There was no retracing the missteps and foolish detours sending me deeper into the maze. If only those I loved weren’t forced to accompany me. Had I stayed wrapped in Raphaela’s drapes instead of taunting Malachi, would Smithy have endured torture to the point of catatonia? Had I not let go of his hand, would I still be whole, my spirit and corporeal selves bonded? Instead, the astral tether stretched and fragmented under the strain, separating me forever from my true self. The boy I loved was trapped in purgatory, just as I was, no way out. Nothing aside from awareness stood between the Crone and her Stone.
A mere wisp, I lingered on the footbridge that swayed perilously. Rubbery time snapped elastic and many incidents converged as one. The club heaved under the onslaught of the explosion, its structure disintegrating. A chandelier plunged to the bandstand in a tinkling fusillade, scattering violinists, who abandoned their instruments, statues ripped from plinths and smashing in a halo of chipped stone. The buckling floor tossed partygoers into the air, before imploding, a fissure opening beneath their feet in a tumult of booms and snaps. Finesse’s huge black-velvet day bed tipped and disappeared down into the spreading cavity. Beautiful revellers uncaged the ugliness within, scratching and trampling each other, fistfuls of hair, jewellery and clothes flying in their madness to flee.
Shirking her human limits, Finesse shrieked. Her scream was a dagger to the senses. Any nearby planted their hands over their ears, while scrambling from the monster taking shape in their midst. Of humanoid form, her skin stretched like a jaundiced drum skin over an emaciated carcass until she towered more than two metres tall. Thin serrated wings split from her jutting shoulder blades, huge knobbly curved horns spiralling forth from her temples. She was a demonish incarnation from biblical legend, with glowing red eyes and a lipless mouth full of spines. Her tongue lashed out, a long, flaming whip with a barbed tip. Her best description was half Lucifer, half warped dragon.
She swatted four jagged valleys across Latoya’s waist, reaching up to jerk the blade from her leathery neck. With my Keeper’s vision I could see rips in the creature’s being, stars spinning in infinite iteration in the emptiness beyond. And behind that vastness, another indistinct glimpse of a ragged, dark-haired little girl running for her life out into the endless dunes of the desert. She turned to look once over her shoulder, showing me the puckered scar where her right eye had been.
But as soon as Finesse cast off the knife, the image vanished, leaving the impression I’d imagined it all. The Keeper’s dagger came to a halt on the metal landing at my shoes, but I was too insubstantial to collect it. Halcyon crumbled like lavish cults of old, whose greed and vanity corroded them from within.
Latoya staggered and doubled over, holding in the wreckage of her gored middle. The witch-demon hoisted her in a single clawed hand, hurling her into the back corner of the hall where she landed in a crooked heap as if a discarded toy. Too late, Daniel tackled the beast with a cry of hatred. They tumbled together on the tilted ground, a churning mass of limbs heading for the chasm, which plummeted many floors below. The roof began to collapse, brick walls folding inwards.
Oblivious of the destruction, Daniel tore at her with his bare hands, shocking her with the savagery of his loathing. Not for long. Her reptilian maw stretched wide, displaying putrid grey gums. Her fangs were hollow and filled with black ichor.
“It is time I give you what you want, puny man,” she lisped with the mouths of many, a guttural rumble.
Daniel was on top, wrestling with her. Black worms split from her flesh, wriggling along the desiccated tissue of her forearm. He clutched Finesse’s throat in a chokehold, his face millimetres from her snapping jaw. Her snakish tongue lashed out, forcing Daniel to relinquish his grip, grabbing the meaty protuberance instead. The barbed stinger’s spines peeled open with a horrid slurp, seeking to bury themselves in the flesh of his neck. Worms swarmed over his hand. He yanked hard and she garbled a yelp, her tongue retracting.
“We’ll descend the abyss together,” he said in disgust.
She snickered. “As you wish.”
Their battle continued with renewed spite, Daniel pushing two fingers into her blazing red orbs. I hovered to Latoya, a spectral observer unable to help, unable to offer solace, pitiful and impotent. Somehow she perceived me, her features slack with pain and blood loss. Staring up at my ephemeral being, her eyes brimmed with disappointment.
“You are all that stands between us and the pit?” She wheezed for air. I reached to steady her, my hand passing through her body. “It’s all been for nothing. We are lost.” A tear leached onto her cheek, before she exhaled her final breath. “My brother.”
