CHAPTER XVI The Battle of Kyllion Keep

Mary opened her eyes and immediately closed them again. Her head was throbbing

“Mary. Miss Jekyll.”

She turned toward the voice instinctively—the voice in the world she most wanted to hear, which meant that it couldn’t be real. It must be a hallucination.

“Mary, look at me. I need to determine whether you have a concussion.”

She opened her eyes. There, above her, was the solemn, concerned, and, if she had to admit it, beloved face of Sherlock Holmes.

“Miss Mary.” It was Alice, hovering anxiously at the periphery of her vision. Oh, thank goodness! She held out one hand toward Alice, who took it in both of hers.

“Alice!” she said. “Are you—I mean, can you talk to me now? Talk freely?”

“Yes, miss.” Alice looked down at her anxiously. “You do know I was just pretending to be with Helen—with my mother, so I could help Mr. Holmes? I would never betray you or the Athena Club.”

“Of course,” said Mary. “But that doesn’t matter now. Where are we? My head feels as though it’s a bowling ball and someone has been using it to knock down pins.”

She tried to sit up, but the room was spinning around her and she had to lie back down again.

“Don’t try to get up, not yet,” said Sherlock Holmes. “How many fingers am I holding up?” He held up three fingers on his other hand.

“Eight, like an octopus,” she said.

He smiled. “I think you’ll be fine. I’m going to get you some water. In a little while, you may be recovered enough to eat something.”

“Where am I?” she asked. It was embarrassing talking to him while lying on the floor like this, but she did not have much choice.

“In the dungeon of Kyllion Keep,” said Alice. “My mother and Margaret brought you last night. I don’t know what happened, but Margaret is very angry. Did they kidnap Queen Victoria?”

“I don’t think so,” said Mary. She tried to remember what had happened. She had shot Queen Tera in the shoulder—she recalled that distinctly. Then a gray fog had filled the room so she could no longer see Tera or any of the others. The next thing she could recall was lying, tied up, on the bottom of a boat. It was obviously moving on the water, because she could hear the lapping of waves and its motion made her ill.

“I told you to kill her,” Margaret Trelawny had been saying.

“I fully intend to,” Mrs. Raymond had replied. “As soon as we find out who she’s working for and what we’re up against. At first I thought she and her friends were just a group of meddling girls, come to steal my daughter back to be their servant again. But they’re obviously more than that. Who arranged to light the beacon fire? It was obviously lit to warn the Queen away from the island. Have allies of Moriarty’s discovered what we’ve done? Are they trying to thwart us for reasons of their own? Or has someone in the government discovered our plans? There’s more going on here than we thought. We have enemies, and I want to find out who they are. Once she tells us, I will gladly dispatch her myself.”

So their plan had worked! From where she was lying on the bottom of the boat, Mary could not see anything but the gray clouds overhead, so she raised herself up on one elbow. Yes, there was the tower of St. Michael’s Mount, with the beacon fire on top, still flickering against the dark sky.

“I don’t think so, missy,” Mrs. Raymond had said in her nastiest voice. “I’ll deal with you when I have the time. Until then, I want you to sleep. Close your eyes, like a good girl.” The last thing Mary remembered was the sensation of her body slumping and hitting the wooden hull.

“I think we saved the Queen,” she said to Alice. “That, at least, we got right. And Queen Tera is wounded, but I don’t know how long that will last. I suspect she has the power to heal herself.”

“If they had succeeded in kidnapping Her Majesty,” said Holmes, “they would already have left for London. Instead, they are still here. We heard them this morning, moving about, through the door. We do not know what they will do now, or why they continue to keep us here. But I think we must try, once again, to get out.”

“How?” asked Mary. “If we’re in a dungeon, that is. I mean, if Diana were here, she would be able to do it. But I can’t open locks the way she can.”

“I don’t suppose you happen to have a hairpin or anything else sharp about you?” asked Holmes. “I studied with one of the most notorious lockpicks in London. If I had the proper instruments… Here, drink this.” He handed her water in a tin cup.

