Andrew gave the piano key to Ingrid. “You’re good here?”
She nodded. “Go do your thing.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
She flashed a smile. “We’ll all laugh about it, just before we die.”
“That’s soothing.”
Oliver followed him outside, while the rest of them finished setting up. Their shadows crossed on the cement floor, trading stories. Carl had never trusted him. For a moment, he thought about dialing Carl’s number. Can you clear this up? As if his distracted voice mail message would have answers.
They descended the stairs that led to the faculty offices. The hallway had recently been painted a buttery shade of yellow. It was so still that he could hear his own breathing. All the doors were closed. Oliver stood very close to him. Their hands were nearly touching, and he wasn’t sure what to do about that. Carl, who am I without you? Am I a good person? Am I sane? Tell me what I should do. Play me something. Air Supply. Elevator music. I don’t care. Just tell me how this works.
“You’re sure about these tunnels?” Oliver asked.
“I’m not sure of anything.”
“It wasn’t meant to be a metaphysical question.”
Andrew turned to face him. “What are you sure of?”
The fluorescent lights made him look overexposed. “What?”
“Are you sure that you want to help us?”
He frowned. “There’s no other option.”
“That’s the answer you’re going with.”
“What do you want from me, Andrew? I’ve always been on your side. Whatever I used to have—it’s gone. All I can do now is fight.”
“She could restore your position. If you switched sides.”
“Do you really believe that?”
Andrew searched his expression. It wasn’t difficult to look him in the eyes, which was strange in itself. Oliver had chosen. Andrew skated along the edge of disaster, like always. He thought about power, how vital it was, how bright. Maybe he’d been the variable all along. The one who couldn’t be trusted.
He walked down a short flight of stairs without answering. There was a brief corridor, which ended in a bricked-up wall. He smelled water and decay. This was a limb that the campus had forgotten about. The tunnels were supposed to be haunted, but that no longer frightened him. Being haunted wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
Andrew pulled out a geode from his knapsack. He’d bought it years ago at the mineral fair, intrigued by the way that its crystals caught stray light. He set it next to the brick wall. Nothing happened at first. Then, after a few moments, he saw small shadows gathering. Two gnomoi emerged from a gap in the brick. They had lamplike eyes and brittle white hair. One of them picked up the geode, tapping it with his talons, the way you might test a watermelon at the supermarket. He tasted it. Andrew saw his shy tongue, the color of quartz, as it flicked across the surface of the stone.
The gnomoi looked at him expectantly. The offering was suitable. He pointed to the brick wall and imagined it melting, like ice cream on a summer sidewalk.
The lares nodded and began to eat.
After the brick was gone, they stepped into the narrow tunnel. They used the light of their phones to guide them. Andrew pulled out Carl’s phone as a backup light, but Oliver didn’t say anything about it. They walked slowly and in silence. The gnomoi followed, curious, picking stones from their teeth. Andrew stopped.
“We’ve crossed College Street,” he said. “We’re below the park now.”
There was a large access panel in the ceiling. He could just make it out in the triple light of their phone-torches. It was locked. The gnomo who’d taken the geode looked at him thoughtfully. His eyes were green in the semidarkness. Andrew swallowed his fear, trying to find the desire beneath it. He flattened everything into a striated need. The gnomo cocked his head in understanding. Then he ate the lock in one bite, as if it were a low-hanging plum. He spat out liquid metal on the ground.
Oliver took a step back but said nothing.
Andrew opened the metal doors. He could feel a breeze and hear the ducks, hissing in the grass. They were near the gazebo. The park cared little for what was going on beneath it. Everything kept moving forward.
Oliver gave him a boost, and he crawled to the surface. He extended his hand, pulling Oliver up after him. They both emerged feeling strangely disoriented, like criminals who’d engineered a daring escape.
“If we can herd the lares underground,” Andrew said, “we might be able to minimize the damage to the city. The caela will sense that the horn is nearby. I’m hoping that the others will follow them. Out of curiosity, if nothing else.”
