Into the Ether

by Vanessa Barger

  Thomason appeared in the doorway, holding something in his hands. His head followed Phillip’s retreat and then he looked at me. The image wavered in my tears. Colonel Worthington approached and said something to him. The automaton studied me for a few moments, put its package on the table near the door, and then left, pulling the door shut behind him.

  “I know it isn’t any comfort right now, but at least he had a chance to get away from this Lord Kreios.” He patted my shoulder and huffed.

  I buried my face in his waistcoat and squeezed. Only later would I question the amount of venom in his words when he said Lord Kreios’ name. I wanted to ask how he knew of him, how he knew any of this, but I couldn’t focus on anything other than Terry’s words. He started to say something else, but I pushed away and rose, swiping at my face with one hand.

  “I need to wander for a while. I’ll be back later.”

  “You will come back?”

  I nodded and headed to the door. I reached for the knob, when my gaze fell on the package Thomason had brought in. Terry’s hat lay crumpled on the table. My fingers curled around the material, and the sobs that had been building in my chest let loose when my fingers came in contact with something cool and wet. I lifted the hat and a small red stain marred the fabric along one edge.

  Colonel Worthington called out something, but I was already heading out into the galleries. Pain warred with anger in a battle that made my chest ache with the effort to both suck in air and withhold my own irrational urge to scream.

  The marble echoed my steps, but it was the only noise. Even the artifacts had gone silent. I rounded a corner, my hands still clutching the hat and the letter to my chest, when I saw Thomason’s eyes in the darkness in front of me. The hole in my chest opened further and something deeper snapped.

  “You metal monster.” I ran, skidding to a stop next to Thomason. He stood, staring blankly at a large Egyptian statue of a pharaoh. At my words, he turned. His head cocked to one side and he studied me.

  “You had his hat. What did you have to do with him? Where is he?” My voice echoed around us. Where silence had reigned before, I could now hear whispers around me like a thousand snakes crawling through the night air. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes and I gritted my teeth.

  I charged. There was no other way to describe it. One moment I stood, clutching the hat and note in my hands, and the next my feet were flying across the floor. My hands opened and the items dropped from my fingers. I swung at Thomason, my puny attempt at damaging him glancing off woolen clothing.

  He didn’t even move. There was no sign that I’d even come closer, other than the brightening of the perpetual, unnerving glow of his face.

  Without thinking, I swung my open palm into the side of his face. Pain flashed up my arm at the contact. My palm connected to him for only a moment, but it might as well have been days. Confusing images rolled through my head. My skin blistered and reddened like fried bacon.

  A shriek bounced off the walls around us, and I realized it came from my lips, but did little to stop it. The thoughts and images streamed through my mind, confusing and frightening. I staggered back, holding my hand and taking shallow breaths through my mouth, even as I struggled to push the scenes from my mind. They made me feel more emotion than I wanted. But Thomason moved closer, and my weak defenses couldn’t stop them.

  His voice, which had been silent to me until now, hissed through my thoughts like a burst of gunpowder. Remember.

  I shook my head, trying to decide which obstacle to face first, the pain throbbing up my arm, or the faces flashing before me. Thomason didn’t leave me the option. In a way I still don’t understand, he thrust the memories at me. The people screamed and smiled and cried through my tired brain, some haunting and familiar, others I shied from, and still others I knew nothing about. They moved so quickly I couldn’t hold on to any one for long. I knew, deep in my gut, that Thomason had shown me pictures of my parents. As the memories began to taper to a stop, I realized I couldn't identify my parents. Fresh tears sprang to my eyes, and the pain that flashed through me drove me to my knees.

  I looked at Thomason, standing so still before me.

  “Why would you show me this? How can you know?”

  Nothing. No response. I shoved all other noise to the side, focusing intently on the automaton. Whispers moved from other objects around me, but I brushed them away. All my attention rested on Thomason.

