“Meanwhile, we made a makeshift telescope to see what the Felixatus lens might show. De Witt was the first to look through it. The only one, actually. He turned as grey as iron, and then he smashed the telescope to pieces with his bare hands.
“It took Helena awhile to coax out of him what he’d seen. Another world, he said. The stars were all wrong. There were things inside the lens. Living things, specks of light that must be tiny demons. It followed that Rufus and I had brought him something devilish, and that perhaps we too were demons or witches of some kind.”
Mist rubbed his eyes. The memory of the end still made his breath quicken with dread. “What happened to the lens?” said Stevie.
“Oh, it was undamaged. I think Rufus took it. He’s always been pleased by snatching things from me, as if we were still squabbling children. Well, there was a leaden atmosphere the next day. Naively I thought we could smooth things over. But Rufus remained as provocative as ever and eventually Jaap de Witt blew up. I never knew such a stone-cold man could erupt with such violence, literally turning scarlet like a volcano.”
“You have to watch the quiet ones,” Stevie murmured.
“He accused Rufus of an affair with Helena. Rufus was shaken, but also gleeful, because he lived for melodrama. He answered that de Witt should be looking at me, not at him.
“Our silence declared us guilty. We were both paralyzed, Helena and I, and de Witt had a huge knife in his hand—some kind of kitchen knife the size of a small sword. There was chaos and shouting. I felt the blade go into me. Then I saw it go into Helena as I tried to protect her. She bled to death in my arms. It took seconds. De Witt stabbed me again, in the throat this time, and I followed her.”
Stevie made an incoherent sound, struck wordless by horror.
“To Rufus, this was all great sport,” Mist went on. “That’s what he does; walks into a peaceful domain and destroys it. He sees people’s weakness, or happiness, and snatches it away. He didn’t mean for me to die, because what sport am I to him, dead? However, since he rarely thinks five minutes into the future, it didn’t occur to him that the upright Jaap de Witt would seize a weapon and stab his own wife in the stomach and then, as she bled in my arms, kill me too.”
“Oh my god,” Stevie said very softly. “What happened to you after that?”
“It’s hard to describe. My soul-essence was severed from my body … A long time later I was in a kind of forest lit by dim blue starlight. I felt as if a thousand years had passed, as if I’d always been here. It wasn’t unpleasant. I felt peaceful for a long while, but then I remembered … Helena. And all that had passed between Rufus and me.
“I came to a pool in a wood. All I had to do was touch the water and I would begin to spiral outwards again, towards a new life. But I didn’t. I turned away from the Mirror Pool and drifted away. I decided to remain elemental until I finally dissolved into the Spiral itself. However, the Spiral seemed to have other plans. Or my fylgia. I don’t know.”
“Your fylgia?”
“The shadow twin of our soul-essence. It exists in the Spiral and anchors us there.”
“Like the subconscious?”
“In a way.” He looked at the cloudy cat on her pillow, a fylgia if he’d ever seen one. “Are you sure you don’t know this already?”
“Why would I?”
“The gap in your life before you were fifteen?”
“No. Ghastly childhood trauma or a neurological condition—move along, nothing to see here. Don’t spin this web of weirdness around me.”
“Too late. I think you’re already part of it, Stevie.”
“But we’re talking about you. What happened next?”
“You know the rest. I drifted back to consciousness as a human named Adam, who had stern parents and wonderful sisters. I survived the First World War, only to be snatched by Rufus and driven mad all over again.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “About Helena, and everything. You’ve been through hell.”
“I don’t want pity. I’m just glad to have found a friend to tell,” he said softly, pushing the Felixatus disk under his pillow. “Talking of unconsciousness, we should get some sleep. Did you realize it’s past midnight?”
“Too late to get another room.”
“I don’t mind, if you don’t? Two beds, plenty of space. And it goes without saying, you get first turn in the bathroom.”
“Thanks.” She began to rise, then asked, “By the way, what happened to Jaap de Witt?”
