“But it’s true.”
“No, it isn’t! You don’t have to keep repeating the past. Do you think you’re my guardian? News, Mistangamesh. I’m not gentle Fela anymore, I’m not Helena, and you are not the flaming prince of Azantios!”
She gripped him tightly as she spoke. His eyes widened as steaming water sloshed around them. “So I’m wrong to want you kept safe?”
“No. All I’m saying is that we are equal partners. If I’m in danger, I put myself there. If something happens to me, it is not your fault. Tell me you understand what I’m saying.”
His expression became firmer. “Yes, of course. Equals. There is still a thing called loyalty that means I’ll give my life to protect yours.”
“Likewise. I’m as Aetherial as you are. I learned so much from Rosie, from Persephone and Virginia, even from Albin. And from you. We’re in this for each other.”
He stroked her shoulders, hands sliding down to grip her upper arms. “Then you will understand that … whatever feelings we have now, and tonight, tomorrow we may have to push all that aside?”
“And be warriors? Yes. I’m ready.”
“Then we’ll need every scrap of Aetherial strength we possess.”
“Mist, you’re stronger that you know. And so am I.” She breathed onto his neck. Above them, the swollen red buddhas spat steam into the air. “Look, since we can’t undo what we’ve just done, shall we go back to our room get carried away some more?”
* * *
Daylight was creeping between the curtains when Patrick began rapping on their door. “All right, chaps, are you awake? Time to go, as soon as you’re ready.”
After a quick hot shower, and hurriedly dressing in their brand-new sweatshirts and jeans, they were on the road again. Stevie sat in the front beside Patrick, Mist in the backseat. The Impala was spacious, comfortable and, Stevie guessed, could not have been cheap. For breakfast, they sipped water and ate the yellow cakes she’d bought at the truck stop, which were as nastily sweet as they looked.
The landscape rolling past was desolate yet captivating, with brownish-red expanses of desert, clumps of dry scrub, cactus and dramatic Joshua trees. After the lush green of England, it was as strange as the Spiral. Stevie followed their route on the map, to ensure that Patrick’s GPS was not leading them astray. In any case, there were only a few narrow roads to choose from across a vast wilderness.
They saw a right turn ahead, little more than a dirt track vanishing up into the hills. Patrick slowed down and stopped so they could read the signpost.
“Jigsaw Canyon Trail,” he said. “Is this it, kiddies?”
Stevie glanced back at Mist. His eyes were glassy and he didn’t return the look. Fear settled inside her. “This is the place,” she said.
18
Jigsaw Canyon
The track snaked upward through forest, bringing them onto the high flank of a hill. A dramatic view opened to their left. In the far distance, reddish mountains rolled away towards a vast horizon. Much closer lay the ragged edge of a canyon, snow-dusted. The floor was too deep to be visible from their position, but they saw the tops of spectacular rock formations striped with scarlet, yellow and orange; pinnacles carved into fantastical shapes by erosion. There were columns, spires, and a great arch leaping out from the rim.
Every sight took Stevie’s breath away. All was softened by a reddish haze. It was difficult to judge distance, but the far wall—with sandstone layers like rippling bands of toffee—appeared to be only a few hundred yards away.
“It’s not exactly the Grand Canyon,” said Patrick, “but it’s pretty amazing, isn’t it? Apparently the wilds have loads of these little ravines. I’ve never heard of this one, so I’m guessing it’s not open to the public.”
“What wouldn’t I do to be a real tourist, free to explore,” she said with a sigh.
Mist said nothing. Memories of the night before—of being seduced by the sensual heat of the thermal pool, and later twining naked on the bed, so enraptured with each other that she hadn’t even noticed the lumpy mattress, only the smooth muscular warmth of Mist’s body, until they’d drifted asleep in satiated exhaustion—she put firmly from her mind. No affection today. Business as usual.
Several hundred yards ahead, and at a higher elevation, a grand and solitary log house jutted from the hill. The place looked contemporary and impressive, constructed of red cedar over four levels. The front wall was all glass, fitted seamlessly to form one gigantic window from roof to foundations.