Latoya died despairing, and I would never be brave enough to tell Hugo it was my fault. His sister was right: I was a woeful Keeper, a rock-bottom failure. There was so little left of me that I was unable even to straighten her broken body or close her ever-staring eyes.
Daniel was no match for the witch’s size or her malice, which fuelled her inhuman strength. His trunk was a mass of bloodied ribbons from talons and lashing horns, her black infection veining his skin. Their fight edged the two closer to the breach, but at this rate, Daniel would be dead before the fall. He was clearly weakening. Futility consumed me. I had to do something. But what?
Above the commotion, that buzzing grew insistent. The vibrations originated from a hotspot on my thigh. Finally, I realised it was not just another abrasion, but the neglected Keeper’s Key Velcroed in my pocket. Tugging the parcel out, I unfolded the oilskin, a heavy double-sided gold and ruby studded triangle fitting on my palm. One I had no difficulty manipulating in my phantom state. This object held no Trinity record: past Keepers had not touched its surface or activated its power. But this mystery must wait until we were safely free of the Crone’s lair. There were finger grooves on what I speculated was the top. What did I have left to lose?
Desperation guiding my hand, I twisted it an entire revolution. The wild scene in front of me fell away, replaced by a bewildering array of vistas expanding and overlapping like many plays watched at once. The narratives telescoped into hazy futures not realised, swirling tunnels of possibility that shared an aspect in common: me. Specifically, me dying in countless ways in this cursed club, on this very spot.
I concentrated on a story at random, and in reverse, was granted the answers to my self-pitying questions. Had I stayed wrapped in Raphaela’s drapes, Smithy would have died at the hands of Malachi. Daniel would have been taken hostage and I would have sped here after Smithy’s killer in blind grief and wrath, into the open arms of my expectant enemy. After all, Finesse ruled desolation and the bereaved were predictable.
Following more and more alternatives, each climaxed in disaster. In some, the world burned, in another ash blanketed cities and towns and nothing moved. The silence was so profound it was earth-shattering. Only the rebellious path I chose offered hope.
Were these awful pictures merely what might come to pass if I did wrong, lessons in potential history from which I was supposed to learn? Or were they true portals into multiple outcomes that I could manipulate at will? And what terrible consequences would befall if I fiddled with events as yet unformed? For I was sure, if I messed up, what transpired would be permanent and terrible. No wonder the articles had been lost: some power was too dangerous to wield no matter how well-meaning. I no longer believed they were accidentally missing, they’d been hidden on purpose.
Hurrying now, I sought the thread showing me what had actually occurred back at Raphaela’s mansion, speeding through events until I faced my trance-induced self in a shack in the middle of a swamp. Any other time, I’d stumble over the weirdness of seeing myself from the outside, as strangers did, and how different that view was to the version I experienced. There was only so much observable in a mirror.
Presently, I was too busy wrestling with the puzzle of getting my body from Louisiana to London, wishing I was one of those people who could whistle at glass-cracking decibels instead of producing a spit-flying raspberry. Poe, who’d been keeping vigil from the windowsill, turned suddenly and looked intently in the direction of my ghostly, non-present self. It seemed not just cats had the gift of cross-dimensional sight.
“Poe. Wake me up.” He soared to my shoulder and nibbled my ear. I remained inert. “Bite me!”
I’d used that phrase often, but not literally. Poe obliged, chomping my earlobe with his sharp beak and drawing blood. My physical self roused sluggishly from the meditative stupor, opening her eyes without seeing. Was I always that dopey? Taking the initiative, my hawk gathered the strap of my singlet in his talons and flapped heavenward, attempting to drag me to my feet. Eventually, he succeeded in guiding me up and moving me in the leaden manner of an automaton to the side of the shack ‘closest’ to the portal I’d opened. Roosting on my twin’s shoulder, he waited, gazing across the eons at me with liquid amber eyes.
“Right,” I mumbled. “Where is the instruction manual when you need it?”
Pocketing the Key, I opened my arms in mimicry of hugging myself, and imagined two hands spanning the breach to penetrate the stilt-bound shack and take hold. If this did not work, I was out of ideas. Too eager, I lunged and my arms passed through my other self. Poe chirped his irritation.
“Not helping.”
Recalling Bea’s instruction on mental discipline and patience, I gritted my teeth. Of course, those tutorials had happened in a nice safe warehouse minus a rampaging Crone and a grenade-wielding, revenge-driven lunatic in a collapsing building. How much time had I wasted? What tragedy would I discover on my return? Even at this emotional distance, my heart thumped the tempo of diminishing seconds.
