by Edward Cox
At these words Clara jumped to her feet, alert and tense.
Samuel moved over to the security door. Although his magic had dulled, it still pulsed with a gentle undercurrent. Danger remained in the asylum, but not in the immediate vicinity.
Samuel opened the security door fully and immediately bent double and retched. The wave of putrefaction hit Clara next, making her vomit what little contents her stomach held onto the security station floor. Van Bam seemed immune to the overpowering stench, and walked out into the hall. Clara followed, holding a hand to her face. Samuel drew his revolver and let the door close behind him.
The air had become so thick and heavy in the wake of the massacre that it seemed to coat the inside of Samuel’s mouth with an oily film. Puddles of liquefied fat and muscle, hair and bone covered the floor. More dripped from the metal stairs and balcony above in greasy lumps that struck the ground with dull smacking sounds. There were a couple of piles of broken rubble, along with a stone leg or arm that had belonged to a victim entering the later stages of the virus; but for most, Hamir’s magic had reduced all organic matter to a human soup which was smeared across the detention hall like a coat of paint.
As he took careful steps across the slick and slippery floor, Samuel’s disgust deepened when he remembered that Van Bam’s feet were bare. Van Bam always said it was important for an illusionist to keep himself in physical contact with what was real. Even so, Samuel knew the Resident could feel every texture of the liquefied matter beneath the soles of his feet, and it made him shiver. But Van Bam seemed more concerned with steering Clara across the floor as she held tightly to his arm.
Samuel pushed ahead of his fellow agents.
He stopped beneath the balcony of the upper level, standing just out of reach of the human matter that dripped down and smacked on the floor. Directly ahead was a corridor, which seemed to be the only other exit point from the hall.
‘There’s no point checking the cells,’ he said as Clara and Van Bam caught up with him. ‘There’s nothing left.’
‘Agreed,’ Van Bam said.
Dodging the viscous drops, Samuel led the way out of the hall. The other two followed several paces behind.
The corridor wasn’t particularly long, and had no doors to offices or therapy rooms lining the walls. Soon it turned to the right, where the final stretch ended at yet another elevator and door to the next stairwell. Samuel stepped towards the door.
He froze as his magic flashed a warning.
He raised a hand for Van Bam and Clara to halt, scarcely aware of the Resident’s voice asking what was wrong. Samuel could detect something: it felt, rather than sounded, like a shuffling or scratching. But coming from where?
And then, as though from a distance, he heard Clara ask, ‘What’s that noise?’
Samuel’s prescient awareness went berserk.
It was as if time had slowed, and his surroundings pressed in on him from all directions, pointing him towards the danger. Samuel wheeled around and aimed his revolver back down the corridor at his colleagues.
‘Down!’ he roared.
But before Van Bam and Clara could move, a maintenance hatchway broke clear of the ceiling. Two infected jumped into the corridor.
The first died as soon as its feet touched ground. Samuel fired and it slammed sideways, head bursting, blood painting the wall. But the second fell directly upon Van Bam.
It sent the Resident crashing to the floor. The hatchway had fallen down with the monster, and the metal grille was now the only thing protecting Van Bam from the clawing fingers and snapping teeth and infection from Fabian Moor’s virus.
‘Clara, move!’ Samuel shouted.
But the changeling didn’t move out of aim. Instead, as if acting on some animal instinct, she ran at Van Bam’s attacker. She leapt onto its back with a yell. In a fluid, almost graceful motion, she yanked the virus victim’s head back with her left hand, while her right pulled a long knife with a serrated blade from her boot. With another yell of fury, she rammed the blade into the underside of the monster’s chin with such force it sank to the hilt.
Gritting her teeth, the changeling pushed away the dead body before its blood could touch her. For one so small and scrawny, Clara radiated an aura of strength, of power, of something bestial.
Her eyes flashed yellow as she glared down the corridor at Samuel. He kept his revolver aimed in her direction. His magic had pulsed a new warning to him.