“Oh. According to Rufus—and I checked the historical records—he was arrested for murder, declared insane, spent the rest of his days as he awaited execution babbling about demons and other worlds. That’s why I think that Aetherials … although we are not demons or devils or vampires … are still too often poisonous to humans.”
* * *
Stevie lay on her back, trying to sleep and failing. The darkness was gemmed with tiny red and green lights on the smoke alarm, heating unit, bedside clock. Had she thought that she and Mist would end up in bed together? Had she even wanted it? It wouldn’t be the best idea, when you were upset, confused and slightly drunk.
The subject of their conversation, anyway, had dampened any such urges.
Yet it would have been so easy.
They were both alone, with a shared experience of being tipped into the world from nowhere. Mist seemed gentle, trustworthy, more than happy in her company … and all too attractive. His face and hair and strong, lean body demanded to be touched. Was the feeling mutual? He certainly looked at her a lot. His gaze didn’t feel intrusive, only warm and sad. And he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her when she was shivering, or upset … at the slightest excuse, in fact. Still, he’d made no moves towards seduction. Either that showed a respectful, chivalrous streak, or it meant he wasn’t interested in anything beyond friendship.
Which was fine. It was difficult to feel passionate when you were jobless, homeless, gutted. She knew it could happen that you met someone and slid into each other’s embrace because the mutual pull was irresistible. Perhaps it could have happened with Mist …
But now she saw that he was still in love with Helena.
One look and we were lost. Smiling behind her husband’s back. It was agonizing paradise. A stolen kiss, the sweetest moment ever tasted. Torment, torment.
Warmth faded inside her, extinguished by a tiny snowfall of realism. She had to be practical. His sweetness was illusory; the truth was that they barely knew each other.
Her love life since Daniel had been a halfhearted mess. A few times, she’d been on dates with men who seemed perfectly nice, as fresh and open to possibility as any sixteen-year-old … only for him to spend the entire evening moaning about his ex-wife and custody of the children, or rhapsodizing about football. She lacked the patience to pretend that this was not an instant turnoff.
Then, when she brushed them off, they’d be puzzled and complain she was cold.
No one came without baggage. Mist did not have baggage so much as a fleet of long-haul trucks. By contrast she was traveling light. Weightless. No past of significance, not even a family to complain of.
She turned on her side—facing away from him—and found a tiny face looking straight into hers. The astral cat lay on the pillow beside her, swishing its tail. Stevie lay looking into its eyes. Its body shifted like faint, glowing fog, but this was the first time she’d seen it so clearly.
She heard Fin saying, “The silver pard is a manifestation of the Otherworld.”
So what are you trying to tell me? she thought, and realized she was already asleep, sliding into dreams of glistening green water …
Stevie woke abruptly.
The room felt wrong. There was no light at all, only a blue-blackness that seemed to swirl violently like a gale. She heard the sounds of a struggle. Shuffling footsteps, grunts and cries, a heavy object crashing to the floor. She felt movement all around her, yet she couldn’t see a thing.
“Mist?”
she called out.
It had to be a nightmare, but she couldn’t wake up.
She curled against the headboard as pressures whirled around her. Like strong winds, they stopped her breath. She felt the entire room tipping. Again she caught the metallic stink she’d noticed in Frances’s house, and when she’d been attacked in the museum.
Stevie got up, reasoning that if she was on her feet she might be able to see, or at least defend herself. The whole space was turning inside out like a twisting doughnut with no end or beginning. It kept turning and turning, and there was nothing to fight.
A solid force that felt like a body colliding with hers slammed into her, sending her reeling against the bed. Now she saw the diffuse outlines of the room, but no sign of Mist. She caught glimpses of shadow, flashes of light. When she half-closed her eyes, the flashes resolved into two dim figures in frantic struggle.
One of the figures was feathery and pallid, the other long and reptilian … she got only impressions that were too vague to make sense.
“Stop it!” She tried to shout but her voice failed. “Mist?”
A voice came, “Stevie, help me…”
It emanated from the paler figure.
