“I don’t need hearts. Not when I have her strength.”
“Emma. Where…is…she?” Aggie asked. Despite her best efforts, she felt her power become unstable. She had slipped back into an apprentice, a teenager again. She didn’t dare open her eyes to confirm this.
“You’ll see her soon enough.”
“You better not have hurt Mommy!” Louise shouted. She still pressed against Aggie, though Aggie could feel the girl’s hands around her waist now as she continued to shrink.
“I only did what she agreed to do.”
Aggie felt the last glimmers of her magic fade away. “Renee. Take Louise. Go!”
“Now, Aggie, there’s nowhere they can hide. Not from me.”
Her magic gone now, Aggie felt herself shrink at an accelerated rate. When she opened her eyes, she was actually an inch shorter than Louise. Isis squatted down and held up a mirror. In it, Aggie saw a baby in a gauzy pink dress with a silver belt and ballerina slippers. In her hand she clutched a silver wand made of plastic. A silver plastic tiara was tucked into her golden curls.
Isis pinched one of Aggie’s cheeks. “Go ahead, dear, use your magic wand. Cast a spell on me. Bippity Boppity Boo!” At this Isis grinned again. “That’s all you and your coven ever was to me: a bunch of silly little girls.”
“What you do to Agga?” Renee asked.
Isis stood up and turned to Renee. Aggie threw herself at Isis’s leg and slapped at her with the plastic wand, not that it did any good. Isis turned back to her for a moment. “Aggie, go play with our little superhero and the Headmistress.”
Isis flicked her hand and Aggie found herself in a playpen with Louise and Sophie. Except now Louise wore a pair of red footed pajamas with a yellow towel tied around her neck and a cardboard sword in her hand. As for Sophie, she had become a year or two older. She looked like a parody of herself in comically oversized glasses, sweater, blouse, and skirt and brown hair in a severe bun. She stamped one of her tiny penny loafers and shouted, “No fair! We had a deal!”
“Don’t worry, sweetie. You’ll still be head of the coven. They’ll be in there soon enough.”
As tears began to accumulate at the base of Sophie’s glasses, Aggie held her sister. Poor Sophie had thought she could make a deal with Isis, as Emma had. They both should have known that to make a deal with Isis was to make a deal with the devil. “It’s not fair,” Sophie continued to mumble.
Isis faced Renee again, who stared into the playpen. “You hurt Agga. You mean.”
“I’m not mean,” Isis said, as sweetly as possible. “She was mean. Her and her sister made your mother go away. They wanted you all for themselves.”
“You lie. Agga wouldn’t hurt Mama. Agga loves Mama.”
“That’s what she wanted you to think. But really she was jealous of your mother. Jealous that you loved Mama more than her.”
“That’s not true!” Aggie shouted. “Renee, don’t listen!”
“You lie,” Renee said, though not as forcefully. “Agga is nice.”
“They’re using you, Renee. That’s what all of this was about. That’s why they kidnapped you and Louise and killed your cousin Cecelia. They wanted to use you to destroy the other witches.” Isis held out a hand. “I want to help you, Renee. I can show you how to become a real witch.”
“No,” Renee said. She took a step back.
“Renee, I know how you feel. I was like you. I was trapped in the body of a baby. Yet inside I was so powerful. You can be powerful too. You have to let me help you.”
“No,” Renee whimpered. “Go away.”
“None of them care about you. They think you’re a freak of nature. They call you an abomination.” Isis moved closer to Rene. “But I don’t. I think you’re a beautiful creature, Renee. You and me can do such great things. All you have to do is take my hand and I’ll open your mind to the possibilities.”
“No,” Renee whispered, but Aggie could see her daughter’s will falter beneath Isis’s soothing voice and hypnotic black eyes.
“Renee, don’t do it!” Aggie shouted. “I love you!”
Renee sank to the floor; she tucked her knees up beneath her chin. “I want Mama.”