Patrick pulled the Chevy into the side of the track and stopped. Between them and the house there stretched a double fence, with spikes along the top and warnings to trespassers of death by several thousand volts. Closed-circuit TV cameras swiveled on top of posts. Inside a tall steel-barred gate waited four men in dark suits and sunglasses. One of them was speaking into a walkie-talkie.
Stevie was certain—from every American TV drama she’d ever seen—that gun holsters would be hidden beneath the jackets.
“Holy fuck,” said Patrick. “Were you expecting this? I thought we were coming to someone’s house. This looks more like … Waco, or something.”
“What’s Waco?” said Mist.
“Nothing,” Stevie said hurriedly.
“Well, it was a place in Texas where this religious cult—”
“Patrick!”
“Okay, I’m just saying. Or a film star’s place. Anyone rich would have security around their property, right? It’s perfectly normal.”
“Are you sure you’ve brought us to the right place?” asked Mist, leaning forward between the seats.
“You gave me the address. According to Stevie’s map and my GPS, this is it. Why don’t we pull up to the gate and ask?”
“Once we’re in, we may not be able to get out again,” Mist said matter-of-factly.
“If they even let us in,” said Stevie.
Patrick drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Let me know what you want to do, guys. Are you sure about this?”
“No,” said Stevie. “I was picturing a rural lodge of some kind.”
“Let me go in alone,” said Mist. “Patrick, I’m not dragging you into this. You can take Stevie away and then I’ll know you’re both safe.”
“Oh, no way are you going in without me!” she exclaimed. “Did we not have this conversation yesterday?”
Patrick spoke over her. “Look, you’ve got me really worried now. If it’s dangerous, I’m not going to abandon you. D’you want me to call the police?”
“No!” they said in unison.
“Well, the ‘Men in Black’ have seen us, anyway.”
Four pairs of black shades were fixed on them. The steel gate stood ajar. One of the men spoke into his radio while another was walking steadily towards the car.
Stevie saw that they were all Aetherials.
The revelation took her by surprise. She wasn’t sure what changed; the world made a subtle shift, the light deepening to reveal four faint auras, hints of unhuman grace and different, barely visible shapes cloaking the men. She was seeing them through the Dusklands, the first Aetheric layer of altered reality.
“I can’t turn back,” said Mist. “If Rufus is in there, I must see him. Stevie, please go. I don’t care if I escape, but you have to.”
“Right,” she said angrily, “because you’re going to kill each other, end of story? Have you forgotten that I’m here to find Daniel? And that we still need to rescue our friends? Mist, if you die, I am going to kill you myself!”
Patrick laughed. She added, “I’m not joking. Every time he comes back to life, I’ll kill him again. For eternity.”
“You two are crazy,” Patrick said, eyebrows raised. “Hey, I’m keeping an open mind. Fin has a nose for weirdness and I believe what she tells me because, well, she’s Fin. But seriously, if there’s going to be murder, I’m out of here. I don’t want to be an accomplice! No way am I spending the rest of my life behind bars. I prefer to choose my boyfri
ends, thank you very much.”
“There will be no murders,” Stevie said firmly. “This isn’t a spy film. We’re just going to talk.”
“Well, I hope so,” said Patrick. “As long as you know I won’t do anything heroic, like cut through the electric fence, kill all the guards and rescue you?”
The security man reached them and tapped on the window. Patrick pressed a button and the glass slid down. A sharp-chinned, impassive face looked in. He wore a tag naming him as Mr. Slahvin, Head of Security.
“Can I help you, sir?” The Aetherial spoke in a velvety tone, exactly as a security guard should sound. He carried off the part to perfection, but Stevie saw the shimmer of his Otherworld form: a bluish aura, with hints of black and red. She caught a familiar, faint but menacing metallic smell that made her freeze inside.
“Erm…” Patrick gave a cheesy grin. “We might be lost.”
Mist rolled down his own window and leaned out. “We’re looking for Rufus Ephenaestus and Daniel Manifold.”
“And who would be looking for them, sir?” the guard asked without any overt reaction.