Did she? Last night her hair had been braided and pinned up. Today—Mary sat up, fighting the sense of nausea that swept over her, and drank a few sips of the water, then the whole cup. She had not realized how thirsty she was! Her braid swung down her back—no pins. She was still dressed in a parlor maid’s outfit, but her cap and apron were gone. Of course, so was her pistol. Someone, probably Mrs. Raymond, had taken anything she could have used to attempt an escape. There were scratches over her hands and wrists. She remembered—a mirror had shattered, and she had held up her hands to ward off the pieces of flying glass.

“I washed your hands with some of our water,” said Holmes. “I’m afraid we don’t have any soap, but none of the wounds are serious. When you’ve recovered some of your strength, can you tell me what happened? It seems I have missed a great deal.”

“Yes, of course.” She nodded. “Could I have some more water? And perhaps something to eat.” That might help settle her stomach.

“Why don’t we all have breakfast?” he said. “Then you can tell us what has been going on in the world outside these stone walls. And then we can try once again to open the lock.”

Open the lock how? Hadn’t they already established that none of them had the proper tools? But Mary was too tired to inquire further. She merely nodded and took whatever Alice handed her. She began eating it mechanically. It was a piece of brown bread, spread with orange marmalade. The bread was dry and not particularly appetizing, but she devoured it nonetheless.

MARY: Cat, I wish you would leave out the parts about me and Sherlock. They’re—well, they’re private.

CATHERINE: But that’s what our readers want to know most of all—did Mary and Sherlock Holmes, you know. I mean, I’ve had letters from American readers in particular asking about the two of you. Readers are curious.

MARY: Well, that’s just rude!

“Do not assume that yesterday’s wound will seriously weaken Queen Tera,” said Ayesha. “The priestesses of Isis were healers before they were anything else. She will not be able to heal herself completely overnight, unless she has more of the oil she used to kill Moriarty and the others—and good riddance to them, particularly Raymond and Seward! It was one of our most secret recipes, and has the ability to concentrate energic power. In that case, I cannot predict her strength. But even if she cannot fully heal, she will be stronger than you expect.”

They were once again sitting in the dining room of the inn, but this time morning light streamed through the window. They had just finished breakfast, according to their various dietary requirements—and thank you, Mrs. Davies, for putting up with the idiosyncrasies of the Athena Club! Catherine looked with amusement at the President of the Alchemical Society. She was probably the most unusual sight the Marazion Inn had ever seen, with her ageless beauty, her hundred long, dark braids, and her eyes outlined with kohl. Even though she was sitting, you could tell that she was taller than most men.

“What do you think she intends to do?” asked Justine. Illogically, Catherine was pleased that Ayesha was not, at least, taller than Justine, although how that was relevant to anything she had no idea.

Ayesha frowned. “I believe that with Margaret Trelawny and Helen Raymond, she is attempting to re-create what she had at the temple of Isis—an inner circle of priestesses who were absolutely loyal to her. It was they who would have broken our vows and fought the soldiers of Octavian, they who prepared her body for interment and resurrection. Their first plan may have failed, but Tera will not stop attempting to create an empire to rival that of Rome.”

“But why?” asked Justine. “Why does she wish to establish an empire in the modern world? Are the current empires, cruel and venal as they are, not enough?”

“Tera is two thousand years old,” said Ayesha, “but she has not lived two thousand years. She remembers only a world of great empires. She was once queen of all Egypt, and I believe she longs for that power again. Before we engage her in battle, I shall attempt to reason with her. I shall explain to her the folly of this plan. But I fear that she will not listen. If she does not, you must be prepared to fight her as well as Margaret and Helen. You should expect them to fight fiercely on her behalf, with every weapon at their disposal, as her priestesses did at Philae.”

“We can fight anything they have, except mesmerism,” said Catherine. “How do we fight Tera’s and Mrs. Raymond’s illusions?”

“I shall try to take care of that,” said Ayesha. “I want all of you to concentrate on Margaret Trelawny and Helen Raymond. Also, on finding Mary, Lydia Raymond, and Sherlock Holmes. Catherine, Justine, Beatrice, and Lucinda: you shall find and fight the two women. You each have powers that will help you defeat them. Laura and Diana: I want you to search the keep from top to bottom. Find Mary, Lydia, and Holmes, and get them out of there as quickly as possible.”

“Why don’t I get to fight?” asked Diana. “I have powers too!”