“Your mother is gone, Renee. Agga and her sister made her go away. But I can be your new mama.” Isis began to sing the way Akako had when she lulled Renee to sleep. Aggie could see the last of Renee’s resolve melt away. She reached out to take Isis’s hand.
For a moment a shadow fell over Renee’s body, to envelop her in darkness. When it dissipated, Aggie saw that her daughter had become a young woman in a long black robe. Most telling of all was the silver necklace around her neck, at the end of it a stick figure with the arms turned down—the symbol of Isis.
“Oh, Renee,” Aggie whispered.
The young woman who had been Aggie and Akako’s daughter glided across the hallway to squat in front of the playpen. When she smiled, it was the same smug grin of Isis. She reached into the playpen to pick Aggie up. She stroked Aggie’s hair with one hand while her other had the strength of steel. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m going to be your mommy now.”
Aggie began to sob, even after Renee put her back into the playpen. She leaned against her sister. All hope was lost.
“Come,” Isis said. She patted Renee’s shoulder. “We still have a lot of work to do.”
Epilogue
Amanda had never worn her formal uniform before. Because of this, the jacket and pants hung stiffly as if someone had put too much starch in them. She ran her hands over the jacket, to smooth out imaginary wrinkles.
Megan appeared beside her in the mirror, clad in a simple black dress that contrasted sharply with her pale skin. “It looks fine,” Megan said.
“Yeah, I guess,” Amanda said, though she was unable to resist tugging on the jacket again to straighten it out. Then she ran a hand over her hair, to make sure every strand lay flat before she put on her cap. She turned to Megan and said, “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I mean, you didn’t even know her.”
“Of course I’ll come. That’s what friends do.”
“I guess,” Amanda said again. Megan was her friend, but Amanda thought of what she’d said to Darlene in the car. Right now Amanda was Megan’s best friend, but that was only because they’d met in college, when Megan had been so painfully shy. Once Megan graduated and got out into the working world, she would meet new people. She would start to come out of her shell. She would make new friends, ones who were more sophisticated and didn’t work such crazy hours. In time she’d probably even meet a man and start a family. Megan would call her a few times a year and then send her a Christmas card; she would leave Amanda farther and farther behind, until she became that girl Megan had gone to college with, the one who’d dropped out to become a cop. They might meet for a class reunion or for some special occasion, but things wouldn’t be the way they were now.
The smart thing to do would be a preemptive strike. She should let Megan go before Megan let her go. In a way she’d already begun that process, helped out by their incompatible schedules. When Megan suggested they move in together, Amanda could say she didn’t think it was a good idea, that Megan should live in a safer neighborhood, like back in her father’s mansion over on the northwest side.
When she looked at Megan, with her skin and hair so pale that she looked like a ghost or a vampire in a teen movie, Amanda knew she wouldn’t do this. While she’d managed to control her asthma better, Megan was still too fragile for any big shocks. It would be better for her to let the process work itself out, to let her be the one to cut the cord.
Amanda forced a smile to her face. “You have your inhaler?”
“In my purse.”
“And it’s fully charged?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go.”
***
The cemetery was packed to the point that Amanda had to park her car at a convenience store a mile away. She and Megan fell in with a line of
other cops and mourners who had turned out for Captain Donovan’s funeral. Amanda had never really thought Captain Donovan had been that popular within the department, but it seemed everyone had shown up to bid her farewell, from the mayor and city council to the commissioner, right on down to lowly beat cops like Amanda.
The cynical part of her brain knew this was in part because of the high-profile way in which Captain Donovan had died. To die in a shootout to make sure the notorious criminal Don Vendetta lived for her trial was the kind of story reporters dreamed about. The newspapers and TV newscasts had buzzed for the last twenty-four hours about the heroic Captain Charlotte Donovan and her famous last stand at the precinct. Because of that, the mayor and the rest of the big wigs couldn’t resist getting their pictures taken as they “honored” the fallen hero.
She ran into a familiar face in front of the cemetery gates. At first she didn’t recognize the woman in a uniform like hers who herded a little boy in front of her. Then the woman turned and Amanda recognized her training officer. They waited until they were through the gates to step aside so they could talk.