“And what are we supposed to do, once we’ve got them down there?”
“Run faster than the hungriest ones.”
Oliver exhaled. “Now I remember why I hate your plans.”
“The gnomoi will keep them busy. I hope. We’re pitting the lares of Anfractus against the ones who live here. I guess you could think of them as a spiritual diaspora. There aren’t as many, but they’re territorial. That should at least buy us some time.”
“And you can control them?”
He laughed. “Control? No. I can bribe them, and reason with them, but they’ll do what they want in the end. I’m counting on the fact that Latona isn’t willing to admit this flaw. There’s still a chance that we can turn her army against her.”
Oliver’s eyes widened. “I think we’re going to find out.”
Three shadows were moving across the surface of the park. A woman rode ahead of each army. Latona was dressed in a lorica of ebony and jade, with hundreds of shining segments that flickered, like stars. She was riding a bronze horse. It took Andrew a moment to realize that she’d liberated Queen Victoria’s mount, which normally stood in the garden across from the legislature. Mardian rode with her. A dagger gleamed against his silken belt. Andrew shivered when he saw it. The spado’s face was a web of scars, a leaf of scoured parchment. There was nothing in his expression. A peculiar emptiness, far worse than the keening rage that he’d expected to see.
They were surrounded by lares. Salamanders left flaming footprints in the grass, while undinae slithered through stagnant puddles. The turf buckled and writhed as gnomoi burrowed beneath it. Pulcheria followed on her right. She moved a bit more slowly, since she was riding a stone frog. Its back was a mosaic of winking tesserae. Andrew remembered seeing it near Darke Hall. Engineering students had damaged it years ago, but now it had a new set of legs and was making good time as it terrified the ducks. A smaller group of lares followed Pulcheria—spirits still loyal to the city of Egressus. On the far left, Pharsia rode in a chariot of scrap metal, pulled by rusted, faceless sculptures that surged across the ground like blind worms. A pack of furs kept pace with her, dressed in patches and carrying an assortment of unlikely weapons.
“We may need to call the fire department,” Andrew said. “And everyone else.”
“I can see them,” Oliver said. His voice held a note of astonishment.
Andrew turned. “You mean the lares?”
He nodded. His expression was almost childlike. “There are so many different kinds. No one ever told me that they were beautiful.”
“They also want to eat you.”
Oliver shook his head as if to clear it. “Why can I see them? And—is that a frog?”
“The walls between worlds are like damp newspaper. They’re stretched to capacity, and everything’s getting in.” He looked up. “Absolutely everything.”
The caela swirled above them, a cloud of eyes and searching mouths that was spreading across the sky. In no time, they would blot out the moon. An engine of furious appetite revolved within the heart of the smoke. He knew what it wanted.
He sent a message to Shelby: Start playing.
At first, nothing happened. Th
en, a cluster of gnomoi put their shriveled ears to the ground. The salamanders heard it too. Their tails whipped back and forth as they strained to locate the source of the vibration. The undinae stared at the surface of Wascana Lake, as if they could divine a message in the glass of the water. Even Latona’s stolen mount paused in midstep, flicking its ears.
It was beginning to work.
Sam had come up with the idea. She’d been fascinated by the piano key, which had once been an ivory horn. She knew that it summoned the caela, but its form here was entirely different. The park was like a door frame, a boundary that kept things in order. But as that boundary declined, anything that crossed the threshold would begin to vibrate with hesitation as it shifted between forms. There had to be a way to put that to use. It was Sam’s idea to replace one of the organ keys with the artifact. The vibration from the pipes, she reasoned, would amplify the call of the horn.
She’d been right. All of the lares heard it. Then something unexpected happened. The gnomoi began to sing. They called out in unison, and their voices matched the dark cadence of the magnificent organ. It thrummed across the ground and into the air, a single note that sent shivers across Andrew’s body. The park itself was awake now. He could feel it in the patient movement of the trees. Wascana Lake churned beneath the moonlight, a stained-glass window alive with rills of blue. Latona hesitated. He could see it in her expression. The caela were moving away from her, following the sound. Her army was splintering.