“Because your power is finding and opening,” said Ayesha. “You always say you can find anything, do you not? And you can open all the doors, or so you have insisted. Laura has a pistol and will protect you.”

“Oh. Right, then.” Diana looked especially aware of her own importance.

“Should we try to conceal ourselves in some way?” asked Justine. “Perhaps circle and approach the keep from the back?”

Ayesha shook her head. “There is no point in concealment. They will know we are coming. Tera will be able to sense our presence—especially mine.”

“Let’s go,” said Catherine. “The sun is up, it’s not raining or fogging or whatever else the weather does here.… What are we waiting for?”

Ayesha smiled. “Very well, then. Let us go defeat Queen Tera—or convince her to surrender, if we can. I hope this will end peacefully, so there is no need to fight after all. But you should be prepared to do so.”

MARY: Why do you think Ayesha helped us? I mean, I don’t think she even particularly likes us, except for Beatrice.

BEATRICE: That is not true! She has said several times that she respects the Athena Club and its members.

MARY: Respect is not the same as like—it just means she doesn’t blast us to bits when she sees us. But she didn’t have to come all that way to help fight Queen Tera.

CATHERINE: She didn’t come for us. She came for Tera. She came to see her old High Priestess, who was threatening to destroy the world. I wouldn’t say that Ayesha is on our side, but she’s not on the other side either. She’s not our enemy.

MARY: Maybe. I haven’t made up my mind about that yet. I think the evidence is inconclusive.

An hour later, Catherine and the others were standing in front of Kyllion Keep, which towered against the sky. The storm had passed. The sky was no longer a gray expanse. It was filled with clouds in long white furrows, and sunlight fell fitfully over the stones of the keep. The morning air was cold. Catherine, who was always cold in England except on the hottest summer days, shivered.

She looked at Ayesha, standing in the middle of the crescent they made: herself and Justine on one side, Beatrice and Lucinda on the other. Catherine was the only one with a pistol, but she was also prepared to fight with tooth and claw if necessary.

DIANA: You don’t have claws anymore. Moreau made sure of that.

MARY: Now that was entirely uncalled for. You may be mad at Catherine, but there’s no reason to be cruel.

DIANA: Well, maybe we’re even now.

Diana and Laura were somewhere on the other side of the keep. “Even a fortress has more than one door,” Laura had said. “Let’s go look for a back way in. I’m sure we’ll find one if we look carefully.”

Ayesha presented a formidable figure. Today, she was dressed in a long black coat over what appeared to be black bloomers. Her outfit had gold stars on it. It had taken a while for Catherine to realize they represented the constellations. Her black braids hung down her back, past her waist.

They had been standing there for several minutes. During those minutes, Ayesha had not said or done anything. She was just standing there. What was she waiting for?

A figure appeared at the window above the front entrance of the keep. It was Queen Tera, in a white robe like the one she had been wearing yesterday. There was no blood on her shoulder, and she did not appear to be wounded or weakened in any way.

She looked down at them and said something in a language Catherine did not understand.

“Yes, High Priestess,” said Ayesha. “I too have survived into this new era. Let us speak the language of this country so the others may understand.”

“It is an ugly language,” said Tera. Her voice was harsh, her accent strange to Catherine’s ears. “But it is good to see you, my daughter in Isis. I have been lonely among these infants, who have never seen Memphis, or Alexandria, or Rome. They imagine their empire is magnificent—this edifice of a day, this moth that flutters for an hour. It was built only a hundred years ago, but already it begins to crumble and crack. Have you come to join me in remaking the world? I will allow you to be my second in command, as Heduana was before she betrayed me. But you shall not betray me, will you, Princess of Meroë? You see, I remember you well, Ayesha. When I felt your presence outside these walls, I was pleased. And these others, no doubt they are your servants in this new world. How is it you have lived so long? You must have discovered some secret that even the priestesses of Isis did not know. You will share it with me, and I shall give you a portion of this world to rule for your own, as Alexander gave Egypt to Ptolemy. Would you like this wretched island of England? Or perhaps you would prefer a land with better weather?”