“Tell him it’s … Adam Leith. And Daniel’s friend, Stevie.”
Mr. Slahvin grinned. His short white teeth looked to her as if they belonged to a nonhuman creature, perhaps some exotic fish or eel.
“Mist,” she whispered, trying to convey that she knew his smell and his aura, that this was the same malevolent being who’d stolen the triptych and the carved disk … but she couldn’t make her mouth work, and then it was too late. The guards all seemed to be smiling as they murmured rapidly into their walkie-talkies.
The huge steel gates began to swing open. “Drive on up, sir. They’ve been expecting you.”
* * *
“How can they be expecting us?” Stevie said anxiously.
Mist watched the scenery slide by as Patrick’s car climbed the hill: bare rock, scrubby trees, clumps of startling yellow and purple flowers. A black limousine followed, Mr. Slahvin at the wheel. To their left, a view of the canyon and mountains unfolded into the cyan sky. The far peaks were patched with snow. Mist felt nothing; he dared not allow himself any emotion. He let his ancient Aetherial core rise to the surface, the same exiled, elemental self that he’d been while the human Adam had dwelt in his body.
He must become nothing more than a cold intelligence, like Albin.
When he didn’t answer, Patrick said, “The security man probably just meant they’re expecting you because he’d radioed up to the house.”
“No, it can’t be that simple,” she said.
“Lucky you’ve still got your getaway driver, then,” Patrick said dryly.
“You should have stayed outside the gates,” said Stevie.
“No chance! Miss this? I’m too nosy.”
“Mist?” Stevie touched his arm. “Did you hear me? Is it what I think?”
He stirred out of his thoughts, and replied, “If you think that they saw Daniel’s message to you, and guessed you’d come—yes, I imagine so. They tracked down the triptych and the Felixatus base, so obviously they knew we were together. Rufus wasn’t especially smart, but he obviously has support staff who are.”
He saw anxiety in her face. For the hundredth time he regretted bringing her, but pushed the regret away. Two things mattered. First, to destroy Rufus, and then to get Stevie and Daniel out alive.
She said, “The shadowy thing that sniffed us out—it was Mr. Slahvin, I’m sure. Didn’t you sense it? His smell?”
The idea shook him, but as soon as she said the words, he knew she was right. “I felt something odd, yes. He’d have to possess a very unusual talent, to shift form so drastically and travel so swiftly, but it’s not impossible. Gods. I sense he was one of the Felynx … and there must be others in there.”
“I wish I knew what the hell you two are talking about,” said Patrick, “but it beats sitting at a stupid computer all day.”
“Will they know I was Fela?” she asked, ignoring Patrick’s remark.
“Possibly … but I doubt it. Why?”
“Because I don’t want to be labeled. I’m not her anymore! Please don’t tell them.”
“I won’t, but don’t you want to know who drowned her? If it was Rufus … it will be a shock, to say the least. Are you ready for that?”
“No. Of course I’m not. But he might be more shocked than me. To be honest, I’m not even thinking about it. I’m here for Daniel, and that’s it.”
He gripped her hand briefly, reminding himself that she was Aetherial. We’re in this together, equals, she’d said. And he thought, If the worst happens, if she dies … I’ll die defending her. Perhaps our soul-essences will stand with Rufus before Estel the Eternal, and Estel herself can judge what becomes of us.
* * *
At the house, Patrick was taken away by two Aetherials—copper-haired women in smart black skirt-suits—with promises of coffee and food. Stevie expressed concern, but Mist murmured, “We’ve no reason to believe they won’t look after him properly. He’s not involved in this. Don’t worry.”
There were Aetherials everywhere, to his surprise. The house was spacious with a touch of faded glamour, all cedar-paneled walls and lush brown carpeting, with a huge stairwell leading up and down, broad corridors branching off to other rooms. Everyone seemed swallowed by the space, like staff dotted around a hotel. Mist felt their eyes on him and Stevie, distant and curious. He wondered who these Aetherials were, and why they were here.
