Veritas

by Quinn Coleridge

  “Can’t oblige. Archimendax’s heir, remember? It’s my job to stir up trouble.”

  I detect a faint stretching sound and the smell of leather, as though he’s removing his gloves and shoving them into his pocket. “I knew the exact moment you came into the world, Veritas. I was eleven at the time, and even then, all it took was a whisper in John Grayson’s mind, and he turned against you. Because I told him to do it.”

  Arrogant ass. I track his movements and pivot to the side as he steps toward the sledgehammer. The humidity in the atmosphere feels like ribbons of silk winding around us—binding us together in our circle of hell.

  My new brother lifts and drops the sash on my gown. Too close. Get away. He must know I despise being touched by a certain kind of man. And that I loathe tight spaces—must be why he chose the sarcophagus. Exploring my fears, is he? What’s next, an ice bath?

  “Scared of a little cold water, pet,” Scarlett whispers against my neck, sounding exactly like Faust. “How sad. I planted the desire within Grayson to send you to Ironwood years ago, and it grew, and grew. Until it became an obsession, and he acted upon the idea.”

  I spin toward him. Scarlett? Scarlett was behind my commitment to the asylum? The hunger. Addiction. Endless work. Faust’s bloody whip… And I had thought I couldn’t hate my brother more. “You failed. I came back.”

  “Like a bad penny. I obviously underestimated my opponent. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.” He slips out of his coat, dropping it on a bench or something. “This is my corner of the world. No room for you, baby sister.”

  “Move, then.”

  Scarlett rolls up his sleeves. “Not an option, I’m afraid.”

  So Stonehenge is his seat of power, too. We can both visit other parts of the world, but we must always return. Damn, I should’ve guessed. If I die today, a new Veritas will take my place, and if Scarlett falls, another heir of Archimendax will arise. I was foolish to waltz in here and expect to dispose of him as easily as I did his employees. Think ahead, Hester. You’re always too impetuous.

  A terrible sport, my foe tries to belittle me before the game even begins. “It isn’t as though you’re a great threat, with those scary magic ears, that smelling ability.” Scarlett imitates my rasp next, saying, “I can’t see you, but I sense your emotions and hear like a owl.’” He returns to his own voice. “Your feeble ways are amusing.”

  In a sense, Scarlett is beginning to sound like an actual brother. The kind who tattles, dips your braids in ink, and burns ants with a magnifying glass. Except that he won’t think twice about destroying me or killing good people.

  “David Thornhill,” I say. Scarlett seems like the bragging type, habitually crowing over his victims. “Why did you make him murder Freckles…I mean, Maude Lambson?”

  It sounds as though Scarlett is untying his precious cravat now, the popinjay. He pauses, as if weighing whether he wishes to indulge my curiosity. “Stalling, sis? All right. I’m game. Thornhill worked for me until he met his wife. She awakened his conscience, I presume, and my employment was no longer to his liking. He needed to be taken down a peg.”

  “And Miss Lambson?”

  “You met her. The woman was obnoxious. Surely you have better questions than these? I’m getting bored.”

  “About Marie-Louise—”

  “What has she to do with anything?” Scarlett asks, sounding angry for the first time.

  Do I smell perspiration? Perhaps he isn’t as impervious as he seems. I may have broken through his armor and hit a nerve. “I suppose I’m just puzzled that you killed your own mother but merely ruined Father.”

  “Because she married Lennox, of course. You really are stupider than I thought.” Scarlett takes off his hat and tosses it. “It’s in my nature to strike where it hurts most. Father loves money more than life, so it didn’t make sense to kill him. I took his riches instead.”

  “But he’ll rise again and get it back.”

  “And I’ll destroy him again. For the rest of his life, he’ll never have time to enjoy prosperity, always looking over his shoulder for the next crisis, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. As soon as he reaches the zenith, I’ll plunge him back to the depths. Another Sisyphus with his boulder, if you care to borrow from the Greeks.”

  “Hmm,” I say, enjoying the fact he’s riled. “Hat, coat, gloves, cravat. Are you going to remove any other clothing before we get on with this? If so, I’m glad I’m blind.”

