The Eterna Solution

by Leanna Renee Hieber

  She stood, and the surge of the energy up her body nearly lifted her off the ground. The glorious hum blasted again through every fiber of her being and she strode directly toward that hazy, frenetic knot that had tumbled out of the monument.

  Bishop raced after her, and as Clara approached, holding her hands out as if they were weapons, the mist fell away. Summoned forms floated up as if blown back from the power, revealing the fight within: Celeste clawed and raged in Spire’s faltering hold.

  Behind them, the second of the two guards stumbled out, wide-eyed, and ran away from the site, screaming of devilry as he fled.

  Blessing kept up with his liturgy. Clara looked up. The sky was nearly clear, not entirely, they were close … Returning her attention to the fight, stepping closer toward them, Clara was horrified to see blood dripping from Spire’s fingertips from an unseen wound.

  But their compass was reunited and the surge between the partners forced the Summoned, who were still near enough to swipe at Spire, clawing at his face and gagging him with their toxic essence, to be dissolved into mist and evaporate in the instant.

  Knight fired at Celeste and in an explosion of acrid smoke the two were flung apart. Rose and Bishop rushed forward to catch Spire before he struck his head on the ground. Rose tended to Spire immediately while Bishop turned his focus back to Clara and Celeste.

  The villain, snarling, dress ripped, hair wild and grayed as if she’d aged a decade in a mere hour, regained her footing and like an animal, made to lunge at Knight, but there was a sudden arc of light that came down like the lash of a lightning bolt.

  The blast flung Celeste to the side like a rag doll, after which she lay crumpled on the grass, looking withered, the hem of her dress singed and smoking.

  Mosley, small and mousy in a too-large suit—Clara had never seen him in one that fit—came into view from around the side of the obelisk.

  “That is on behalf of every electrical grid you’ve ruined,” Mosley declared matter-of-factly to the crumpled form before he sheepishly looked at Clara. “Keep watch, that wouldn’t have been enough to kill her. I assumed you’d want to question her.”

  “Yes, thank you, Mr. Mosley,” Bishop said in halting surprise.

  Knight moved to the enemy, nudging the limp body onto its side, and bent to bind her wrists tightly together with a wide ribbon from her own dress.

  “I fixed the Capitol,” Mosley added. “They’ll need new fixtures but the abomination from the sub-basement is clear.”

  “Thank you,” it was Clara’s turn to offer. So that was what the electrical explosion was about.

  Their unpredictable ally looked up at the garish swath of crimson marring the monument and grimaced, and then he noticed Clara’s bloodstained blouse and gown, her cloak having folded back over her shoulder, her battle wounds revealed. As he was watching her, she noticed that a line of dried blood extended from one of his nostrils, a rivulet of which had dripped onto his brown coat. Every act, every gift, it had a cost; a physical toll.

  “Is he all right?” Mosley asked, pointing at Spire. Rose had ripped his shirt and waistcoat open to determine the source of the wound. She folded the torn hem of her petticoat to make a compress.

  “A bullet hole in his side that seems to have gone clean through,” Rose stated, and Clara could hear her trying to control her panic as she whipped off the loose silk bow at her throat to bind his torso, pulling hard on the fabric. “But the battle and the shock has knocked him unconscious.”

  Mosley came close, bent down over Spire, and held an open palm out a few inches over his heart. He then poked him with his index finger, hard in the chest, and there was a little zap. Spire’s body shook reflexively, stirring in Rose’s hold.

  “Thank you,” Rose murmured to Mosley, her voice catching.

  Spire opened his eyes to see Rose looking down at him. He smiled. Mosley turned away, excusing himself from their tenderness, moving to examine the obelisk.

  “Hello there,” Spire said jovially. “Did we survive?”

  “Yes.” Rose exclaimed, the relief clear in her voice.

  “We really shouldn’t split up,” Spire murmured, and Rose helped him sit up on the grass. “Oh, that does hurt. Shots were fired.”

  “Yes, one through you,” Rose murmured.