She reached out and touched flesh. Her hand, too, was transparent. She jumped back as the two specters rolled across the bed and hit the floor, the snake-like one rising on top. The paler shape cried out.
Stevie opened the bedside drawer, seized the Gideon Bible and brought it down hard on the scaly skull of the attacker.
She heard a grunt of pain and then something rushed through the room. A door opened and slammed shut. The world shook itself. A light came on and reality coalesced around them. Stevie was standing at the end of her bed, Mist down on the floor at her feet. The bedside lamp revealed a room that appeared to have been ransacked.
“Mist?”
She helped him up onto his bed and he sat there, gasping. There was a red welt on his cheek. His eyes were cloudy with shock, and bloodshot.
“What the hell was that?” she said. “You look dreadful. Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’ll live, but…”
“What was it?”
“I don’t know yet. Did it hurt you?”
“No, only scared the hell out of me.” She had another flashback to her unseen attacker at the museum. “Fuck…”
“Whatever it was, it’s taken the last of the Felixatus,” said Mist.
11
To the Labyrinth
“What the bloody hell—?” said Rufus.
He leaned on the cab door and stared up at the scene they’d left behind the day before. San Marco Square with the Campanile tower standing against a bright blue sky. The Doge’s Palace, a gondola drifting beneath the Rialto Bridge … all the famous landmarks of Venice grouped together in chocolate-box perfection. The buildings were spotless, the water as clear and brilliant as a swimming pool.
“It’s our hotel,” said Aurata. “The Venetian. Wait until you see inside.”
“Oh, funny,” Rufus said. He broke into laughter. “Brilliant joke. They built a Disneyfied copy of the real thing? You’re priceless, Aurata.”
She joined in his amusement, both of them helpless for a few minutes. “I thought you’d appreciate it. Welcome to Las Vegas.”
Shining marble halls with elaborate ceilings brought them to the hotel registration desk. Music from The Phantom of the Opera pumped through the sound system. Presently they were settling into a large suite with a sunken seating area, views of Caesar’s Palace and other legendary hotels, and of the dusty-brown mountains that encircled the city. The room had the biggest bathroom Rufus had ever seen, replete with gold taps, marble and mirrors. Aurata managed to cram their valuables—the ancient book of Veropardus and boxes containing parts of the Felixatus—into the safe. Then they showered together, and swapped rumpled traveling clothes for smarter attire. Aurata had a taste for bright red dresses and jewelry that clashed with her hair. Rufus chose a crimson shirt with his dark suit, just to clash a little more.
“You like?” she said.
“You, or the hotel?”
“Everything. I thought you’d be asking more questions.”
“I’m going with the flow. I like surprises.”
“I hope you’ll like this one. I need a hair salon. My hair’s a mess and I want the short sleek look for a change.”
Aurata took him down to the “Grand Canal Shoppes,” a labyrinthine pastel mockup of Venice rendered in astounding detail. The effect was softly lit, opulent and atmospheric, although he could have done without costumed actors bursting into song every few minutes. Rufus loved the squeaky-clean fakery as much as he’d loved the decay of the real place. They bought ice cream from a gelato store and roamed the streets beneath a domed plaster sky, watching real gondolas plying a fake canal. Shoppers browsed expensive gift stores; diners sat on terraces drinking cocktails. Rufus curled his tongue around the delicious cappuccino-flavored ice as he took in every pillar and arch and icing-sugar facade.
“This is incredible,” he said. “Only in America. I thought Las Vegas would be wall-to-wall sleaze.”
Aurata slipped her hand through his elbow. “You need to catch up with the world. The Strip is all glitz and showbiz these days.”
“But there are seedy areas, right? We have to see the nasty end of town before we leave. Where’s the casino, by the way?”
She pointed at the smooth cobbled pavement. “Next floor down.”
Rufus sighed. “I could make a fortune here.”
“What, gambling?”
“God, no,” he said. “As a prostitute, of course. I’d be the hottest transvestite hooker in town. Ladies welcome too; I don’t discriminate.”