  The air freezes. Oh, that poked the bear a bit. Vanity, thy name is James. Suddenly, a great force pushes me. It winds around my legs, abdomen and arms, squeezing like a python, rubbing the skin raw beneath my dress. I struggle against it, but I lose ground, feet slipping backwards as my body slides closer to the tracks. I am picked up like a rag doll and flipped on my back, suspended in the air.

  “A taste of what you’re up against,” Scarlett whispers.

  Whistling loudly, the train comes round the bend and speeds toward my head. O di immortales. Please help me. The air around the top of my skull is terribly hot and sucks my body forward as the huge machine screams past. My hair is ripped free of its pins, flying about my face. Then I am thrown back to the platform, skidding across the hard surface on my knees. I try to stand, but my legs buckle, weak from shock and fear. My bladder nearly empties itself. What the hell, Mary Arden! Scarlett has some elemental power, you said. He can mix reality with illusion, you said. You never mentioned anything like this! Sweet blazes, when I get my hands on you…

  Scarlett’s at my side in an instant. “Your great weakness, baby sister, is that you care about others. How foolish to make yourself so vulnerable.” He laughs regrettably. “I will stab you in the heart, but not with a blade. Miss Collins will be the first to go, and then Willard Little Hawk. It’s been fun playing with Craddock’s mind, but I’m undecided on the order of disposal between him and Kelly—you’re attached in different ways to them both. And that hideous monster who just moved in with you? I don’t know what I’ll do with him.”

  You’ll never save them. It’s your fault they die. He whispers the words in my mind and desolation fills me. I grow desperate to do myself harm. Worthless freak. Unlovable. Weeping uncontrollably, it is all I can manage not to dash my brains against the station wall. Do it, Hester. Throw your life away.

  With Scarlett’s power still wrapped around me, I push myself up. No. I won’t, liar’s spawn. The pressure is crushing, but I stagger like a drunkard across the platform. Not for you.

  My defiance must surprise Scarlett, enough to make him lose focus for a moment. Blinking back tears, I raise my hand, fingers separating to form a V, for Veritas, goddess of virtue and truth. My brother’s dark energy bears down upon me, and heat builds inside my body, igniting my own power. Drawing on the inner blaze, I physically push against Scarlett’s might, until a scream tears from my throat. The force weakens slightly and then dissolves.

  I stumble back a step and drop my hand. Lungs aching, I inhale deeply, free to breathe at last. The oxygen stings my throat, but I savor it. Yet there isn’t time to recover. Echolocation tells me Scarlett is now standing on the south side of the platform, fifteen feet and six inches away.

  Lex talionis, brother.

  Following the sound of his black heart, I run directly at Scarlett. Boom. Crash. Lightning splits the heavens as we collide. The sound stabs at my head, and we tumble apart. A whirlwind arises and pushes me upward, a sensation similar to the one I had when I levitated at the asylum but much more powerful. The strange wind lifts both Scarlett and me from the ground so that we’re high above the train station roof. We spin faster and faster within a vortex. Bile in my mouth, I hear the humans below cry that the moon has covered the sun. An eclipse! Is it a miracle or the end of days, they ask and huddle together within the station house, praying in the darkness.

  I sense the black fog—impenetrable, boiling and writhing like a living thing. It forces its way into my lungs, and I cough like I am choking on molas
ses. The viscous air doesn’t move when I push against it with my hands. How do I fight this?

  “You cannot win,” Scarlett says, as the fog rolls back.

  His voice is like crashing waves, and sound pummels me from all sides. Continuing to spin, I scream, covering my bloody ears, and once more turn off the power I have always relied upon, my greatest gift from the Lady Veritas. Never have I shut down my ears in a situation this dangerous. All is speed and terrifying silence. I fly round and round, not knowing what’s coming next. Up, up, I go. Then I’m jerked side to side and plummet down again.

  The faces of my dearest friends fill my blind eyes. I see Cordelia cold and still as marble, Willard broken and torn. Then Tom. Kelly… Scarlett said he would strike me in the heart, and he will. Maybe I shall lose. The courage I previously demonstrated has deserted me. I cannot summon it, not when I imagine my loved ones suffering on my account.