  He glanced up at everyone before looking down at his makeshift dressing. “I say, women should always have on multiple layers of finery, else all of us would have bled to death in one attack or another.”

  Rose laughed. Clara did, too, until it hurt and she groaned, her hand rising to her wound as if she could pull away the pain.

  “I should also say that there are foul offerings inside the base of the structure,” Spire added. “Might want to tend to those.”

  Blessing gestured to Evelyn and they set to work cleansing and sanctifying the boxes from within the memorial structure.

  “There’s that fallen officer, too,” Spire continued. “Dreadful stuff. Have we cleared the skies, though, Templeton?” he asked with a wan smile.

  “Nearly, sir,” she replied. “All the better thanks to your bravery.”

  “Oh, you set the tone for that today,” he countered.

  “How are you faring, Clara?” Bishop asked gently, taking her hand. “With all of this, I expected you might be staving off a seizure.”

  “Surprisingly, the force of the ley current seems to have stalled one. I am better than I should be, by all accounts.”

  “I’d like to get you to a doctor immediately,” he replied, gesturing toward the bandage on the side of her head now caked with blood.

  “Ah. Yes. It does hurt something fierce, and I expect I’m going to have a hard time looking in a mirror,” she murmured, suddenly ashamed.

  “My beautiful treasure,” Bishop murmured, moving to her and caressing her bruised cheek, lifting her bloodied hand and kissing it. “Nothing could make me see anything different.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, blinking back tears.

  Mosley was wandering around, looking up at the sky and the few remaining Summoned that still floated there.

  “Shall we finish this?” he asked Clara. “Between your line and mine, I think we can cancel out the damage she’s done. Man-made and natural light don’t have to be currents at odds,” he added quietly.

  Clara realized he felt about electricity the way she felt about the ley line, proprietary and protective about something that was often misunderstood.

  Clara blinked at him a moment. “Of course,” she stammered.

  “All right, then.” Mosley closed his eyes, holding out his hand before him. There was a buzzing in the air, a whine rising before it settled out to a vibrating hum at a high pitch. Hair rose on his head, and sparks flew up from his palm as if he held tiny fireworks.

  Bishop drew Clara a few paces away from the rising voltage for safety’s sake.

  Clara knelt again, feeling for the lines as she did, against the ground, and the ley hum rose in her ears and shifted in pitch off the buzz nearby, as if either was a tuning fork for the other. The notes made a chord.

  Some bells in the distance picked up on and tolled the tones, the effect of their work still having preternatural reach.

  Looking up, they watched as the Summoned dissipated. Only a few hung over where the train stations clustered in the distance.

  “That’ll be easy enough to clean up,” Mosley stated, gesturing toward what remained. “Are you going back to New York?”

  “I assume, once … affairs are taken care of.”

  “Then I shall see you there,” he said, and walked away without another word.

  Bishop and Clara watched him go for a moment. He didn’t look back, his fingertips fluttering at his side as if he were playing an instrument on the air.

  Clara looked up at Bishop, standing over her; she was thinking of what was left undone. “Oh, God … Franklin’s body,” she murmured as the sequence of loss came back to her in a rush. “He woke up from her spell and s
he killed him.… He’ll be in the basement of the Willard, she killed him and I couldn’t stop it.…” Tears spilled down her face, the pressure of flushed cheeks making her whole head throb; the full breadth of the past days was too much to consider.

  Bishop helped her up. As she rose, a wave of dizziness accosted her and she stumbled in Bishop’s hold, but he held her steady.

  Blessing, having returned from a rite over the boxes, stepped toward Clara, speaking quietly. “I’ll take care of Franklin and see that he is returned to lay in the family plot, I’ll pray over him with my colleagues. I’ll stay in Washington another day to help them be sure of their own Warding and loose ends.”

  “Thank you,” Bishop and Clara chorused.

  “The pain is getting harder and harder to ignore,” she murmured.

  Blessing reached in a breast pocket for a small tin. He held out something for Clara. She opened her hand and he deposited two white pills into it.

  “For the pain. I always carry some with me, for the agonies prayer can’t immediately heal.” He smiled. From another pocket he procured a small clear bottle and held it out.