It was only for a second or two that they stood staring at each other, but to Samuel it felt a long, tense moment. Was Clara challenging him?
Thankfully she broke the standoff to look down at the Resident. Samuel’s magic eased, and he lowered his gun with no small sense of relief.
Van Bam pushed the metal hatchway to one side and got to his feet. Apart from appearing a little shaken, he was unharmed.
Clara ducked down and picked up his green glass cane.
‘Thank you, Clara,’ he said as he took it from her. His breathing was a little shuddery.
Clara retrieved the knife from the dead body on the floor. She wiped blood from the blade on its clothes.
‘I want that back when this is over,’ Samuel told her.
In reply, she flashed him a yellow glare and slid the knife into her boot.
Samuel gave the Resident an inquisitive look. When Van Bam affirmed his well-being with a nod, Samuel turned and headed for the door to the last sublevel of the asylum.
Clara couldn’t explain what had happened. She had experienced moments when the wolf had tried to control her reactions before – moments when blind anger and the need for violence had dominated her thoughts – but her medicine, or sheer force of will, had always kept those impulses in check. This time it had been different. This time, it felt as if she had tapped into the wolf’s power, its grace and cunning, and used its strength to save Van Bam from the teeth of the infected. If Clara hadn’t known better, she would swear she had controlled the monster.
Or perhaps she had been shown how to …
Clara was convinced she had felt Marney’s influence during the incident. That illusive box of secrets buried deep inside her head had opened a crack, and the presence that slipped out had been full of panic, full of desperation. The catalyst had undoubtedly been the Resident and his plight. The moment Clara’s instincts detected Van Bam was in trouble, she had been filled with a sudden and overwhelming desire to save him, and at any cost. But Clara knew intuitively that it had been Marney’s desire that drove her instincts, put her in touch with the wolf and its courage. Why else would Clara have acted so rashly?
Whatever had prompted the recklessness, the incident had changed Clara. She was sure of it. A bond had grown between woman and wolf, and it seemed so … natural. It had given her a sixth sense, some animal intuition that put her fully in tune with her environment. Instinctively, she knew there was no danger ahead now; that the immediate trouble was over for the Relic Guild – even before Samuel said, ‘We’re in the clear,’ and led them into sublevel three.
Another abandoned security station awaited the group. But unlike on the two previous levels, there was no sign of struggle. The security door, already wide open, led them to a short corridor of cells.
‘This is where the most dangerous inmates are kept,’ Van Bam said. His voice was like music to Clara, deep, familiar and comforting. She hadn’t noticed before, but she was suddenly aware that he was a handsome man. He added, ‘Evidently, Fabian Moor had no use for them,’ and Clara shook herself.
The doors to the cells were heavy and secure. Clara peeked through the small reinforced window of one into the room beyond. An inmate sat on a bunk in his straitjacket, staring back at her. There was a madman’s grin on his face.
‘Wait here,’ Samuel said.
He set off down the corridor. The door to the penultimate cell on the left was open. The old b
ounty hunter disappeared through it.
Clara flinched as a thump came from her right. She turned to see the inmate with the madman’s grin had pressed his face up against the window. They locked eyes for a moment, and then he drew suddenly a deep breath.
‘Monster!’ he screamed.
Clara stepped away from the window, backing into Van Bam. His body felt strong and reassuring against her. The man screamed again. His voice was muffled but loud enough to be heard by the other inmates. More faces appeared at windows, and the cry of ‘Monster’ was taken up by them all.
In the cell opposite, a woman was watching the Relic Guild agents. Her eyes were watery and unfocused, and she laughed as if she had heard the funniest of jokes.
‘Van Bam!’ Samuel shouted from the open cell. The anxiety was easy to hear in his voice. ‘Quickly!’
As the chorus of insane voices continued to swell and echo along the corridor, the two Relic Guild agents raced to him.
Clara was first to reach the cell. Samuel was clutching his revolver so tightly his knuckles had turned white. There was a grim look on his face as he stared down at the bunk. Upon the stained mattress sat a skeleton. In its claw-like hands was a small terracotta jar.