It was Paul who played.
His fingers danced across the keys, playing the only song he knew: “Baby Beluga.”
Pulcheria chose that moment to charge.
Andrew realized that a stone frog could move a lot faster than he’d thought.
A few evening bystanders gathered on the edge of the lake to watch. They assumed it was a movie or some drug-fueled reenactment of a scene from Game of Thrones.
That was when the silenoi burst from the line of trees.
The princeps carried a spear. Andrew felt his arm ache, remembering when the silenus had clawed him. That scar was forever. Black hooves churned the earth as the princeps’s followers massed around him. On the other side of the clearing, Septimus and Skadi ran at the head of a smaller pack. Everything slowed down for a moment, then sped up with a crash that jarred him to the bone.
The bystanders couldn’t remember which episode this was supposed to be.
Lares from Anfractus were attacking the elemental spirits of the park. It was a vicious battle for territory. Salamanders burned like will-o’-the-wisps, biting and clawing in golden flashes. Their blood seared the grass. Undinae skated across the surface of the lake, slashing with needle-thin blades of congealed ice. Andrew watched in horror as one of them was cut to pieces and burst into a spray of black water. The gnomoi used their talons, and sometimes their teeth. They screamed and whirled through a mist of slate-gray blood. Latona’s horse reared back, and she nearly fell. Pulcheria had already dismounted. A salamander leapt at her, hissing, but she struck it with her distaff. The lizard unraveled into fine gold seams that burned against the air, then vanished.
The silenoi were a dark, terrifying wave that moved across the battlefield. Skadi and Septimus led a loyal—or foolish—pack against the forces of the princeps. The lares burned around them, but these monsters only had eyes for each other. The princeps was vertiginous murder, a dance of glorious edges. Green blood sizzled on the tip of the royal spear. The silenoi howled and bucked and tore at each other. Septimus gored an oncoming warrior with his spiral horns. Brilliant green sap burst from the ruined throat, and the silenus convulsed as he fell. Skadi was contending with an opponent twice her size, which didn’t faze her in the least. The silenus clawed her shoulder. With a low snarl, she drove her fist beneath the attacker’s ribs. The warrior stumbled backward, and she leapt on him, twisting his body until he was face down in the mud. She used her weight to drive his head into the sodden turf, screaming liquid syllables that must have been wild invective.
Now the princeps had begun to hesitate. His eyes took in the chaos. He hadn’t expected his own people to move against him. Septimus had been his right hand, Skadi his left, and now they were both cutting an emerald swath through his ranks.
Latona and Pulcheria faced each other on the green. Their distaffs were raised. Spirits writhed at their feet. In the distance, he could hear sirens. Oliver, he realized, had taken seriously his suggestion to call the fire department.
It was then that Andrew had a profoundly stupid idea.
It would depend on several variables, and also how fast he could run. It was a roll worthy of his name. Possibly, it would kill him for real. But some part of him had always been ready for that.
He ran toward the chaos.
“Andrew!”
There was no time to stop. He remembered running like this ages ago. Sandals dancing across uneven stones. And Babieca’s voice. Follow that bee! It wasn’t his memory. It belonged to his shadow. But he claimed it as his own. This time, he would be fast enough. This time, the song would not fail.
He knew that Oliver was chasing him. But there was nothing he could do. No chance to turn back. Fate moved. The salamanders looked up as he approached. Their spines glowed like coral beneath stretched golden skin. They hissed and reared.
Ages ago, it seemed, the lizard in his dream had asked: What do you desire? The question was always the same. He’d answered over and over, but not to anyone’s satisfaction. What do you desire? The eyes that had seen empires fall. The dark pupils that threatened to swallow him. The claw against his heart, always waiting. Now he knew.
We want the same thing. And we’ll have it. Just follow me.
Some of them paused. Some ran toward him. One hissed a cloud of flame that singed the hairs on his arms. He felt a storm of claws. Oliver screaming his name. Babieca laughing as the final note settled.
