by Sara Beaman
I had no way to determine how long I spent trapped in that hideous isolation. It felt like weeks, even months. My terror eventually subsided, like a burn so deep it went numb, giving way to despair and the limitless agony of Lucien’s betrayal.
///
The black waters parted without warning at dusk.
I awoke to found myself lying on a bed of cool soil, staring up at the moon through a perfectly circular clearing of trees. I scrambled to my feet. There were the twin pools. There was the stone staircase leading down into the catacombs. Was I back in Mnemosyne’s enclave in Scandinavia? No—the air was too warm. Was this her American enclave? It seemed to be an exact replica of the one I remembered from before I escaped to the New World.
My mother was a creature of precise tradition. If this was, in fact, her compound, four of her officers would be posted at the gate, and I could expect anywhere from seven to seventeen more of my siblings and cousins to be lurking in the halls below—or even hiding above ground, concealed in the shadows. Mnemosyne herself could be among them.
Just then, as if my thoughts had summoned her, she emerged from the subterranean labyrinth. She was barefoot, clothed only in a thin, dripping white shift that rendered her skeletal form functionally bare. Bathed in the moonlight, she seemed not at all unlike the other terrible albino creatures that dwell in caves beneath the earth. Her skin looked clammy and wan, her angular features cold-blooded and serpentine. She regarded me calmly as I stood there, trembling despite the temperate weather. Her face betrayed not a single thought or emotion.
“You have reconstructed your wards,” she said. “Interesting.”
Upon hearing her dispassionate voice, all of the vitriol I’d ever felt with her welled to the surface of my mind, clouding my vision with rage. Every muscle in my body tensed. The joints in my fingers flexed and swelled as my hands curled into fists.
“Julian, please,” she said. “I’ve only brought you here to talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you,” I said.
“That matters little, so long as you will listen,” she said, blinking thrice.
“Whatever do you mean?” She tilted her head to the side. Her lips parted. “Ah. You’re upset about Lucien.” She frowned sympathetically; I wanted to slap the expression from her face. “I’m terribly sorry for all that. I couldn’t think of another way to seek an audience with you.”
“So you solicited his betrayal! Just to bring me here!”
“No, of course not. I killed Lucien decades ago. No. The man you met in Chicago was a distant cousin, an illusionist like yourself—“
“That was Zenas Markham?” A high-pitched choking sound tore itself from my chest.
She nodded calmly.
I shook my head and began laughing irrationally.
“Julian?”
“You’ve made a terrible mistake bringing me here.” The cadence of my voice was erratic, the tone unfamiliar to my own ears. “I swear to God you will pay for what you’ve put me through.” Behind every syllable I could hear the whisper of the mouths of the abyss gnawing at my eardrums; I could taste their acrid breath flowing from my lungs.
She raised an eyebrow, pursed her lips, then lifted her right hand. “I do not respond to threats. If you won’t accede to civil discussion, you consent to imprisonment.”
The shadows at the edge of the pit parted like curtains to reveal four of her initiates, armed with daggers and chains.
They began to advance.
The closest, a young, red-haired woman, lunged at me first, stabbing for my gut. I stepped to the side at the very last moment, evading the attack. I seized her wrist in one hand, her elbow in the other, and snapped the bones of her forearm in two. Her knife fell to the ground; she cried out in pain.
I shoved her into the trajectory of my next attacker, who stumbled backwards just long enough for me to turn on the third. He threw his dagger at me, catching me in the right side of the chest. My vision boiled with the pain of the injury, the black tendrils teeming at the surface of my consciousness.
I felt my gums began to retract; the skin of my palms began to pucker and burn. As he came at me with the chain, I tore the knife from my own chest and plunged it through his eardrum. He collapsed in the shallow pool, his body convulsing.
“Julian!” Mnemosyne cried. “Control yourself!”
Ignoring her, I turned towards the three remaining generals. “Leave us,” I growled, commanding them with the force of my blood. All three of them stood stock still for a moment, then scrambled for the staircase leading into the earth.
“Hold your ground!” Mnemosyne screamed, but still they ran.
As I turned to face my mother, for the first time in all the years I’d known her, I saw a glimmer of fear behind her eyes. My feet began to move of their own volition, one in front of the other in front of the other, leading me towards her in a staggering, rhythmless march.
She stepped backward. “Julian—please calm yourself. Control yourself. You don’t understand what will happen if—“
I lunged at her and shoved her to the ground. Her limbs scattered around her like an unstrung marionette. She collected herself, scrambled to her feet and drew a shining sword from behind her back, thrusting the blade in my direction.
“Don’t delude yourself into thinking you can challenge me, child,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I’ve had quite enough of your posturing.”
I bared my teeth and reached out as if to grasp the blade in my bare hands. It was no more substantial than breath.
Her eyes widened. “Julian, listen to me.” She raised her hands in a gesture of surrender and allowed the illusion to dissipate. “There is a terrible poison in your blood—if you give in to it, you will damn us all—“
I felt the flesh of my left hand twist and cauterize into a curved blade dripping with black ichor. The voices of the thousand mouths commanded me to plunge this instrument into her heart, ending her.
