As they stepped over the boy’s body slumped on the threshold, a shot echoed upstairs. Liz started, slipping in a smear of melted snow and thicker fluids. Alex caught her before she could fall. A few heartbeats later the sound repeated.
Lailah held her back again when Liz wanted to run. The other woman took the stairs cautiously, scanning the shadows all around them. They reached the second floor landing without any more shots.
But as they stood before the door into the gallery, Liz heard something else. Something worse. A high, ululating wail that stood her hair on end. The cry of the bacchante.
“The door,” she whispered. “Blake’s door. It’s in there.”
A crash reverberated through the stairwell and they all jumped, but it was only the upstairs door flying open. Lailah spun and aimed; Liz grabbed for her arm, but her fingers closed on air.
Blake froze at the top of the stairs, his face pale beneath smeared blood. Liz’s breath rushed out at the sight of him.
“Christ,” Alex breathed. Then, louder, “Put the fucking gun down.”
Lailah’s eyes narrowed, but she lowered the pistol. Rainer and Antja followed Blake onto the landing. Rainer was shirtless, bloody and bandaged, and Antja wore a coat pulled over a bathrobe and a bag slung over one shoulder. She slipped one hand into her pocket, and Liz caught the now-familiar shape of a gun.
Blake took the steps two at a time and pulled up short in front of Liz. Beneath the blood his face was even thinner than when she’d last seen him in the hospital. But his eyes were open. His grin crinkled the gore drying on his face. Her sinuses prickled as Liz stepped into his arms and hugged him until he grunted. The pressure set her left hand burning again, but she ignored it.
Lailah shoved past them to glare at Rainer. “Open that door.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t shot it open already,” Antja said dryly.
“I didn’t bring a shotgun. Do it and hurry. Something bad is happening in there.”
Antja’s hand closed on Rainer’s arm. “We need to get out of here.”
“Not until you clean up your fucking mess,” Lailah snapped.
Rainer’s shoulders sagged. “She’s right.” He shrugged off Antja’s hand, leaning hard on the railing. The door opened at his touch.
A draft exhaled from the gallery, warmer than the night and damp, smelling of blood and wine and sap. And beneath that, a bitter chemical reek that was all too familiar; the wind off the black sea. Light rippled across the walls, and the cries of the bacchante carried through the twisting corridors of the exhibit.
Liz’s good hand clenched on the cold stair rail, her palm slippery with sweat. Panic seared the veins in her throat. But she had faced Carcosa once already, alone. She could do it again.
Lailah shoved Rainer through the door first and followed close behind. Antja hesitated, one hand trembling on the strap of her bag.
Alex’s hand closed on Liz’s sleeve, but he looked at Antja when he spoke. “This isn’t your problem anymore.”
“No,” Blake answered. “It’s mine. I made the door. I have to close it.”
He stepped through the door. Liz followed, leaving Alex and Antja cursing softly behind her.
The outline of the gallery remained, but it was already changing around them. Vines snaked across the walls, dripped quivering from the light fixtures. The walls pulsed, and the floor shivered. What should have been firm tile beneath Liz’s boots was softer, yielding. Where paintings had hung the walls now opened into windows, each one looking into a different nightmare view. Liz kept her eyes straight ahead. Rainer and Lailah had already vanished into the maze.
“I am never letting you plan a vacation again,” Alex muttered as he fell in beside her. She pretended her watering eyes were the fault of the draft.
The air grew warmer and wetter the deeper they went, stinging Liz’s throat with every breath. Alex began to cough. They balked when they reached the arches. What had been plaster now glistened slick as wet bone. Red tendrils writhed across their surface, meshing to form a pulsing web of tissue. The walls expanded and contracted with the rhythm of the draft, and fluid seeped across the floor. Behind them, the ivy had devoured the lights, leaving only the sulfurous glow ahead to guide them.
From the other end of the tunnel, someone shouted. A woman’s laughter answered. Beside her, Liz felt Blake shudder.
“Keep going.” Antja shouldered ahead. “It will only get worse.”
Moisture squelched beneath Liz’s feet as she followed; mephitic fumes seared her lungs. Alex gagged, but kept moving.
