knew just who it was.
“Nightstick,” she yelled. “Open the door.”
Silence.
She pushed on the makeshift wall, but it wouldn’t give. She tried wiggling stones free, but they all were held tight. She even tried breaking off the mortar, but it didn’t give.
“You want to play it this way?” she asked. “Fine with me.” She took a few steps back and lifted her right hand, aiming her fingers and drawing in power.
Nothing happened.
She looked around, realizing for the first time that no numbers or symbols hung in the air. Anger flared and she began punching and kicking the stones, but they didn’t budge. As she ran her fingers through her hair, she spotted her wrist and blinked. She pushed the sleeves of her jacket up to her elbows and stared in shock. Her tattoos were gone!
She drew in a slow breath and began thinking. “This is my head, right? I’m supposed to be the one who makes the rules—” Realization hit her like a runaway truck.
“I did, didn’t I? I made this place.” She turned and looked around. “And I meant to keep myself out.”
No one answered, but no one had to. She knew she was right. She’d always assumed it was the snatchers who’d done this to her, but was she wrong? Had this all been her doing? The memory loss, the confusion, the hallucinations, all of it something she did to herself? Why?
“I told you, kid,” Nightstick said from the other side of the wall. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to.”
Wraith shook her head. No, there was no way she’d wanted this outcome: to be stumbling around in the dark, lost and filled with doubt. Whatever the answer was, she had to know.
Slowly, she drew in a breath and stepped up to the door.
“Let me in,” she said, her tone calm and even.
“Not by the hair of my chiny-chin-chin,” Nightstick said.
Wraith lifted her right hand and looked at the palm. Without the formulations on it she’d grown used to, it didn’t look like hers. She placed her palm against the stones and closed her eyes. She focused, and one by one all her fears and apprehension melted away.
“Let me in,” she whispered. “Or I’ll huff and I’ll puff.”
There was a cracking sound and, when she opened her eyes, stones fell away, dissolving into a gray haze when they hit the ground. In the archway now were two massive wooden doors, each open and barely h
anging by a single hinge.
She remembered the place, but it was different now. There were no shadows, no oppressive sense to it. She walked slowly down the aisle, stepping over splintered pieces of the pews. Sitting at the far end was Nightstick. He was slumped, back against the altar, smoking.
“Who are you?” she asked.
He didn’t look at her, he just took another drag and blew out smoke. “I failed you, kid.”
“You failed me? So I made you too,” she said, more to herself than to him.
Nightstick didn’t look up.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“Turn on the lights,” he said. “It’s your place, after all.”
Wraith was about to ask how when thousands upon thousands of candles lit all at once. The light wasn’t bright, but it was complete, lighting every corner. Her mouth fell open as she turned slowly. Books, millions of them, lined every wall. Most sat in plain wooden bookcases that reached the vaulted ceiling. Some of the shelves had collapsed, or been destroyed, and their books lay haphazard on the floor. Other books were stacked on the marble tiles.
“It was so beautiful here,” Nightstick said. “Before the storm came, it was truly beautiful. You did a fine job.”
“What storm—?” Wraith turned to him and gasped when she saw his face, no longer hidden by darkness. He was older than she’d imagined; his face lined from years of smiling and frowning too much. The small patch of hair under his lip was gray; and his brown hair, the same plain shade as her own, was sprinkled with white. His eyes were lined, but inside they sparkled and shined, vivid and intense and the color of melted chocolate. He looked so familiar, but—
He smiled. “You had so much light in you, so much joy.” His smile faded and he shook his head. “You asked me to keep it safe, to lock the darkness away.” He looked up at her. “You trusted me, and look what happened.”
He stood and walked through the piled, broken pews to one book-covered wall. Wraith followed silently.
“You found some peace, or a piece of peace perhaps,” he said and scratched his head, which pushed his hat back. “For a while anyway, but the darkness was too much. It started at the edges, subtle and small.” He gestured around the church, then at himself. “But it wasn’t long before it did this, and broke me.”
The Forgotten Page 22