“Julian, please.” She dropped to her knees. “I can help you—please just listen to me—“
I grabbed her by the throat. She screamed; the sound of it was too delightful to bear. I silenced her with a single swift stroke, sending her head toppling forward into the depths of the moonlit pool.
I watched it sink, shaking and panting for air. The mouths were still chanting missives in my ears, but something deep within my gut suddenly craved their silence. I stared down into the deep pool, overcome with revulsion as the voices screamed for me to carve out her heart and eat it.
No. What I had done was enough. I wasn’t a murderer. I wouldn’t make myself one on her behalf.
I covered my ears with my hands, stumbling away from her corpse, and threw myself into the pool after the head. The water was cold and strangely thick; it muffled the voices somewhat. I felt my left hand begin to soften back into muscle, bone and sinew as I went deeper.
I caught a glimpse of the head and reached out to grab it. Mnemosyne’s eyes flew open as my hands latched on to either side of her face. She spoke through my inner ear.
Swim back to the surface and drink from the shallow pool.
I knew it was intended to be a command, but I clung to my ability to resist.
You must obey me. What you have seen, what you have heard—it must all be expunged from your memory or it will drive you mad.
I shook my head.
Swim back to the surface and drink from the shallows. Release me, Julian. Do it now.
I dropped her skull and struggled back up to the surface of the viscous liquid. The voices grew louder as I neared the surface, and amplified to a deafening screech as I pulled myself out of the pool. With every shred of my remaining will I forced myself to ignore her body as I crossed the inlet.
I knelt at the edge of the shallow waters and brought a single handful to my mouth.
26
A Dream of Amnesia
{Adam}
I woke up on the ground beside the tomb of Mnemosyne. My own skin felt alie
n, having spent days—weeks? months? It was impossible to tell—being Julian, inhabiting his smaller frame, seeing the world through his eyes. Now he was lying just a few feet from me, curled into the fetal position. Was he still dreaming of the past? What more was there to see?
Mnemosyne’s voice resonated between my ears. Nothing. You’ve seen all that needs to be seen.
“How long will he be stuck this way?”
Only minutes.
I rubbed at my eyes.
I forced you awake because I must speak with you. Listen carefully.
I couldn’t imagine being able to resist. I stood up, reached for her, placed my fingers against her temples.
There is a poison in Julian’s blood—a tendril of chaos stolen from the blood of a monster from the young days of this earth. I inflicted it on him during his initiation; I mixed it with my own. It is my deepest regret.
“Blood from a monster? The monster he saw in the hallucination?”
The strain has thickened within the blood of his initiates. May the Gods show mercy on us if Mirabel ever raises an heir.
“So that was why they all went insane...”
Yes. Listen closely. Markham’s entrancement opened a portal within Julian’s mind, a link to the abyss where the monster lies trapped. Now the door has been opened once more. Now his mind must be purged of the sight once again.
“You want me to force him to forget all of this?” I shook my head. “After all he went through to get those memories back?”
You witnessed his transformation. Those memories endanger us all.
I closed my eyes. I thought of the obscene chorus of voices that ate at my thoughts—no, not mine, Julian’s thoughts—as he stood here ninety-nine years ago. I thought of the blade that emerged from the flesh of his hand, the impulses he barely managed to deny...
You must force him to take the waters a second time. It will be easiest while he is still dreaming.
“Do I have to force him to forget all of it? None of it matters but that vision, does it?”
What would you have him remember? How his beloved betrayed him?
I looked down at Julian. Still asleep, with his defenses still down, his face looked young, almost childlike. “I don’t know.”
None of those memories will bring him anything but pain.
I wasn’t sure if it was Mnemosyne speaking any longer; it could have been my own internal voice.
Even the smallest amount will be sufficient.
I placed her head back in the basin and walked to the edge of the shallow pool. Stooping down, I cupped my left hand and submerged it in the water. The liquid felt less substantial than it looked; my palm tingled under the feather-weight of it.
I returned to Julian’s side, being careful not to spill the strange water. I rolled him onto his back, lifted his head and brought my hand to his mouth. He took the liquid without the slightest sign of struggle.
He is your charge now, Adam, Mnemosyne said, her voice gradually fading from my consciousness. You must watch him for me until the night I am revived.
Julian groaned softly as he awakened. His wards went up as soon as he was cogent enough to realize they were down. He stood, brushed the dirt off his clothing, and stared at me.
“Who are you?” he asked, examining my features as if my face was new to him.
Oh God. I’d given him too much. How much had he forgotten? Another year? More?
He took a sharp breath; a kind of recognition flashed behind his eyes. “You’re Adam Fletcher, aren’t you? The amnesia specialist?”
I nodded, sighing with relief. Perhaps he’d lost only a week or so, and he was simply getting his bearings, or...
“What on earth are you doing here? How did you get into the sepulcher?”
“You don’t remember?”