  Where are the immortals? Have they turned away in my moment of need? Deus miserere. Help me.

  As I continue to whirl in the vortex, I think of the people I served as a Visionary, those who passed from life in violence, searching for justice. I remember when Tom and I struggled with our first investigation. Odds stacked against us, evidence slight, but he said something that made all the difference.

  Now I say it in my darkest hour, and offer the words to the universe in supplication. “Veritas vos liberabit.”

  The truth will set you free.

  Once the words are spoken, light fills my mind, but it’s the opposite of the hot fury I expected. Peace and assurance flow through me, like a blessing from the heavens. I open my ears to sound and the earth shakes, but the spinning grows less turbulent. More light fills me, beginning at my toes and moving upward. Particle by particle. Cell by cell. Enough that it would not surprise me to have rays shooting from my eyes. A voice comes out of my throat, but it isn’t mine. It belongs to the Lady, the ancient one. She must have heard my call for aid. After all these years of labor and sacrifice, I am at last receiving help from above.

  Terrifying, wondrous, the voice rends the air. “My wrath is stirred, James Scarlett. Release my servant or we shall do battle. Do you think yourself greater than I?”

  My half-brother may have inherited some power from the goddess, but it has become polluted by his deeds. I feel her anger over this, her desire that Scarlett be punished for abusing the gifts she gave him.The blazing light which fills me is pure, not the warped illusion of truth Scarlett uses to deceive. I would be a fool not to capitalize upon this godsend. Down, down, down I fall. My feet land lightly on the railway platform, and Scarlett drops to earth a moment later. Veritas has left my body, but I feel her strength running through me.

  I wipe the blood from my ears and smile at my brother. “You will not touch Cordelia or Willard. The same goes for Kelly, Tom and Gabriel.”

  A growl forms in his throat and Scarlett launches himself forward. His hands clutch at my neck, but an awful burning-flesh smell drifts around us, followed by wild shrieking. He releases me and stumbles back to examine his wounds. Perhaps I am getting the hang of that new power of mine. Simple, really. The key is to touch evil people when one is righteously indignant.

  As I am right now.

  Lunging forward, I rake Scarlett’s face with my bare hand. The cheek and eye-socket dissolve under my fingernails like honey in hot tea. A vision of his death flies through my mind as he screams again. I know the location, the method, and the perpetrator.

  My half-brother is backing up. “What have you done, you stupid girl? How could this happen?”

  He falls off the platform to the train track below, and a bone in his leg shatters beneath him. Oh, ouch. From the sound of it, Scarlett has a compound fracture. Searching about the floor, I locate my sledgehammer near a pile of debris and return to the edge of the platform. My foe still lies whimpering on the tracks. With his defenses weakened, I smell the terror inside him. He does not wish to go to the other side, to meet Sir Death. He knows the punishment that awaits him. Evil as he is, I almost pity my brother. Almost.

  The sledgehammer feels solid in my hands. It would be so easy to finish Scarlett, but I shrink from it. Maybe it isn’t in my nature to kill, having represented the rights of the dead for so long. I am Veritas of Stonehenge, after all, not one of the Furies. Or it could be that I saw him die a moment ago in my mind, and it wasn’t here and now. And my old friend Death does not lurk about the train station but reaps elsewhere. Who am I to defy that old hussy Fate?

  People begin to stir. I hear them talking of the terrifying weather—the eclipse, earthquake, and tornado. A brave few venture out of the station house. They find Scarlett, and his wounded henchmen, and call for help. The rake/cane is not where I left it under the bench, so I turn and walk away, hand brushing against the station wall for guidance. No one seems to notice the impaired Grayson girl as she heads back toward High Street.

  I drop the sledgehammer into some bushes near the cemetery, but my shoe dislodges something small from the dirt as I turn away. I bend down and pick it up. It’s a smooth, flat stone, similar to a dollar coin. There are no heads nor tails on either side of it, but I flip the stone into the air like it’s a silver dollar. Feels different than my lucky pebbles, more solid. It certainly wouldn’t represent the best day of my life like the pebbles did, the day when I learned I could escape.

  Yet it might symbolize something else—the day I survived. When I learned I could stay and fight, and the heavens came to my defense.