Antja’s breath caught as they turned the last corner, an instant’s warning. Then Liz looked up and saw the door.
It was still a painting, barely, but the canvas had stretched to fill the room. The great stone door stood all the way open now, framing a view of towers and black water, and the gathered horde of the bacchante.
RAE FELT STRONGER with every breath of the damp, acrid air. The smell of Jason’s blood lingered in her nose; it had sickened her at first, but now saliva pooled on her tongue. Soon, the voices promised. Soon she would have all the blood she wanted.
She was a danger to everyone. Lailah had to know it, too. Was a bullet waiting for her at the end of the hall? The part of her that cared was growing weaker and quieter with every step into the labyrinth.
Then they reached the heart of the maze, and the vista waiting there, and Rae nearly threw back her head and screamed with joy. She didn’t need the stars anymore—Carcosa was coming here.
Rainer knelt before the threshold, and Lailah sprawled on the floor, struggling against the vines that ensnared her. But Rae could only stare at the woman standing over them.
Tall and voluptuous, cinched and corseted by plum-black leather. Ivy threaded her wild dark hair, a crown of leaves tangled in the coils. Move vines inked the chalk-white flesh of her arms and shoulders. Her eyes were wide and black and starlit. Rae shuddered as she recognized the maenad from her visions, the leader of the hunt.
“Look, Chosen,” the woman said to Rainer. One white hand cupped his chin and tilted his head back. Vines slithered down her arm to brush his face. “Look at what you’ve helped accomplish. You’ve earned your place in the King’s court.”
Her eyes rose and met Rae’s. “And you, little bird. I’ve been waiting for you.” She held out a hand and Rae went. Lailah screamed her name. “My sister and I have been arguing over you, but I know what you want.”
Her hand closed on the back of Rae’s neck, pulling her into a bittersweet cyanide kiss. Rae’s fists closed in the vines of the woman’s hair; her lips tore on sharp teeth. The heat of it was stronger than anything she’d ever felt, stronger than mania. She pressed herself against the taller woman, aching for the scrape of teeth, the touch of taloned hands. If the maenad had torn her apart, she would have screamed encouragement.
Instead the woman let her go with a bloody, teasing smile. “Soon,” she promised. “You’ll join the revels, and all the flesh and blood you’ve ever wanted will be yours for the taking. Just as soon as I’m finished here. For now, entertain yourself.”
Rae shuddered and licked her lips, tasting her blood and the maenad’s, black and bitter. Her teeth shivered as they sharpened. She followed the casual sweep of the woman’s hand, to where Lailah still writhed against her prison of vines. Blood from a split lip streaked her chin, shining in the flickering light.
“Rae—” Rae dropped to her knees beside Lailah and took the woman’s face in her hands. Shuddering, she licked the blood from Lailah’s mouth. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “You knew it would come to this.”
Lailah snarled, but the more she struggled, the tighter the vines wound around her. The black gun lay on the floor beside her, just out of reach. The sight of her helpless sent a queasy thrill of lust through Rae.
My sister’s way is not the only way.
Rae leaned close, pressing her face into the crook of Lailah’s neck. The woman’s pulse jumped agains
t her lips. The smell of salt and blood dizzied her. “This isn’t what I wanted,” she whispered. She ran her tongue down Lailah’s throat, and heard the bacchante cheering her on. Her hand closed on the gun.
She rocked back on her heels and raised the gun. “There’s another way.”
The sight clacked against her teeth, gouged the roof of her mouth. The taste of bitter oil and metal filled her mouth. Lailah’s eyes widened and her mouth opened on a cry.
Thunder set her free.
Rae flew.
AS RAE CROUCHED beside Lailah, the ivy-crowned woman turned to Blake. Liz shuddered at her sharp-toothed smile.
“And here’s the artist himself. I misjudged you, I admit. I thought you were another pretty pet, but you’re worth more than that. Not that I wouldn’t keep you on a leash all the same.”
Blake stood stiff and trembling. Flesh sank against bone, and the veins in his cheeks darkened to ink. Liz recoiled before she could stop herself.