  No hissing. No noise at all. Listening to him was like getting a taste of being deaf. Either he couldn’t speak and I had imagined it—a conclusion that made the most sense—or he would speak only when he wanted. Anger boiled around and within me. My fingernails bit into the palm of the hand that wasn’t throbbing, and I ground my teeth. If I hadn’t already tasted what would happen when I touched Thomason, I’d have smacked him again. Thomason had known my parents. And he had been involved in my abandonment six years ago.

  My anger had no outlet. Tears streamed down my face. The air around me seemed thick and the walls pressed in on me.

  One scuffed, black boot and the scratched, brass stem of a crutch appeared in my field of vision. I gulped air down, trying to stop the flow of tears.

  “Come on then, Gennie. Let’s get that hand bandaged up.”

  Colonel Worthington’s rough, lined hand reached down and I looked up into his face.

  “Things never happen the way I plan.”

  His smile was kind. “I know. But it makes the rewards that much better later. Trust me.”

  There was little comfort in his words for me now, but I appreciated the attempt. He hissed when my hand came into view. “You don’t do anything by halves, do you?”

  I grimaced and lurched to my feet with his help. “Of course not.”

  Phillip’s heavy treads echoed around us, and he scooped me from my unsteady legs as if I were two.

  Colonel Worthington picked up the hat and crumpled note and held them out to me. I took them, and neither of us mentioned how much my hand shook. I buried my face in Phillip’s shoulder, fighting more tears. I had never felt so lost.

  Chapter Eleven

  “What were you thinking?” Colonel Worthington asked.

  “I wasn’t. I thought that was pretty obvious.” I flinched as he gently prodded my hand.

  Phillip retreated to a far corner, cradling a brandy snifter and watching us.

  Colonel Worthington shook his head. “You’re lucky you didn’t touch him any longer than that. As it is, the burns will heal. You’ll have scars, but you won’t lose any movement of your hands.”

  I winked and grinned. “A good thing, in my line of work.”

  He glared, but it lacked any real heat.

  He chose his next words much more carefully. “What would possess you to try and touch Thomason? You had to have known what would happen.”

  I ignored the rebuke in his words. He hobbled to the doorway in the back that led to the tiny room he slept in. I craned my neck and saw him rummaging through a chest at the end of the neatly made bed.

  I turned away and took a deep breath, stealing myself for a look at my hand. In the firelight, it appeared much worse than it had in the dimness of the museum. The skin was angry and deep red. In some places huge white blisters were forming. Even the tiniest twitch of my fingers sent spears of pain driving up my arm like thin steel skewers. I didn’t want to think about what it would feel like when they swelled and burst. I let my head drop to the back of the chair and sighed. I’d done it this time.

  And it hadn’t answered a single question. Only added to the already existing list.

  Colonel Worthington reentered the room, holding a squat, brown, ceramic pot. Pulling a chair closer, he uncorked it. A noxious smell wafted out and I gagged.

  “You aren’t seriously considering putting that on my hands, are you?”

  “It’ll help.”

  I could feel the hairs in my nose curling at the scent. “I think it might kill my sense of smell.”

/>   He chuckled, but grasped my wrist. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  I didn’t want to relent, but he left no room for movement, and I had no desire to jostle my wound any more than I had already. The pain settled into a dull throbbing ache I could feel in my teeth with each heartbeat.

  His eyes moved to mine. “This is going to hurt, but it’ll hurt more if you flinch. Should Phillip hold your arm, or can you sit still?”

  I looked between the pot and my hand. The phrase “discretion is the better part of valor” began to have more meaning for me. Without looking at him, I sniffed. “You might want to have Phillip help just in case.”

  Colonel Worthington watched me for a moment, nodded once, and took Phillip aside, telling him what he was planning to do, I assumed. I took the opportunity to study the gross concoction he intended to smear on my hand. It looked like someone had scraped the side of a building clean and mixed it with butter. My stomach protested the proximity of the mess, and I put it as far from me as I could without moving.