“Forgive me, mother in Isis,” said Ayesha, “but I have not come to help you conquer an empire. I want no more empires. In my long life, I have seen for myself the misery they cause. After your death, Rome destroyed Egypt, as this British Empire destroyed my adopted homeland around the Zambesi. Already, as you say, the empires of this world are breaking apart. I look forward to a new day of science, when man may be ruled by rationality rather than fear and brute force. Will you not join me in creating such a world? As Queen, you were the one effective ruler of Egypt for a generation. As High Priestess, you taught us to heal, to harness the energic powers of the Earth. In this new world, you could become a teacher, a scientist, a voice for reason and order. Why do you now want to create an empire?”

Tera looked down at them. Her ruby scarab glowed in the morning light. “Daughter, for two thousand years I lay entombed. All that time, I dreamed, and what I dreamed was that someday, I would create a great empire, greater than that of Octavian, which would accomplish all you desire—under my rule. In that empire, all men would be forced to lay down their arms, to take up productive employment rather than exploiting one another, to become better than themselves. War, poverty, hunger would be at an end. All would be equal—prejudice would be eradicated. Any who oppressed or used violence against another would be struck down by the power of Isis. It would be a world made perfect and peaceful, ruled by the priestesses of Isis—calmly, rationally, and for the greatest good of the greatest number.”

“And what of those who did not wish to obey you?” asked Ayesha.

“They would be persuaded by the use of mesmeric power,” said Tera, as though stating the obvious. “If that proved ineffective, they would of course be eliminated. Why should those who oppose peace, prosperity, and rational rule be allowed to create disorder for others? I shall create a world of order, in which all men will be content and productive.”

“Then they will not be free,” said Ayesha. “Freedom includes the ability to disobey.”

“What is freedom? A breath of air when you say the word. You say the syllables, and like that it is gone. Better than freedom are peace and prosperity. That is what I would bring the world.”

“I cannot allow you to do that,” said Ayesha. “I have seen such peace and prosperity in Africa, have heard of it in India and Asia. It is neither peaceful nor prosperous. Mankind must be taught to be rational, to cast aside centuries of tribalism and even nationalism. I believe such a thing is possible, that with education and time—”

“Beware, daughter. This world is already on the path to war. Your choice will lead to death and destruction. In Margaret’s mind, I have seen the embers of what will become a conflagration among the Germanic tribes and in the lands of Gaul. I would save this world from despair such as you have never known.”

For a moment, Ayesha hesitated. She seemed undecided.

Catherine grabbed her by the arm. Fiercely, she whispered, “Moreau used to say things like that—order, humanity, civilization. It was always supposed to be for the benefit of mankind. But he ended up making monsters.”

Ayesha looked at her, nodded, and turned back to the Egyptian queen.

“No empire ever rules justly,” she said to Tera, head thrown back, looking up at the small woman standing high above her in the window. “I learned that when the British came to Kôr. Your intentions may be good, but you too would rule the world as a tyrant.”

“You have spoken, my daughter,” said Tera. She raised her hands. A wind rose and howled around them. It brought a white smoke that glittered like opals. The last thing Catherine saw before the smoke hid the keep from her sight was the front door opening, and Mrs. Raymond and Margaret Trelawny stepping out. Mrs. Raymond had her hands raised, like a witch casting a spell. Margaret was holding a pistol in one hand, with her other hand under the butt to steady it. The pistol was pointed directly at them.

JUSTINE: I sometimes wonder if Queen Tera was right. Irene Norton says if things continue as they are, within a generation there will be such a war in Europe as we have never seen.

MARY: Well, then we must try to prevent it. The Athena Club must try to prevent it. War is never inevitable.

CATHERINE: The way you primates behave? I would not be so sure about that.

“You can do it, Alice,” said Mary. “I have faith in you.”

“As do I,” said Sherlock Holmes, standing behind and a little below them on the steps.

Once again, Alice pointed at the lock. But today, the spark that came from her finger was even weaker than it had been the day before.

“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head. She felt her eyes prickle. She was about to cry with frustration.

Suddenly, she heard a meowing outside the door.

“That sounds like a cat,” said Mary.

“It’s Bast! Poor Bast. Mrs. Polgarth isn’t coming today, and I think they’ve forgotten to feed her. Why resurrect a mummy cat if you’re not even going to take care of it?”