Amanda had never been good with children; she always lacked that maternal instinct her mother had so wanted her to possess. She nodded to the little boy who stood in front of Darlene, who in turn looked down at the ground. “This must be Jamie.”
Darlene ruffled the boy’s dark brown hair. “That’s right. My pride and joy.” The way Darlene smiled indicated this was true despite the hint of sarcasm in her voice. She nodded towards where Megan stood beside Amanda. “And this must be your friend Megan. I remember when the city was turning itself inside out trying to find you. You should have held out another two days. Then I would have won the pool.”
When Megan’s cheeks reddened at this, Amanda hoped she was blushing and not about to have an asthma attack. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t much money anyway,” Darlene said. She’d probably figured out—as Amanda had—that Megan took such jokes far too literally. That was part of her charm, but also what made Amanda sometimes want to choke her. Darlene turned to Amanda. “So how are you holding up?”
“All right, I guess,” Amanda said. She suddenly felt as shy as Megan. She had in fact spent twelve hours—after they finally sent her home from seemingly endless reports and debriefings about the incident—lying catatonic in her bed. She hadn’t reacted so strongly when her brothers and father died. Then again, none of them had died to save her life.
That was the worst part of it, to think Captain Donovan had died so she could live. She who admittedly had nothing to live for, who would have gladly taken the bullets instead. Amanda tried to come to grips with this; she promised herself she would become as good of an officer as Captain Donovan. That didn’t really help, in large part because she’d pretty much failed at everything in her life so far. All the idle promises in the world wouldn’t bring Captain Donovan back to life.
In time she had gotten a few hours of sleep and gathered her wits enough that she could put on her dress uniform and drive here. Amanda was grateful to have seen Darlene so she could put off the horrible moment of seeing that flag-draped casket a little longer. The moment she saw it, she knew she would lose it again.
They had to make the climb up the path, to the plot where Captain Donovan would be buried. Amanda found her legs growing heavier the closer they got, to the point that Megan put a hand on her back to help her forward. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Megan asked.
“I have to,” Amanda said. It wasn’t that Captain Donovan had been a mentor to her; Amanda had a special role in the ceremony. The captain didn’t have any living relatives—at least none that could be located on short notice—so Amanda had been elected to receive the flag traditionally given to the fallen officer’s parents or siblings. She hadn’t really wanted the “honor,” but Lieutenant Cielo had persuaded her that it’s what Captain Donovan would have wanted.
Because of this, she had a seat up front with the commissioner and the rest of the top brass. Megan sat next to her on one side while Darlene sat on the other. Amanda was grateful for their presences to keep her from a fresh round of sobs at the sight of that shiny black coffin shrouded by the American flag.
Her brothers had both been buried in caskets just like it, only three months apart. Amanda, only seventeen at the time, had sat beside her mother and stared down at her feet while Mom blew her nose into a handkerchief. Amanda had let her stepfather comfort her mother while she sat numbly in her chair; she didn’t look up as the bugler played Taps and the honor guard fired their weapons into the air. For Peter’s funeral she had actually shed a few tears, but for Rick’s three months later, she couldn’t summon any emotion other than shock at the thought she would never see either of them again.
For Captain Donovan’s funeral, she again looked down at her feet; she didn’t listen as Lieutenant Cielo and others eulogized the captain. As the speeches dragged on, Amanda knew there was someone missing, someone who had known Captain Donovan as well as anyone: the Scarlet Knight. The city’s erstwhile masked avenger had been missing in action since the capture of Don Vendetta. The superhero whose armor could stop bullets like those that had killed Captain Donovan. Amanda snuck a glance around the gathered crowd. Was the Scarlet Knight here in her secret identity? Or was she using her cape to watch invisibly from nearby? Amanda didn’t know, but she did know that if she saw the Scarlet Knight, she would take a few shots at the bitch for disappearing when Captain Donovan—her staunchest ally on the force—had needed her most.