He shook his head no with a few choppy twitches of his nose.
“Julian, I’m your son.”
27
Red Hook
{Kate}
I wake up to the sound of footsteps against wooden stairs. I’m back in the model home, lying on the couch in the living room across from the fake television. I rub my eyes, processing what I just saw. There’s so much I don’t understand that I don’t even know what I’ll ask Adam to clarify.
Except one thing. Haruko seduced him and stole something from him? Why the hell are they still on speaking terms?
Adam emerges from the basement with Aya in tow, carrying a suitcase. I drag myself off the couch and stumble into the foyer.
Do you want help?
Adam shakes his head no. “Why don’t you go get ready to leave?”
I shrug. All right...
I retrieve my backpack from behind the couch and bring it into the half-bathroom, where I brush my teeth, wash my face, change my clothes, and comb my hair back into a low ponytail. My hair—shit, it didn’t turn out so well. It’s more of a nasty orange color than the platinum blonde I was hoping for. Not that it matters. Not really.
I walk into the kitchen, take a glass out from the cabinet and fill it under the tap. I want food and coffee, but I know from last night that the pantry is bare. Stupid model home. No food, no television...
Adam walks into the kitchen and leans against the counter next to me—not close enough to touch, yet close enough to remind me of what happened last night.
Explain something for me, I demand, hoping to stave off any awkwardness. Haruko seduced you and stole that card from you? And you’re still friends, or something?
“Kate, don’t—“ He stops abruptly, then shakes his head. “Christ, for a moment I forgot she can’t hear you.”
Who? Haruko?
“No.”
Aya?
He nods. “So here’s the thing. She took it from me right when we first met. Sleight of hand. The sex was... whatever. It wasn’t—“
Like that’s supposed to matter?
He shrugs.
Why did she want the card, anyway?
“She, uh... she had orders.”
From whom?
“Desmond.”
Why did he want it?
He glances toward the foyer.
Adam, why did he want it?
“I can’t... I can’t talk about this right now. Not yet. Soon it won’t matter. I don’t want to hide anything from you, Kate, it’s just...”
I get it. You don’t want Aya to hear. But why? Does it have something to do with Julian?
He nods.
With the monster... blood... thing?
“You saw that?”
I nod.
“Do not. Tell. Anyone.”
Who am I going to tell? I’m a fucking mute!
“Well... all right. Point taken.”
I empty the glass and put it on the drying rack.
“I want to tell you everything,” he says, lowering his voice. “I really do.”
But you can’t, because you’re worried Aya will do what? Tell Julian?
“Or worse.”
I try not to laugh.
“No,” he says. “You don’t understand.”
As if on cue, Aya peeks her head into the kitchen. “The car is ready,” she says. “Except for Haruko.”
“All right,” Adam says. “We’ll be right out.”
She practically darts away.
I grab my backpack from the floor and start moving toward the door.
“Kate,” Adam says. “About last night...”
I stop in my tracks, my cheeks burning.
“I don’t know what it meant to you. But it meant something to me.”
My heart pounds. I can’t begin to understand what I’m feeling, much less to put it to words.
He takes my hand. “Look, I, uh... I have a bad feeling about Red Hook. I don’t know why, but I do. I really don’t want you to get hurt.”
Where are you going with this?
“Last night I got in touch with a friend of mine. Another revenant. She can take care of you—“
I pull
my hand away. You mean you want me to leave?
“No! Jesus, that’s not...” He sighs through his nose. “No. I just want to give you the option of... not coming with us. I can leave you at a hotel nearby. My friend said she could be here in a few hours.”
I look away.
“It’s not forever. If everything goes well I’ll come back for you in just a few days.”
What if things don’t go well?
“In that case I’d rather nothing happen to you,” he says, his voice thin.
No. I want to come with you.
“Well—but... why?”
I narrow my eyes. I want to kill Mirabel.
“Most likely she won’t even be there!”
You don’t know that.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mother of Christ.”
It’s my decision.
“Yes,” he admits regretfully. “Yes it is.”
Then it’s settled, I tell him, shouldering the backpack. I’m coming with you. Don’t ask me about it again.
///
Adam carries Haruko out to the car, places her body in the back seat, and buckles her in. He gets in the driver’s seat. I take shotgun—I don’t want to ride next to Haruko. I know she’ll wake up eventually, but it’s hard not to think of her as a corpse. Aya climbs in back next to her, silent.
We drive eastward through the dark. Maybe two hours later, Adam pulls into the parking lot of a twenty-four hour diner next to a truck stop.
“Would you mind going inside with Kate?” he asks Aya. “I’ll be in as soon as I can.”
Aya unbuckles her seat belt, opens the door and steps outside without a word.
“Right.” He turns to me. “Well, I’ll try not to be long.”
I follow Aya into the diner. She sits with me at the counter while the waitress takes my drink order, watching the line cook with a distant expression. I fidget with my silverware, stealing glances at her out of the corner of my eye. She looks uncannily like an older version of the girl Julian met in Chicago. What was her name? Mariah?