The thought of poor Bast without her breakfast made Alice so angry. She pointed at the door. A crackling beam of light sprang from her finger. Suddenly, the lock shattered and the door sprang open. They were free!

“Come on,” she said. “I’m going to feed Bast, and then we’re going to fight Queen Tera, somehow or other.”

MARY: You couldn’t open the door for us, but you could for a cat?

ALICE: Poor Bast. We would never treat Alpha or Omega like that, no matter how much Mrs. Poole insists they’re supposed to hunt mice for their living.

DIANA: Mrs. Poole puts out food for them every day! I’ve seen her.

ALICE: Anyway, I’m so glad Ayesha allowed us to keep Bast. She’s a good kitty, isn’t she? Come here, Bastet. You’re a very good kitty, you know that?

MRS. POOLE: And a spry one, for being two thousand years old! I think she catches more mice than those two scalawags put together. There’s a little extra liver left over from breakfast, which I’m not saying she can have, because animals should not eat food meant for humans, but it’s on the kitchen counter, is all.

The world was filled with white smoke. Beatrice turned around and around, confused. Where was she? She could see shapes here and there. For a moment, she saw Mrs. Raymond—but no, it was her father, Dr. Rappaccini! He looked at her with mournful eyes. And there beside him was her lover. Giovanni, who had died drinking the antidote to her poison. He too was looking at her—sadly, accusingly. How was that possible? In the rational part of her mind, she thought, Memories too must be formed of energic waves. Mrs. Raymond is making me see things. But somehow, that did not prevent her from seeing them as though they were real.

Justine stared at herself, at Justine Moritz, the maid of the Frankensteins, surrounded by glinting lights in the white smoke that swirled around her. How pretty that Justine was! What blue eyes she had, what golden hair, what a joyful smile. She herself—what was she? A corpse? A shadow? She fell to her knees and wept in shame at what she had become. This facsimile of a life—would it not be best to end it? To go to the grave Frankenstein had denied her?

Catherine was surrounded by Beast Men. They grunted and pawed at her. She was not like them! She was not! “Recite the Law,” said the Hyena-Swine. “Are we not men?”

“Not to go on all fours,” said the Bear Man.

“Not to suck up drink,” said the Boar Man.

“Not to claw bark of trees,” said the Leopard Man. “His is the House of Pain. His is the deep salt sea. His are the stars in the sky.”

And there was Moreau, walking toward her through swirls of white smoke. “You are my greatest creation,” he said. But he had a goat’s horns on his forehead. How had she not noticed before that he was a Beast Man as well?

Lucinda smelled a rabbit. It was the sweetest, tastiest rabbit she had ever smelled. She wanted nothing in the world so much as to drink its blood. She crouched, low to the ground, so she could smell it better. “Where are you, little rabbit?” she said. “Come, I wish to bite you through the throat and lap up your warm, sweet life. Come to me, little rabbit!” There—she could see it leaping ahead of her, as white as the smoke that surrounded her, mocking her with its sprightly movements. She followed it, almost crawling over the ground in her haste. Somehow, it seemed quicker to go on all fours, like one of Carmilla’s wolfdogs. She threw back her head and howled.

Alice opened the kitchen door. “What in the world?” she said. There was a sort of white smoke everywhere, all around the keep. It was thickest close to the front entrance, but was spreading rapidly around the entire building. She stood just at the edge of the swirling vapors. It seemed to glint with a thousand lights, and she could see shadows in it, moving around. Above it, at the level of the second-floor windows, floated a black shape, flapping its wings like a crow. No, it was a woman in a black coat, with her black hair spread out around her like snakes. At the window above the front entrance to the keep stood Tera. She spread out her hands, and they crackled with electricity.

“I see Catherine,” said Mary. “Come on! We have to help her!” She ran toward the white smoke.

“No, Mary—you’ll be blinded, just as they are!” shouted Holmes.

But it would not much matter whether or not they ran into the smoke, because it was spreading all around the keep. Alice saw it swirl about her ankles. This was energic power, Tera’s power. Her mother alone could never have been this powerful, although Alice suspected she was in there somewhere, in the smoke, augmenting Tera’s power in some way. She could feel, faintly, her mother’s energic signature.