I steadied my breathing, closed my eyes and reproduced the sensation of my brief existence in that shack: the smells, the temperature, the sounds, the dread, every perception that formed the reality. For a moment, I vacated London, my stride bridging continents and oceans. In a single step, my astral consciousness reunited with my tangible body and we merged whole on the other side of the globe, far away from futility in the face of unending hate.
Did I owe Daniel my loyalty? Or anything? I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to stay, to remain in that pitiful, stinking shack that now seemed a haven. He’d betrayed Vegas, serving his own needs rather than those of greater purpose. For the second time in as many weeks, he may get me killed, obliterating millennia of Trinity dedication and worse besides that I could only envision in my darkest nightmares. But I’d sworn from the beginning not to leave anyone behind.
People were imperfect and messy and complicated. In his shoes, could I swear I wouldn’t do the same to avenge the ones I’d lost? And to ease the all-consuming guilt of having failed them so completely. I sighed, trying to overcome the fatigue and prepare for what came next. If that was ever possible.
“Are you ready, Poe?”
The buzzing at my thigh peaked and before my resolve lapsed, I spirited us back to the hell of Halcyon. My hawk soared to what was left of the rafters, surveying the demolition with a superior gaze. The Key fell quiet, the loop snapping shut, and time kicked back to its normal rate. The real me now lingered on the gangplank entrance to Finesse’s party chamber, exposed and vulnerable. I had too little energy left for Keepers’ tricks of concealment.
From the interior of her sinking palace, the monstrous Crone beheld my abrupt appearance, hunger and rapture warring in her glare. One arm was raised to bestow the killing punch, the other suspending Daniel over the chasm by his neck. His face turned blue in her throttling grip, his fingers digging at her claws and feet kicking the air. Even as he was about to receive his greatest desire, he fought to survive.
“Crap,” I muttered.
“The Keeper!” she screeched in vicious triumph, propelling Daniel over the precipice and letting go with a deliberate flourish. “Give it to me, maggot thief.”
I could do zilch for Daniel, trusting he’d find a way to save himself. It was what he was good at, after all. Stupidly I delayed here against every instinct to bolt because, no matter what he had done, I could not leave him to her. Insight triggered a smile. I was just as stubborn as my minders.
“Is this what you want?”
The Stone glimmered above my fingers, revolving for her avid scrutiny. There was a charcoal bruise on my upraised palm where her icky little worms had been that started to itch. But I could not think about that. Finesse was mere metres from her lost possession, yet the occasion of her sudden good fortune with so little effort made her wary. The beast sniffed the atmosphere, eyeing me, while I worked hard to stop trembling.
“A Keeper who so readily yields is no Keeper at all. What are you up to, scrawny speck?”
“I’m showing you mine. A trade.”
She shrunk and returned to her earthly body, naked and perfect amidst the ruins, which really didn’t help. “Why should I trade when I can take?”
“What’s my name? Go on, say it. Take your jewel from me.”
It was a hunch, but one that had solidified with unshakeable resolve. The witch would not have it all her own way at these, the end of Trinity days. That just seemed too unfair. Why else would articles missing for centuries now be in reach? Why else would the hoarded skills of every Keeper be at my disposal? I was the last of my kind and would not go down without a fight. Latoya would never know, but I would honour her memory and make her proud. Finesse scowled, her plump, cherry lips working soundlessly.
“You don’t know my name, even though I stand before you.”
Raphaela had altered our abilities and with them, the Crone’s myth. Our secrets remained buried whether that foul creature ransacked our thoughts or not. In my mind, a susurrus of my ancestors’ voices rose in jubilation. But I could not join in their celebration, restraining my fear by dogged exertion. Finesse had only shown us a tiny portion of her capacity, and despite the fact I provoked her, I did not want to see her full might. It was enough to sow the seeds of doubt.
“I don’t need your name,” she snarled.
“Things aren’t functioning the way they should anymore. Why is that, do you think? Daniel’s leaving with me.”
Finesse looked confounded. “You risk yourself for the one who betrayed your mate?”
“It’s a trade, not an explanation.”
“I will slay you and my treasure will come home to me.”