Mr. Slahvin was formal and polite, revealing no sign of the monstrous form that had previously attacked them. He showed them into a vast living room and withdrew. Mist looked around at a vaulted ceiling supported by redwood beams, light fixtures made from stag’s antlers, a massive stone fireplace. The far wall was a floor-to-ceiling window giving a panoramic view of the canyon and mountains beyond.
A man stood waiting to meet them. Not Rufus.
Mist didn’t recognize him. Tall and stocky, he was casual in jeans and a white shirt, his handsome, narrow face topped by spiky white-blond hair. A stainless-steel panther jumped through one earlobe. He held a fully human shape, but Mist saw the glow that betrayed his Aetherial nature. His aura was reddish with flashes of silver. The man didn’t smile, but his odd eyes—one green, one blue—opened wide. He regarded the visitors with the controlled attention of a hawk on a post.
“Lord Mistangamesh?” said the blond man. “Is it really you?”
“As you can see.” Mist opened his hands slightly. “Should I know you?”
The male walked forward, stopping an arm’s length from them. “I’m Oliver. You don’t remember me? We have all changed, of course, but I thought you would see beneath the surface. I knew you at once.”
“I don’t…”
To Mist’s astonishment, Oliver gave a shallow, stylized bow. With that gesture, everything changed. They could have been standing in a chamber filled with starlight, bearing the elongated faces of lynx deities, their bodies clothed in weightless silks and jewels and pale gold fur … Their forms had long since mutated to echo those of humans, but the bow was all it took to ignite Mist’s memory. He knew the deference of a high-ranking Felynx to one even higher: the heir to Poectilictis himself.
“Veropardus?”
“The same, my lord Ephenaestus.”
He flashed back to those last moments in the chamber. Their hands weaving a frantic web to destroy the invaders. Earthquakes shaking the ground, their web torn apart as walls tumbled and fire roared through the city. Distant screams. The Felixatus was falling apart as Veropardus and Aurata fought for possession … And Mist was trying to drag them to safety, yelling at them to follow him … then fleeing for his own life, their figures fading to shadow in clouds of dust as the chamber collapsed and his world went black …
That was the last he’d ever seen of Veropardus and Aurata. The memory was so sharp that he could smell the stench of fire.
He remembered—later—clawing at rubble, weeping
on his knees in the dust … not yet understanding that the Dusklands had been torn away by the catastrophe, that there was now only the plain Earth around him, that the Felynx civilization was gone, erased. There was nothing left but a single component of the Felixatus, a smooth cold lens in his palm.
“I can’t believe it,” Mist said softly. “We thought everyone was lost, except Rufus and me.”
“Most Felynx perished, it’s true, their essences crushed or burned out of their bodies. It was a form of mass death; a tragedy. But I came back, as you see. My soul-essence was powerful enough to remember who I’d been, and to hold true.”
Mist stared in disbelief. Veropardus, Guardian of the Felixatus, had been a priest-like mystic whom he’d never really known or trusted. To find him standing here in modern dress, with a haircut that would not have disgraced a rock singer, was beyond belief.
One thing was the same: the mismatched eyes with their sharp, dutiful, measuring gaze.
He hid his reaction and spoke steadily. “So do we address you as Veropardus, or Oliver?”
“Oliver will do. Here we are in the modern world. Your companion?”
“I’m Stephanie Silverwood,” she answered. Mist was aware of her at his shoulder, radiating nervous warmth.
“Well, I am delighted to greet you both. Please relax. You look anxious, and there’s no need. What brings you to us?”
“I’ve reason to believe Rufus is here.” Mist kept his expression stony, his tone neutral. “Is he?”
“He might be.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Surely you’re not acting as his henchman? I seem to recall that you hated him.”
Oliver turned at an oblique angle, as if to defuse confrontation and invite them deeper into the room. “What Felynx in their right mind didn’t hate him? He destroyed Azantios. Still … time passes. Aetherials evolve. Things change.”
“What things have changed?”
“I have no strong feelings about Rufus anymore. His time is long over.” Oliver moved towards the window-wall and Mist followed, Stevie close beside him. The vista glowed red. The canyon’s surreal geology was astounding.
Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales) Page 35