“You don’t belong here,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Neither do you, anymore. You belong with us now.” She held out her hand. “Come home. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
The woman laughed. “Come and help me. I’ll wear his face again if you want me to.” Her features rippled with vine shadows, and Alain stood framed in the light of the doorway. Blake flinched; behind them, Antja’s breath hissed through clenched teeth. Rainer opened his mouth, but a tendril of ivy curled between his teeth to gag him.
“Come with me,” the false Alain said. “If you do, I’ll close the door behind us and your friends will be safe.”
No, Liz tried to say, but all that came out was a silent breath. Her hand closed on Blake’s sleeve, and she felt the tension shivering through him.
“Do you mean that?” he asked.
“Cross my heart and hope to die. This”—a wave of his—her— hand encompassed the door, the room, the gallery—“is a rare opportunity, but I’ll give it up for you. Come home, come willing, and your friends and this city can keep their illusion of safety a while longer.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Liz saw Rae lean back on her heels, Lailah’s gun in her hand. Her breath caught as she realized what was happening; she tried to shout, but all that came out was a squeak.
The shot shook the room. Rae jerked once as her blood sprayed the painted door, then toppled slowly at Lailah’s side. The false Alain’s lips peeled back in a snarl.
“Pathetic,” she hissed. For an instant her true face showed, but the mask was in place when she turned back to Blake. “But a perfect example of what will happen to your friends if you refuse me.” Behind her, the hunters clawed at the fabric of the door. Canvas stretched. Changed. Behind them, Carcosa’s painted sky had begun to brighten. “Decide. My friends won’t wait forever.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Liz saw Lailah move. One hand was free and reaching for her gun. Liz glanced away. In time to see Alex grab Antja’s arm and drag her close. Liz couldn’t hear the words he whispered in the woman’s ear, but she read the shape of them on his grey-tinged lips.
Oils burn.
“I’ll go,” Blake said. His chest deflated with the words, as if the cost of them left him hollow.
The maenad’s stolen face stretched in a smile and she held out her hand. Lailah’s hand closed on her gun. Even expecting it, the sound was deafening. The false Alain’s knee burst in a spray of black blood. As she staggered, Rainer caught her other leg and sent her sprawling. Fire crackled around Antja’s fingertips, sputtered and popped as she pressed her burning hand against the canvas. For an instant nothing happened—then a wave of flame swept the room. Liz gasped, and regretted it as heat rushed into her lungs.
The woman shrieked, and in the light of the burning painting her face was her own again. Vines writhed and crisped and the smell of seared vegetation joined the chemical reek of oil paints. The surface of the canvas bubbled and seethed, and the bacchante drew back from the fire.
Lailah fired again but the shot went wild. Antja’s aim was better; blood blossomed across the maenad’s shoulder. Then Rainer was in the way, grappling with her on the threshold. They shouted, but Liz couldn’t understand the words over the echo of the gun.
Vines burst from the woman’s skin to ensnare the room. Liz spun in front of Blake, hooking her ankle through his and knocking him down. The tendril aimed for him coiled around her throat instead, sharp as a whip. Dark spots swam in front of her eyes as it tugged her backward. Then Alex was there, tearing the strand away, and Liz sagged breathlessly against his shoulder.
Facing the red darkness of the corridor, she saw the wave of shadows coming. They ran on all fours along the floor and the walls, a sleek boneless surge, wings furled to fit through the hall. Beautiful and terrible and unstoppable.
Liz drew another lungful of searing, smoky air and leapt forward, dragging Alex with her as she flung herself on top of Blake. The shadows rushed past them and the draft of their wings was cold and clean. She twisted around in time to see the monsters fall over the woman, black and silent. Rainer fell to his knees as dark blood sprayed the room, sizzling as it burned. Wings like slices of midnight eclipsed the burning door.
She never knew, afterward, if it was an accident or not. Rainer looked up from the threshold, looked from Antja to Blake and back again. Liz thought he smiled, but she was never sure of that either. He pushed himself up—into the path of a razored black tail as it whipped through the air.
The tip sank into his back and out his chest. A bubble of blood burst on his lips as he gasped. Blake jerked, and Liz felt rather than heard his choked sound of dismay. Antja screamed and emptied her pistol into the creature, but the bullets passed through inky flesh without so much as a ripple.