Mary entered the white billows and looked around her. There was Catherine, but what was she doing crawling on the ground? And where were the others? They must also be lost somewhere in that confusing white smoke. “Justine!” she called. “Beatrice! Diana! Where are you?”

Alice turned to Mr. Holmes. “I don’t know what to do!” she cried in anguish.

“I’m going to get Mary,” he said with a grim determination she had never yet seen on his face.

“No!” she cried as he leaped forward and sprinted toward the white smoke. He would be lost in it just like Mary. She had to follow him. This was all her fault. If she had not been Lydia Raymond, she would never have been kidnapped, and the Athena Club would never have been involved in such a dangerous adventure. Somehow, she had to save them all.

Catherine crouched low and bared her fangs, then turned toward the Beast Men. There was Mary, running toward her through the smoke. “Mary, help me!” she cried. “They’re going to tear me apart with their teeth!”

Yes, Mary could see them now—the grinning, slobbering Beast Men! Where was her pistol? She must have left it at home, back at 11 Park Terrace. But she could see Catherine’s .32 lying there on the ground. She picked it up.

“Mary, no!”

Who had said that? It was a man’s voice, but which man? Moreau? Hyde? Van Helsing? She turned toward the sound. It was Adam Frankenstein! Had he risen again from the dead? She would make certain that he would never rise again, that he would stay dead forever. She pointed Catherine’s pistol at him and pulled the trigger. The shot went straight and true, through the monster’s heart.

Alice wandered in the glittering smoke, alone. She would be alone forever. No one would ever love her or care for her, because she was not worthy of love. Had not her own mother abandoned her? Her very own mother—but there she was, looking younger than Alice had ever seen her, with long black hair that tumbled down her back in thick curls. “My Lydia,” she said, holding out her arms. “We shall never be separated again.”

Alice walked into them. To be held as she had never been held before. To be comforted as she had never been. That was everything.

“My beloved daughter,” said young, beautiful, kind Helen. She kissed Alice on both cheeks. “Now we shall be together always.”

“Traitor!” It was Margaret Trelawny, standing in the swirling smoke, looking at Alice with fury in her eyes. “This is all your fault. How did you betray us? How did you reveal our plans to our enemies? I don’t know how you did it, but you did it somehow.” She pointed her pistol at Alice.

“No!” shouted Helen Raymond. She threw her arms around Alice and turned, so that she stood between Alice and the pistol.

A shot rang out. Helen’s body slumped in Alice’s arms. Incredulously, Alice stared down at her mother. It was no longer the beautiful young Helen that she held in her arms, nor was it the grim Mrs. Raymond she had encountered in the society of St. Mary Magdalen. It was a middle-aged woman, still beautiful, with signs of suffering and sorrow on her face, and strands of gray in her long black hair. “Lydia,” said Helen softly. She reached up to touch Alice’s cheek—then her hand fell, and her eyes closed, and Helen Raymond lay dead in Alice’s arms.

On the second floor of the keep, Diana followed Laura down a long hallway. Where was Mary? They had looked in every room, but seen no one. The first floor seemed to be filled with a strange white smoke. Even up here, it was creeping along the floor. Laura had a pistol in her hand. Diana had her knife. She was looking forward to using it. No one stole her sister! Mary was annoying, Mary was a bore, but Mary was her annoying bore. They had not found her on the first floor, so she must be up here.

Laura threw open the last door on the hall. It opened to a large room filled with shelves on which were placed Egyptian artifacts. There were urns and statues and broken objects that looked distinctly Egyptian, or at least ancient and foreign, which in Diana’s mind amounted to the same thing. This must be Professor Trelawny’s study.

At the far end of the room, in front of a large window, stood Queen Tera. She had her back to them. Out the window, Diana could see lightning crackling across the sky. In the air floated—could that possibly be Ayesha? Queen Tera held out her hand, and lightning surged through the President of the Alchemical Society, lifting her black braids until they all stood on end. Her body arched backward and she screamed in pain.

Diana clutched at Laura’s arm. “I think Queen Tera’s winning.”

Laura looked at her with a grim, determined smile. “Diana, would you like to see how we hunt vampires in Styria? I will shoot her, but that will only startle her and slow her down. Then you must cut off her head. Remember that it must be completely severed. She must not be allowed to regenerate. Understand?”