She shook with laughter. “You are absolutely serious, aren’t you? I know you. You’d do it, for the hell of it. But we’re only here for two nights. I wanted to have some fun with you, because things will be serious again soon enough.”
“Damn. Not long enough to build a solid client base.” He rushed onto a bridge and leaned on the side rail to watch activity on the canal. “Marvelous, the way the gondoliers pole the boat and sing cheesy operetta at the same time. Can we have sex on a gondola?”
“Only if we want to get thrown out,” she said. “They let people get married on them, although even in Vegas they might draw the line at brother and sister.”
“Never mind. I’ll steal you a diamond ring anyway.”
“Isn’t it killing you, not to ask where we’re going?” She pulled him towards the crowded main square, her voice taking on the serious tone he associated with her “Dr. Connelly” persona.
“Yeah, but I like suspense.”
“It’s all about remaking the world. Reclaiming what we lost when Azantios fell. The pent-up energy between the plates of the Earth’s crust is apocalyptic, and it’s deeply connected to the boundaries between Earth and Spiral … I’ve so much to tell you. There’s something incredible in motion.”
“I don’t like the sound of this. Does it involve me being sacrificed to atone for all my crimes?”
“No, idiot. It involves you helping me.”
He paused to look at a robed man pretending to be a statue. His face and hands were painted silver to match his shiny silver garments. “Aurata, I’ve got a confession to make.”
“What’s that?”
He gave her a helpless, pleading look. “I’m shallow.”
“I never guessed.”
“As shallow as that fake lagoon. I don’t care about these deep, dark mysteries and apocalyptic cosmic plans of yours. I wish to fritter my life away. You want to know why I destroyed Azantios? It’s because I knew I wasn’t fit to rule the place, but I didn’t want anyone else to, either. There’s brainless immaturity for you.”
Aurata turned him to face her. “This is not news to me, Rufe. It’s your ruthless cunning I need.”
“But you know…” His voice became quiet and hard. He had to make her understand. “You do know tha
t it wasn’t me who murdered your pet? Fe—”
“Don’t say her name.” Aurata pressed a finger to his lips. “She’s nothing. Prehistory. But yes, I know it wasn’t you.”
“Thank goodness. You’re the first ever to believe me. I know it was only one death among thousands, but I hate inaccuracy.”
“Rufe, you were a delinquent boy waiting for an excuse to—to set fire to your own house. If being falsely accused hadn’t set you off, it would have been something else. You always wanted to shake up the world, didn’t you?”
“I was bored. The Felynx were stagnant. Perhaps you and I should have staged a coup against the dull, safe rule Mist was planning, but even that didn’t seem enough.”
“So imagine forging a realm to make Azantios look like a flea bite, only this time completely ours. Doesn’t that appeal?”
He decided not to mention her nocturnal murmurings about Sibeylan glaciers, since she barely seemed to remember them. “Well … put like that, yes. I’m interested.”
“Every time Vesuvius and other volacanoes erupted, I kept returning there—until I realized, that was what Azantios had needed. More than an earthquake. Molten dissolution.”
“Errr … that’s still not sounding like fun.”
She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. The silver statue pursed his lips and made a smooching noise. Rufus gave him the finger.
“I promise you,” whispered Aurata, “there will be more fun than you can imagine.”
* * *
Stevie and Mist took a train from Birmingham to Leicester, then a taxi to the village of Cloudcroft. They’d checked out of the hotel and were now effectively homeless. Her life was in a shoulder bag; a few clothes, some personal effects and her laptop. She tried not to think of what she’d normally be doing now: guiding a tour group, chatting to visitors … Staring out of the taxi window as suburbs gave way to rural roads, Stevie wondered how much stranger this adventure could become.
Yesterday’s events cycled through her thoughts. Disbelief that she’d lost her domain, the museum; the nightmarish attack in the hotel by some unseen, slithering force … Perhaps fear or grief would come later, but right now she was too shell-shocked for emotion.
Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales) Page 21