Van Bam entered the cell and stood alongside Samuel. He seemed to recoil at the sight of the jar in the skeleton’s hands. Clara didn’t need heightened senses to detect the fear radiating from both men.
Van Bam cocked his head to one side.
‘Oh shit,’ he whispered.
Forty Years Earlier
Refugee
Marney felt tired to the point of numbness. Only one spark of emotion survived within her, and that was a vague desire, a mindless need to share her body with an illusionist’s. She wanted to be locked away with Van Bam inside a darkened room where the world outside could wait. She wanted to feel something familiar and passionate. And then, Marney wanted nothing more than the oblivion of dreamless sleep so her mind would have the chance to organise and understand the things she had seen.
But on returning to the Labyrinth, the young empath discovered that Gideon had other plans for her.
In the Nightshade’s conference room, every agent of the Relic Guild had been summoned to an emergency meeting. It was late, and her colleagues looked as tired as Marney felt. The Resident sat in his customary position, at the head of the long conference table; Samuel sat at the bottom end, quiet and taciturn, with a few chairs’ distance between him and his colleagues. Marney sat between Denton and Angel. On the opposite side of the table, Bryant sat next to his sister, and Van Bam sat between her and Gene. The only absentee was Hamir. The atmosphere was troubled.
Marney was surprised by the late hour; Ruby Moon was in the sky, and the day was long over. But it didn’t feel as though she had spent that long at Lady Amilee’s tower. She vaguely recalled Denton saying something about time passing slower in the Skywatcher’s realm, but she didn’t really care.
Across the table, Van Bam gave her a fleeting smile. She tried her best to return it.
He and Samuel had already told the group about their excursion to the Anger Pitt, and the information they had managed to extract from a dying treasure hunter called Llewellyn. But it was the news that Marney and Denton had brought back from Lady Amilee that had caused the moments to slip by, silent and fraught.
‘Interesting times,’ Gideon drawled. ‘All Fabian Moor had to do to enter Labrys Town was climb inside a terracotta jar.’ The Resident snorted, rose to his feet, and began pacing the floor behind his chair.
He seemed distracted as he paced. Marney knew he was speaking with Sophia, the ghost of the former Resident who now served as Gideon’s spirit guide. Nobody around the table spoke or disturbed this private conversation.
Even while in contemplation, the Resident still managed to intimidate Marney. Tall and thin, his natural expression was a sullen scowl that hung on a gaunt face with a hooked nose and sunken eyes. His black hair was short, but always seemed to be in need of a cut. If not for the healthy olive tone to his skin, Gideon might have appeared terminally ill. Even for an empath, it was hard to gauge his mood, or anticipate his next reaction.
Van Bam caught Marney’s eye again. He gave her a questioning frown. Distantly, she could feel his concern, but she couldn’t summon enough energy to emote anything back to him.
‘So,’ Gideon said. He stopped pacing and gripped the back of his chair, looking at Van Bam. ‘You say the Genii was discovered in a realm called the Icicle Forest?’
‘So Llewellyn claimed,’ Van Bam replied. ‘He said it was a terrible place, but I have never heard of it.’
‘Have any of us?’ Although Gideon asked the question to all present, he looked pointedly at Denton. ‘Do we even know its House symbol?’
Denton opened his arms in a helpless gesture. ‘It’s not a House I can recall being mentioned anywhere.’
‘Perhaps Llewellyn lied to you,’ Gideon said to Van Bam.
‘There was no deceit in him,’ Van Bam said quickly, almost defensively. Marney felt his remorse. ‘He had no reason left to lie.’
‘Says you. Maybe your skills were clouded by your obvious sympathy, you idiot.’
‘I don’t think so, Gideon,’ said Denton before Van Bam could say anything further. ‘Given that Lady Amilee was not alerted to Carrick and Llewellyn’s movements, the Icicle Forest might just be a hidden realm that even a Skywatcher can’t see. We’ve always been told there are such places out there.’