  “You’re bidding me take aspirin with holy water?” she asked incredulously.

  “I think God understands practicality, dear, and I happen to think He thinks you’ve suffered enough.”

  She took a small sip and tried to appreciate it as a taste of something priceless as she swallowed the pills. Blessing moved to Rose and Spire, who had been discussing matters quietly, and offered the same succor to Spire, who downed the rest of the bottle eagerly, not realizing it was sacred. This almost made Clara laugh again; her desire to weep, shout, scream, rage, rejoice, and laugh all held equal court.

  Two more Capitol officers on horseback arrived, this time one Spire recognized and he struggled to get to his feet. “Sergeant!” he called.

  “Mr. Spire. A fresh hell around every corner,” the man murmured, staring up at the dreadful scarlet marring.

  The men discussed what happened and the protocol of the prisoner, still lying unconscious on the grass, Knight keeping a vengeful watch, Spire drawing Bishop over to inquire about jurisdictions.

  Clara lay back on the grass, tried to ignore the throb of her head, the strange sensation of missing a part of one’s body that was there and gone in such a split second. She tried to find peace in the ley energy again, but perhaps it, too, was tired; its hum was faint, or perhaps it was coursing onward to others who called upon it, too.

  Soon she was lifted up into Bishop’s arms.

  “Shall I help you walk or carry you home?” he asked.

  “I can walk, let’s not make any more of a scene,” Clara chuckled. “But Rupert, we’ve no home to return to,” she exclaimed, one painful reality hitting her after another.

  “Yes we do. You are my home.”

  As he gingerly set her down, she nuzzled against him. “Yes,” she murmured, “you are my port in the storm.” She leaned in, kissing the hollow of his throat as she shivered in delight. “Being parted from you now causes a physical pain it never did before. If I lost you, I’d never find peace. Not now, not in any lifetime…”

  He pressed his forehead to hers. “There was a time when I accepted a guardian’s role with the gravest responsibility. But now…” He kissed her brow. “Do you know what I’ve done every year on the anniversary of your father’s death?” he asked quietly.

  “No…” Clara said warily, taken completely by surprise by what she assumed was a change of topic.

  “I’ve asked him, since you were of age, if he would grant me your hand. The most recent anniversary fell—”

  “While we were in England,” Clara interjected.

  “Yes. While I’m hardly the medium that Evelyn or you are, I will say that after years of silence, he replied.”

  Fresh tears wet Clara’s cheeks. “And?” she asked breathlessly.

  “He assented. Clara Templeton,” Bishop said softly. “I was inelegant when I spoke of marriage before. I beg your forgiveness and ask you now. Will you?”

  “Yes…” she breathed. “A compact made lifetimes ago, finally manifest in this one.” Their ensuing kiss created a subtle haze of smoke curling up from their clothing.

  Alarmed at first, they drew back, but kissed again when they realized the wisps were a protection; they’d lit their own Wards with adoration.

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  The Pennsylvania Railroad station was all grand arches and beams, plumes of steam and shafts of light, as Eterna and Omega gathered for their return to New York. Rose paused to drink in the sight, not knowing when she’d see it next, if ever. The District seemed stately and quiet in comparison to the raucous bustle of New York, holding the methodical pace of bureaucracy.

  Bishop and Mrs. Northe-Stewart had procured a private car and guided Clara toward it. Having been cleaned up, her wounds properly dressed by a doctor at the hotel, Clara had shifted dark blond locks to sweep down over the bandage. She kept the green cloak she’d worn during the battle drawn tight around her shoulders.

  Lord Black went to a florist’s stall, delighting the matronly woman running it by paying her to haul her entire stock into the designated car.

  From across the platform, where he had been in ongoing conversation with Sergeant Walczek about their captive, Harold Spire moved toward Rose as if she were his only mission. His wound caused him to move more slowly than he would have normally, but something about his gaze stilled her breath. When he came near, he kept a decorous distance but Rose could feel him wanting to step closer. She wished he would.