At that instant, a seismic shift hit me with such force I staggered and almost lost my footing. But the tremor did not come from the ruined building. It struck at my core, at the very essence of my being, a crushing wave of pain and anguish so pure I gasped and clutched at my heart, flailing for something to anchor me lest I crumpled to the ground. My eyes welled with tears. I could not draw breath, I could not find my equilibrium.
“Well, well!” Finesse gloated. “The rickety three-legged Trinity stool now teeters on two feeble legs.” She clapped and performed a lurid jig, all the more obscene given her nudity. “Oh, your downfall will be far more fun than even I could conceive.”
I was hyperventilating, my knees jelly. Mrs Paget. No. No. No! The notion of death, so omnipresent in the Trinity realm, had been abstract to this point. No training or discussion or trite philosophy could brace me for this overwhelming tide of sorrow that would surely tow me under. The black door of eternity parted to reveal our fragile mortality, a mere spark in the vast scheme of the universe. But the greatest of us took only an iota to carve a lasting impression. I would never see her sunshine smile ever after.
Finesse revelled in the misery scudding my features, in the shuddering anguish bowing my body. Taking advantage, she edged closer around the hole in the floor. My hand cupping her suspended orb drooped, its glow flickering. I must get control of myself. I must endure. But beloved Mrs Paget was gone and the Crone could not tear herself from my distress.
The emotional tone of the flood began to change. I almost gave it away in a frown of shock and confusion, but kept my face locked in grief. A surge of release and joy soared through me. And then the strangest feeling that Mrs Paget was not truly departed, she had merely undergone a metamorphosis and become something else. Someone else, not diminished, different.
Shine for me, Winsome.
I could never deny Mrs Paget a request and would not start now. I’d give this fight my all to the last breath. Dredging resilience from a place I’d thought spent, I quashed the sorrow of Mrs Paget’s passing.
“We’re not done yet.” I raised my hand, teasing the horrid creature with her stolen rock. “Do your worst. But you’d better make it your best because we’ll be blocking you at every turn.”
The Crone’s hands snapped into fists, crazed by my abrupt recovery. Launching herself at me, she met an obstacle. Daniel had crawled up the side of the crater and, at the moment of her leap, seized her left ankle. With the last vestiges of his strength, he dragged her kicking and screaming over the cusp and threw her down.
I ran to where his fingers dug splintered flooring, the rest of him hanging over the side in dark, empty space. The injured groaned from under piles of rubble, several Anathema disciples scurrying towards the hole in search of their mistress. Poe took exception to their interference, swooping to harry and peck them back to the border of the shelled-out hall, night sky visible through patches of missing ceiling. Now and then, a pillar would topple, taking with it chunks of Finesse’s club, raising clouds of dust and debris. The place would not stay vertical for much longer.
Daniel looked up at me with open disgust, tributaries of black pulsing the arteries of his neck and temple, smudged in with bleeding lacerations. Tarry streams crawled through the whites of his eyes. I knelt, wedging myself against exposed rebar that was anchored in a large boulder of concrete.
“Are you so eager to surrender?” he asked through a clenched jaw, his agony obvious.
“Smithy was not yours to sacrifice,” I countered angrily. He was questioning me? “Give me your hand.”
“Do not touch me! I am contaminated. You are most important. The rest of us are expendable.”
“You’re wrong. We’re in this together. Give me your hand.” A gigantic form took shape in the murky depths. Her shriek sliced the night. “Hurry!”
He let one hand go, dangling now by the fingers of his left hand. Peering down, he said, “She comes.” Then, his cornflower irises pierced me with their intensity. “You must flee this place.”
“Fine. Give me your hand and we’ll go together.”
Another furious shriek echoed and the uneven whoosh-flap of broad wings. Two pinpricks of glowing red drew larger. Poe glided loops overhead, chirping frantically. Daniel groped in the breast pocket of his tattered coat, bringing out another grenade and pulling the pin between his teeth. He grinned and let go of the spoon, his remaining fingers releasing one by one.
“Arsehole!” I yelled.
“Do not come back for me.”
I sprang for him. He shoved himself from the side, somersaulting backwards and diving head first to meet dragon-Finesse as she struggled to unfurl her wings to their full width in the narrow funnel. My fingers brushed the sole of one boot. The club would not survive another blast, but I was a statue of disgrace, my effort at rescue pointless. There was a huge boom, a discharge of molten flame boiling up the tunnel. At the last second, a blinding flash of white eclipsed everything. And then the vacuum.