The last vines retreated, clutching at anything in reach as they were sucked through the disintegrating door. Liz dodged a flailing coil and Blake batted another aside. Sparks and flakes of burning canvas drifted through the air, crisping hair and searing skin as they landed. Whether the fire undid their tenebrous shapes, or if they simply retreated now that their purpose was fulfilled, the shadowcreatures melted into nothing. The flames licking the canvas frame blazed higher, mushrooming across the ceiling. The heat withered Liz’s lungs, singed the fine hair on her face.
Antja stood silhouetted against the apocalyptic light as the flames rolled toward her. Then Lailah flung an arm around her, knocking her out of their reach.
“Run!” she shouted.
They ran.
Fire raced them down the hall, consuming partitions and paintings and sculptures, rolling in greedy waves across the ceiling. Alex collapsed, one hand clawing at his chest; Liz and Blake grabbed him and dragged him on. Something groaned and crashed behind them.
The shock of the night air drove Liz to her knees in dirty snow, shredding her hands on ice and blacktop. Tears dripped off her cheeks and she couldn’t stop coughing. Yellow light and black smoke bled from the top of the gallery, staining the night. Sirens wailed in the distance. Antja wailed. Snow spun through the glow of the sodium lamps.
Blake offered her a hand, still supporting Alex with one arm. His face was a mask of blood and soot. Silver flashed on his outstretched hand, the ring nearly lost under ash and filth. His eyes were human again.
21
Coda
IF BLAKE HAD been less hollow and numb, he would never have gone back to Carroll Cove. But by the time he realized where they were going, he was slumped against Liz in the back seat with no strength left to argue. Dawn was a bruise in the east when they climbed the steps of a different cabin, an ache behind his eyes. He collapsed onto the couch like his strings had been cut. He had no strength to take off his coat—Sands’ coat. Beneath the reek of smoke and blood caught in the wool, he smelled oranges and incense. The scent followed him into the dark.
He woke later to silence and morning light. At least he thought he was awake; his eyes were open, staring into a darkened cor
ner, but his limbs wouldn’t move. Sleep fog faded, replaced by the prickling certainty that he was being watched.
Hypnagogia. Alex had taught him the word. The transition between sleep and waking, prone to hallucinations and sleep paralysis. Night terrors, even in the daylight. That knowledge did nothing to quell the shivering dread that spread beneath his skin. Something was watching him, waiting in the dark, moving closer—
Pale sunlight slanted between the curtains. Beyond that watery line, shadows stirred. Blake waited for the winged monsters to emerge from the gloom and end this once and for all, as they had for Rainer. But the slender shape that stepped into the light was even worse.
The light fell through Alain as he drifted forward; he cast no shadow on the floor. His eyes were black and lightless beneath a fall of bleach-streaked hair.
You’ll really be thinking of me, the maenad had taunted. But staring at the specter in front of him, Blake didn’t think any nightmare could be worse than the simple knowledge of what he’d lost. His eyes stung and watered, and he couldn’t wipe the tears away.
“I held on,” Alain whispered. “I held on tight. But you let go.” His voice was soft and dark and rougher than ever, but Blake wasn’t sure if his lips were moving.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he went on. “But that doesn’t make it any warmer here. I’m always drowning now. Drowning in you.”
Then he was gone. Lazy dust motes danced through the cold light and Blake wept silently into the cushions.
AKNOCK AT the door woke Alex, soft and insistent, dragging him out of a dreamless sleep. Dawnlight edged the curtains, and Liz curled next to him, one arm limp and warm across his stomach. She didn’t stir as he slid out of bed and fumbled for his clothes in the gloom. Last night’s clothes—his nose wrinkled at the clinging stench of smoke.
He expected to find Lailah in the hall, or Blake. Instead it was Antja looking up at him. She had refused their invitation to come back to the cabin last night, instead taking Rainer’s car and disappearing before the fire trucks arrived; he hadn’t thought he would see her again. The wan light showed her bruised, burnwelted face, the singed ends of her hair. Alex doubted she’d slept.
Dreams of Shreds and Tatters Page 26