  “All set?” Rose asked.

  “She’s still unconscious thanks to Mosley, Knight has refused to let her out of sight, and our medium is now holding court with the deputies and telling their fortunes for money. They’re all in her thrall.”

  Rose laughed.

  Spire chuckled before growing serious.

  “You know that I don’t … I can’t believe in half of what has transpired over the last many months.”

  “Yes,” Rose replied without judgment.

  “But I felt something, when I was in the mansion basement—a pull. The same thing that dragged me with you, Bishop, and Clara at Trinity. I’ve never encountered precognition, but I assume it would feel like that. It was … disconcerting.”

  “I empathize. When the inexplicable began to open mysterious petals to me, I felt the same way.”

  “I knew that you were in danger though you were nowhere near me,” Spire said softly. “It was visceral and terrifying.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rose said.

  Spire shook his head, took a step closer, and continued, “If the paranormal serves no other purpose than to bind me to you … then it is not altogether unwelcome.”

  Overcome, Rose grabbed his hand impulsively and brought it to her lips. This made him smile and reach to touch her cheek.

  Their sweet moment was cut short by a great sound like a cresting whine that seemed to come from everywhere around them. The tiny hairs all over Rose’s body stood straight up. From far below came a pain-filled shriek, followed by a pervasive buzzing sound.

  Spire and Rose hurried to where Clara stood leaning on Bishop. Evelyn hovered close, looking angelic in a cream silk day dress with golden embroidery, her gray-golden hair pinned up beneath a beige felt hat decked with golden ribbon. No one would have guessed that mere hours ago, the woman was standing over severed body parts giving sacraments and last rites.

  “I think Mosley’s just neutralized the last source,” Clara said.

  As if cued, the man in question strode into view through a cloud of steam, a dramatic entrance as fine as any theatrical effect.

  “The abomination in this station’s basement is neutralized,” he said, hurrying right to Clara and speaking quickly. “I should also tell you I already dealt with the unholy mess that I found under Edison’s plant back in Manhattan, six sub-basements belowground. The torn human bodies, the wiring, it’s all so�
�” Mosley trailed off, tucking a shaking hand into his coat pocket and retrieving a singed handkerchief with which he wiped moisture off his brow, dabbing at the remains of a fresh nosebleed.

  “Too much to bear, I know,” Bishop said gently. “We cannot thank you enough for your help and your bravery, Mr. Mosley.”

  “We are yet again in your debt,” Clara added.

  “If you take that woman back to New York with you, you know what will happen,” Mosley said, gesturing toward the police holding area.

  “She’ll try to amass power along the rails and attempt to overcome us?” Clara replied.

  “You’ll have to counter it,” Mosley stated.

  “If you come back on the same train, you’ll feel it,” Clara said. “Between the two of us, we could make a great difference. The way you wield electricity seems similar to the way I can now wield ley energy.”

  “I believe so. Look at us and these strange … conditions of ours,” the man murmured with a sad chuckle. Rose watched as he stared at Clara, yearning for a connection.

  “Mr. Mosley,” the senator began warmly, “should you remain in New York, would you accept a position as an inspector of the grid? This whole war of the currents is problematic. We’d never reveal your abilities but you would be an invaluable asset.”

  Studying Bishop for a moment, Mosley spoke with disconcerting honesty. “I have much to atone for. Sins untold. I shall pay penance by serving in this capacity. Yes. Thank you. I agree.”

  The men shook on it, Bishop wincing as a shock passed between them. Mosley blushed and apologized. Bishop chuckled. He handed the man a train ticket. Mosley bobbed his head at Clara and moved to walk away, smiling at her as if he’d just discovered there might be family in the world after all, sudden tears in those Tesla coil eyes.

  The train whistle screamed. It was time to go.

  “I’ll check in with Harold. I’ll make sure you don’t have to see her,” Rose murmured to Clara, moving on ahead.

  It had been agreed that “Lady C” would be returned to New York for trial. Spire and Knight arranged to keep watch on their incapacitated charge, with Rose moving between cars to keep the rest of the company apprised.