‘Brilliant,’ Gideon snapped. ‘Then I shall have to send a message to Lady Amilee, begging for her guidance and apologising for our continued incompetence.’ His face flushed with sudden anger. ‘Not only was the Genii hiding in a House none of us can identify, but we also allowed simple-minded treasure hunters to fool us all and bring him to the Labyrinth. You might say I’m displeased.’
Just as it seemed that he would vent his full fury upon the group, he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Evidently, Sophia had something to say on the matter. Gideon’s lips moved silently, as if arguing with the former Resident. Marney noted that all the agents around the table had averted their gaze.
Finally, Gideon took a deep breath and turned his sunken eyes to Denton. ‘Lady Amilee believes Fabian Moor plans to infiltrate the Nightshade, is that right?’
‘That would be the most logical reason for his mission, yes,’ Denton replied. ‘After all, he can’t control the Labyrinth without it.’
‘But could he do it?’ Gene said. The small and elderly apothecary seemed more disturbed than any other present. ‘I mean, he found a way through the Timewatcher’s barrier. Maybe he knows how to bypass the Nightshade’s magic too.’
‘It’s highly doubtful,’ Denton assured him. ‘This is likely still a hopeful strike by the Genii. I think if Fabian Moor knew of a way to enter the Nightshade, he’d already be here.’
‘Unless he’s too weak to act at the moment.’ It was Angel who had spoken this time, and her face was thoughtful. ‘We know he’s fed at least once so far. Maybe he needs to do so again, to gather his strength.’ She looked at the faces around the conference table. ‘I have to tell you, if that virus hits the streets, the hospitals don’t stand a chance. We’ll be overrun in a matter of days.’
‘And what’s to say that’s not what he wants?’ Gene added. ‘Should we warn the denizens?’
‘Yes, and start widespread panic. Good idea, Gene.’ Gideon sneered at the diminutive apothecary. ‘You all heard what Denton had to say, so let’s try and keep a little perspective, shall we? Even if Fabian Moor infected every denizen in Labrys Town, it still wouldn’t grant him entrance into the Nightshade. He would have succeeded only in extinguishing his one source of sustenance. Without blood, he will die and achieve nothing.
‘However, we should assume that he will find a way to invade the Nightshade, given time – and time is not something w
e will afford him. He must be stopped.’
‘Easier said than done,’ Bryant said. He rubbed at the scar on his cheek, as he so often did when he was troubled. ‘Look, I’ll stand against anything you put in front of me, but this is a creature of higher magic we’re talking about. There’s no telling what he’s capable of.’
Beside him, his twin agreed. ‘I don’t see how the Thaumaturgists can expect us to kill a Genii, Gideon.’
‘Oh, stop prattling, both of you,’ Gideon sighed. With an unfriendly smile, he began pacing again. ‘The Thaumaturgists don’t want the Genii dead. Denton …?’
All eyes turned to the old empath.
Denton leant back in his chair and interlaced his fingers across his generous stomach. He had blocked his emotions, and his face was creased with thought. ‘Lady Amilee has given us orders to capture Fabian Moor for questioning.’
So far, Marney had been happy to let the meeting wash over her, only vaguely aware of the details. But now her torpor was interrupted as her empathic senses were assaulted by the incredulity that had blossomed in the conference room. If killing a Genii was an impossible task for the Relic Guild, then Lady Amilee’s orders had just made the impossible even harder.
Denton continued. ‘I understand your reactions, my friends, but the Skywatcher was quite clear on this. Fabian Moor is a high-ranking Genii. He can provide valuable insight into the plans of Spiral. He is vastly important to the war effort. For both sides, it seems.’
Gideon, clearly enjoying the uncertainty of his agents, allowed an uncomfortable moment to pass by before snarling, ‘Stop your childish fretting.’
Marney saw Gene flinch.
‘The Thaumaturgists wouldn’t leave us high and dry. Would they?’ Gideon flashed a laconic grin. ‘Quickly, Denton, tell them about the Skywatcher’s gift before they soil themselves.’