  I wanted to believe that I would sit, stoic and quiet, while he fixed up my injury, but I knew better. It hurt to twitch a finger, let alone have someone prodding at the flesh. Somehow, I didn’t think sitting still was going to be easy.

  Colonel Worthington returned a few moments later, Phillip in tow. He looked as if he had been back down to his boilers. Sweat beaded on his brow and upper lip, and he looked green around the edges. I’m not sure who was more upset, him or me.

  “I don’t think I’m cut out for this. I could go get Walter,” Phillip said. Colonel Worthington poked a finger into his back. The closer they came, the shinier Phillip’s face became.

  I grunted. “Walter? Really? You already know what I’m going to say to that.”

  His shoulders drooped. “I had to try.”

  He got a closer look at my hand and hissed. “Gennie, why did you hit him, anyway?”

  “Because she lost her temper.” Colonel Worthington interjected from his bedroom. He emerged with strips of white cloth draped over one arm.

  Phillip’s eyes rolled skyward. “Really? I thought you were smarter than that.”

  “Obviously not.”

  The silence made the skin between my shoulder blades twitch. The air felt oppressive and smelled. Phillip moved behind my chair. He leaned forward over me, but didn’t touch me. I looked up at him.

  “I think you’ll be fine, but I’m here just in case.”

  “Shouldn’t you be holding me down before he starts?”

  Phillip smiled. “I’m faster than I look.”

  I didn’t say anything else. Colonel Worthington scooped a wad of the foul paste on two large fingers and grasped my wrist in the other. His touch was soft, but the grip was tight. He waited, watching me. I sucked in a mouthful of air and then jerked my head once.

  His fingers on my broken flesh were like someone clawing my skin. I wanted to scream, but I forced myself to stay silent. Phillip shifted behind me, but other than a stiffening of my spine, I didn’t move.

  The goo had some sort of numbing compound in it, because after a few seconds of painful tingling, the pain receded to a mere throb. Colonel Worthington’s fingers worked fast and with gentleness I hadn’t expected.

  I released the breath I’d been holding and sucked in more air. He didn’t look up as he wrapped the white linen strips around my hand and then tied them off around my wrists. Despite the lessening of the pain, the jostling and movement of my hands streaked up and down my arm as he turned and wove the fabric around.

  He finished and released me and my entire body seemed to lose its starch. I slumped into the chair. Phillip’s large hands patted my shoulders. “Excellently done, Gennie. I’ve seen grown men faint at that kind of treatment.”

  Colonel Worthington corked the bottle with a smirk. “He would know. Last time he burned himself I had a devil of a time getting his limp body to stay in the chair.”

  A weak giggle escaped my lips. Colonel Worthington moved to the sink, washed his hands then put away the jar. I thought I saw him pull out some sort of scented lotion and rub it into his hands, but I couldn’t be sure.

  “Don’t listen to him. I didn’t faint. He’s just saying that to make you feel better.” Phillip tried to sound convincing, but his face had turned a lovely shade of pink.

  I suppressed another giggle. The mirth was short lived, as I looked down in my lap where the worn tweed cap sat, stained and silent. The hole in my chest tore a little larger.

  Colonel Worthington sat back down, propping his crutch against the side of the wing chair. “Now, Genevieve, what are you planning to do?”

  I blinked. “What do you mean?”

  His gaze was sympathetic. “I am assuming you aren’t planning on returning to your band of thieves. If you want it, there’s a place for you here.”

  Butterflies fluttered to life in my stomach. I straightened my shoulders and looked Colonel Worthington in the eye. “I have something to tell you first.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Colonel Worthington steepled his hands and watched me. It unnerved me a little how calm he was. As if he already knew what I planned to tell him. Phillip took a chair next to the fireplace and straddled it. Even he looked like he expected something. My heart sank a little further. Phillip had known, and he’d been a friend. It didn’t say much for my character.

  “I owe you both an apology.” My head dipped in Phillip’s direction, “My goal when I came here was to scope the place out and steal something. I didn’t have a choice. Powerful people made a deal with Justin.”