The anger from this buoyed her through the rest of the speeches. The pit of despair opened again, as the first strains of “Amazing Grace” echoed across the cemetery. From the corner of her eye, she saw Darlene dab at her eyes with a handkerchief and clutch her son tightly to her body. Amanda felt a hand on her back and Megan whispered, “It’s all right to cry.”
Amanda didn’t right away, but as the honor guard lined up for the twenty-one-gun salute, the floodgates finally opened. She rested her head against Megan’s pale shoulder and sobbed while the shots rang out. She knew she didn’t cry only for Captain Donovan, but everyone she had lost in her life. Too many good people had died while the bad guys like Don Vendetta remained alive. Her brothers and Captain Donovan had given their lives for noble causes, but evil still remained to suck more good people into its maw.
At first she thought the clap of thunder was another gunshot. Then it rumbled again and she looked up to see black clouds rushing in. It would be appropriate for it to storm during the funeral, for God to shed tears like she, Darlene, and so many others.
The clouds continued to multiply until they blotted out the sun, to plunge the cemetery into darkness. The priest shuffled forward to say a final prayer before they committed Captain Donovan’s body to the ground. Before he could open his mouth, the assembled crowd gasped. Amanda saw what had drawn their attention: an angel descended from the heavens!
As it came closer, Amanda could see the shape did indeed resemble a human with wings spread out. But the “angel” didn’t fit with the ones she remembered from church. This angel’s wings were black and leathery, like those of a giant bat. Attached to these wings was a young Arab woman in a black gown. Her eyes glowed red like two burning coals.
Beside her, Amanda heard Megan begin to wheeze. Amanda reached into her friend’s purse for the emergency inhaler, though she was too speechless to tell Megan to calm down. Megan pitched forward onto the ground; Amanda squirted the medicine into her mouth while Megan’s face turned from red to purple.
There was another clap of thunder and when the black angel finally spoke, her voice boomed like the thunder. “I am Isis and this is where I will make my new kingdom. All will serve me or die.”
And then the cemetery was swallowed by darkness.
VOLUME VIII
The Heart of Emma Earl
Prologue
The three people at the table in front of him looked as if they were
at an ordinary business meeting. The two men and one woman all wore suits that looked a bit rumpled and worn from use. They laid out manila folders and legal pads. They exchanged pleasantries about the weather and their plans for later—the woman’s six-year-old had a birthday party that Saturday for which she needed to prepare. They showed no sign they held his future in their hands.
Tim Cooper shifted nervously in his chair. Unlike the people who decided his fate, he wore the standard orange jumpsuit with his number—2471070—over the left breast. At least they’d taken off the cuffs after they sat him at the table so he could move freely. He didn’t have anything on the table; he didn’t need a legal pad or manila folders for his arguments.
The bald man in the center of the three called the meeting to order. Tim was grateful as well they hadn’t allowed cameras and TV crews in for the hearing, so he only had to hear the faint click of tape recorders. Tomorrow all the papers in the state would carry headlines about the fate of the Boy Genius.
He hadn’t come up with the nickname; The Rampart City Times had come up with it for his arraignment. The others had picked up on it and run with it. He despised the nickname because at twenty-six years old he wasn’t exactly a boy and he didn’t really consider himself a genius either. He had simply come up with what he thought was a good idea—robots shaped vaguely like rats that could be used to explore other planets or other places humans couldn’t go. That idea had been perverted without his knowledge, turned into a weapon that had been unleashed on the people of Rampart City. It had killed two hundred thirty people in what the Times and others had dubbed the RAT Bombings.
The bald man related Tim’s crimes, mainly that he had aided a felon. That felon wasn’t in the meeting room. He had never done a moment of hard time; he hadn’t even received a trial. The real perpetrator of the RAT Bombings, Harry Ward, had disappeared and never been seen again. That was the real reason Tim had been in jail for the last two years. Someone had to take the blame and with Ward gone, Tim was a convenient scapegoat.
Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Wrath of Isis Page 139