  While tucking my new lucky stone into the pocket of my skirt, I change my mind about the sledgehammer. I remove it from the bushes and hoist it over my shoulder. Could come in handy some day.

  Lilacs scent the air as I walk toward my house on St. David’s Street. The winds settle into a gentle breeze, promising that summer is not far distant. I am not so optimistic I imagine Scarlett is gone for good. He’ll be back to settle the score, but I doubt the Lady Veritas will stop him then. She helped me this time and that, in and of itself, was a miracle. I’ll see to it my loved ones are protected. Have Mary Arden show me how to shield them, regardless of the price.

  Hopefully, Tom will stay in California and have a long and happy life there, his need for alcohol overcome. I imagine him as an old man, great grandchildren as far as the eye can see. He has a head of snowy hair and black, shining eyes. Wearing his cowboy duster, Tom rides out each day and surveys his cattle ranch at the base of the Sierra Nevadas. The image makes me smile.

  With Tom’s future decided, I focus on Noah Kelly. He must let me go, for his own good, and find another woman to wife. She’ll be a loyal, maternal lady who looks upon Alice as her own daughter. Kelly will teach their future children many things. Sign language first and then how to whistle. They’ll name every pony that comes into their lives after Jupiter.

  Melancholy settles over me as I think of Kelly marrying again. The sledgehammer slips a little on my shoulder, and I move it to a more comfortable spot. My limbs feel tired, and I yearn for the old copper tub I once used and a steaming, hour-long soak. But there’s no copper bath in my new home. Almost there now, I hear my St. David’s neighbors bustling about, preparing for the evening ahead. For a moment, I fantasize I’m one of them. But some daydreams are too much even for me to entertain.

  None of these good Welsh people carry a sledgehammer as a weapon. They don’t levitate above the train station or have visions of James Scarlett’s demise. I sit on my front step, drop the hammer between my feet, and review the scene in my mind. Experiencing it all again.

  He stands before the fireplace in the parlor of Griffin House, and the mirror over the mantel reflects the room behind him. I cannot discern his age, for the lamps are turned down low, but he wears an eye patch and the right section of his face is missing, the bones barely covered with a thin veil of skin.

  Sir Death lurks in the hallway, winding his watch as he waits for his cue. A figure enters the parlor, lifts a small pistol, and shoots Scarlett in the h
ead. I see the killer in the looking glass, and it’s the most disturbing revelation of all. I’ve learned something about visions, however. They are but a fragment of time and truth and what is done with this knowledge is left up to each Visionary. Even demigoddesses are allowed to choose who they will become.

  Although I spared my brother today, I cannot speak for tomorrow.

  Pale skin. Platinum hair. And silver eyes in the mirror.

  Acknowledgements

  My children were fairly young when I first started this project and now most of them are approaching adulthood. Back in those days, it was especially difficult for me to find the right balance between parenting and writing. Yet I could always count on a night out with my critique group to help me improve my craft and keep my sanity. I owe so much to these talented ladies. They have been a constant source of support, writing advice, and wisdom. Many thanks go to: Ruth Craddock, Adrienne Monson, Jennifer Greyson, Rebecca Rode, Angela Brimhall, Karen Pellett, and Karyn Patterson. I also appreciate Jenilyn Freestone, Kristy Peterson, and Kay Haynie for reading through early drafts and not letting this painful experience effect our relationships. You are all the best!

  Angela Eschler of Eschler Editing has shared valuable insights with me on this story and several others. Her knowledge of writing, and the whole publishing industry, is outstanding. I use what you taught me on a daily basis, Angela.

  And I owe an enormous debt to Kira Rubenthaler, editor extraordinaire at Bookfly Design, for taking so much time on my manuscript. Working with you has been a wonderful experience, Kira. I highly recommend your services to anyone in need of awesome story insights and precise grammar.

  My thanks to James Egan of Bookfly Design for this amazing cover. I loved watching Hester come to life under your skillful hand.

  I greatly appreciate Bob Houston at Bob Houston eBook Formatting for answering my questions and coming to my rescue time and again. You have been a true example of graciousness and professionalism.