  I didn’t wait to see what they were thinking. I kept my eyes fixed on a crack in the wall over the doorway. “I was supposed to check out the museum and see what I could find and then spend a few days trying to pinpoint the location of the object. Then I was supposed to steal it and return to Justin. They shouldn’t have chosen me. Everyone knows I have no heart for thieving. But Spiros said I would be able to find the object. Only I would be able to tell if it was the right object.”

  “How?” Colonel Worthington’s voice cut in, sharp and harsh.

  I flinched. “He said I’d just know. Didn’t give any other information than that.”

  “What was the thing you were supposed to find?” Colonel Worthington asked.

  I risked a glance at him. His bushy brows were drawn into a frown over his eyes, and he watched me carefully. Phillip just looked disappointed. That hurt far worse than the scorn the curator oozed.

  “A box. No one said what was in it. Just that it was a box: not too big, made of metal. Possibly with a key.”

  He nodded once. “Why tell me this now?”

  My shoulders fell. “I needed to tell you. Because you’ve been kind to me for no reason at all, and the only other person that has done that is Terry, and,” my voice cracked and I blinked away fresh tears. “We all see where that got him. I figured if I told you, you could protect yourselves.”

  “Are you still planning to steal the box?”

  Anger mixed with the shame and sadness I felt, making me shake. My fingers clutched the hat to my chest. “No. They betrayed me. Worse, they hurt someone who didn’t have anything to do with this other than his friendship with me.”

  “Why protect us now? Why should I believe you?” Colonel Worthington asked, his words cutting deep.

  I didn’t want to look at him, but I forced myself to raise my head.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t trust me. But you’ve been kind to me and I like you. And I love this place. It never mattered to the artifacts or to either of you that I can’t remember where I came from or that I’ve lived in a sewer for the last six years. And if I can protect you where I couldn’t protect Terry, then I have to try.”

  Phillip’s voice was hard to read. “Why do you speak about it as if Terry is dead?”

  I held the hat out in my free hand. “There’s blood on this! He was running away from them when he came to you, and then this appears. What other conclusion is
there?”

  Phillip didn’t say anything else. My eyes burned, but I’d cried enough tears. Anger was a warmer, stronger emotion. I didn’t want to feel any weaker than I already did whenever I looked at the blood on Terry’s hat.

  I looked at Colonel Worthington. “I understand if you’d like me to leave. I don’t have much, so it won’t take long to get it all together.”

  I pushed myself up out of the chair, cradling my injured hand against my stomach.

  “I didn’t say that, did I?”

  I stopped, the wind dashed from my sails. “What?”

  “My dear, Genevieve, I’ve known you were sent here to steal something for quite awhile. I even know who Spiros is and who employs him. I’m quite impressed you and your friend have managed to stand up to them for this long.”

  I sank back into my seat, staring at the curator. My mouth opened and closed, but there were no words that seemed appropriate. “How?”

  He sat back in the chair. “I’ve been in the employ of the empire long enough to have my own contacts and methods. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  I wiped at the tears that snuck from the corners of my eyes. “Why would you keep me here if you knew?”

  He spread his hands wide. “What better way to keep watch on you than to keep you close? From a distance, I’d have had to patrol the building myself every night.” He glanced down at his leg. “And I’m too old for that nonsense.”

  Phillip watched me, his thoughts hidden from my view. Colonel Worthington leaned forward, intent on my face. “The question, my dear, is what you intend to do now. Are you going to retreat to the streets somewhere or are you going to accept the offer I’m giving you, and stay here with us to continue working in the museum?”

  Not what I had expected. The heaviness in my heart eased a little at the offer. They didn’t intend on turning me out onto the streets. He gave me a choice and would let me stay here. I knew the best answer. The one safest for them would be to leave. But where would I go? There was nowhere left on the streets that Spiros or Justin wouldn’t find me. Within five minutes of leaving, Justin would have received word of my whereabouts. I knew it, and I suspected Colonel Worthington did as well.