Diana nodded. Diana Hyde, vampire hunter! This was even better than rescuing Lucinda Van Helsing.

Laura aimed her pistol, pulled the trigger, and emptied all six bullets into Tera’s back. The Egyptian queen’s body jumped as each bullet entered her back. Then, she fell to the ground.

“Quick, the knife!” said Laura.

Diana looked at her knife. It was sharp, but there, on the wall of Professor Trelawny’s study, was a knife that looked even sharper. It was twice as long, with a curved blade on which were etched letters of some sort. She grabbed the hilt and pulled the knife off its hook on the wall. Then, she ran to the fallen queen.

Tera was staring up at the ceiling. Wounded and bleeding, with her blood spreading over the floor, she pulled back her lips and snarled like an animal. For a moment, Diana quailed. Yes, you did, Diana, don’t deny it. Any of us would have under the circumstances. Not even Diana could remain unaffected by the look of baffled anger on the Egyptian queen’s face. Quickly, she knelt down by Tera’s side and sliced through her slender throat. The knife entered easily until it hit bone. Then, it was gross, really really gross, to saw at that neck, with blood all over the floor, tendons snapping, bones breaking, and Tera twisting her head back and forth, making that terrible snarling sound. Almost too gross even for Diana. Finally, Laura had to kneel and help her. At last, at long last, Tera’s head lay completely severed on the floor of the study. Only then did the light go out of her eyes. She stared up at the ceiling, eyes still open but now sightless.

Diana looked at Laura, breathing heavily. Both of them were covered with blood—Diana’s trousers and Laura’s skirt were soaked in it, and there was blood spattered all over their shirts and hands.

“Like that?” said Diana. “Did I do it right?”

Laura nodded. “You did very well. I couldn’t have done it better myself.”

Down below, around the base of the keep, the smoke started to dissipate. Beatrice was sitting on a stone wall that had once been part of the castle, crying bitterly into a handkerchief. She looked up, startled. Where was she, and why had she been weeping as though her heart would break? Justine stared at her hands. The fingernails were bloody, and there were scratches up and down her arms. Had she really tried to take herself apart? That made no sense. Yet it had seemed a logical idea just a moment ago. Catherine was crawling on the ground, growling. She sat back on her haunches. What in the world had she been doing? There were no Beast Men, not anymore. Moreau’s creations had all been destroyed—she was the only one left of her kind. For a moment, the thought made her feel lonely. Lucinda sat on the grass by another stone wall, chewing what seemed to be weeds. She spit them out. How disgusting! She would have to rinse out her mouth with water, or preferably blood. Mary stood over the fallen body of Sherlock Holmes, who was groaning and clutching his side. She dropped Catherine’s pistol. “Oh my God,” she said. “I think I’ve shot him.” Alice sat holding the body of Helen Raymond, which would never rise again. She leaned down and kissed her mother on the forehead while blood soaked through the dress she had brought from the house in Soho, the dress her mother had chosen for her. Ayesha knelt on the ground, her head in her hands, clearly in pain. There were still bits of lightning playing around her, as though she had been electrified. Margaret Trelawny stood in the midst of them, turning and pointing her pistol about. “You won’t get away with this, any of you!” she cried. “When Tera becomes queen, she will kill you all!”

Suddenly, something sprang toward Margaret. It was Lucinda—how quickly she moved! In a moment, Margaret lay on the ground, the pistol knocked from her hand and lying on the grass. Lucinda crouched over her, growling. Then, realizing who and where she was, she looked around as though ashamed of herself. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know why I did that.”

CATHERINE: You see, there are some useful things about being a vampire. Your instincts and reflexes are almost as good as mine.

DIANA: Then why didn’t you disarm Margaret Trelawny, I’d like to know? But no, it was Lucinda. Nohow.

Ayesha stood up, although she staggered a little, and glared at Margaret lying on the ground. “That’s quite enough from you,” she said. “Thank you, Lucinda. I think”—she looked around at them all, considering the situation—“that our work here is done.”

ALICE: I think that sometimes, just for official purposes, I would like to go by Lydia. You can still call me Alice, of course. But I was born Lydia Raymond, and I would like to use that name, sometimes. On legal documents and the like. If nobody minds, that is.

MARY: Of course we don’t.