He ran.
Light bloomed on either side of him. Latona swung her distaff. He fell to his knees and rolled, like he was tumbling down a hill. The earth bit into his knees. There was blood in his eyes, but he ignored it. All he saw was the dagger.
Mardian turned on him, fumbling with the belt. It was more of a sash. Decorative, but not very efficient. The dagger was caught by a thread.
There was a salamander at his feet. Andrew almost thought that he recognized it. There was something familiar about those hourglass pupils, the tail curled in a question mark. He struck out with his pain and need and fear. He flung it like a javelin, screaming something, a word, perhaps a name. It was hot ash, a note burning on its way out. He was crying, he realized. Tears stung the cuts on his face.
The salamander joined his cry. It puffed out a cloud of flame that danced in the air between them. He felt its purifying heat. Mardian dropped the dagger. He was terrified of the flame. Andrew grabbed the weapon and stood up. For a moment, he loomed over the spado. Mardian’s expression twisted in astonishment. Then something changed in his eyes. Something gave way. He made no sound. He stayed exactly where he was, half-kneeling on the ground.
I’d do it again, he seemed to say. Fate moves.
And Andrew saw him as he was. Not a proud spado, cold in his passions, but a person who’d given up everything for power. He remembered that night long ago, when Mardian had pledged fealty to Latona, before the shivering fountains. He would have done anything. Even the basilissa was startled by his desire. Andrew saw it now, beneath the frozen look, which was the real mask. They were the same. Like him, Mardian had searched for something beyond the pale network of his life, beyond the long days of working in a hospital or wandering monklike through a library. Surrounded by pain and confusion, he had reached for something that only the park could give him. They had both made wild rolls. There was no sense in regret any longer, no reason to be so scared. Magic was dangerous and alive. There was nothing else.
Andrew stood with the
dagger in his hand. There was a spot of dried blood on the serrated hilt, like a careless drop of paint.
He might have brought the blade down in one smooth motion. That was one ending.
Instead, he drew it against his palm. The pain was sharp but momentary. As his blood kissed the dagger, everything stopped. The lares craned their heads. Even the silenoi felt what was happening. Septimus and Skadi were watching him. The caela had already fled, but the remaining lares were frozen before him. A breath between chaos and the unlikely body that stood in front of it. Blood trickled down the hilt. This was the knife that sealed the oath, the knife that stole Babieca’s life. It was wild with possibilities. In Mardian’s hand, it was an instrument of destruction.
But it didn’t have to be.
He raised it above his head. The lares followed his every movement. This was where Latona had faltered. They couldn’t be commanded. But, like all things old and reasonable, they could be convinced.
“Follow me!” His voice was the organ note. It surged in all directions, once a little song, now leonine as it climbed. “Follow me, and this world is yours!”
The gnomoi moved first. Then the salamanders. The frog and the horse followed. They were all heading toward him.
The princeps yelled something. His warriors charged the hill, descending like a murderous herd. Septimus and Skadi followed. They were also screaming something. It took him a moment to realize what it was.
Run!
Latona’s expression was difficult to read.
Oliver grabbed his hand.
Then he was stumbling through the tunnel, with an army at his back.
He hadn’t even tried the profoundly stupid thing yet.
4
They ran through the dark, losing each other, stumbling over stones and roots, barking shins on imprecise corners. Everything was chasing them. Andrew couldn’t turn around. He kept telling himself that the tunnel was short, that they had a head start. But that wasn’t quite true. Clusters of lares had already come ahead of them. Salamanders had scorched the walls, and gnomoi had burrowed through the floor of hard-packed earth. Stray wires sparked around the access panel. Had someone tried to eat them? Lares were unpredictable creatures. He knew that salamanders preferred oranges, but what did the undinae snack on? Hopefully seaweed, not people. Smoke hung heavy in the air. The caela had left a mark on this place as well. Everything was hurtling toward his friends, every nightmare beneath the bed, every not-so-blithe spirit with an appetite for this world.
Prize of Night Page 24
