CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

 

 

The marshlands beyond the river were empty of life.

At least, it seemed that way as the ragged team of five drove up a winding pebbled trail and across a low stone bridge toward the mine's entrance. Kimberly expected the high trilling of birds nesting in the cedars, or the explosive wark wark of ducks migrating from nest to nest on their long journey south through Rustwood's endless winter.

The reeds didn't move. The trees didn't sway. If there was any life in the bog, it was still and silent and staying well hidden.

It was Rosenfeld who'd directed them to that particular mineshaft. "All the paths link eventually," she'd said, "but that's the fastest way. She's waiting down there. Not patiently, no. She's not the type. But she's waiting."

Kimberly didn't know why she trusted the old woman. Not like Rosenfeld hadn't lied to them before. But the lady was dead now, or as close to dead as anyone like her could be. It felt disrespectful to ignore her advice now.

After all, she'd died for Kimberly. Not for Fitch or Goodwell or any of the others, no. Her hopes had always rested with Kimberly, although she didn't have any idea why.

Maybe she'd known of Gull's plan to implant her with the queen's powers. Or maybe she'd just looked into Kimberly's eyes, all those weeks ago, and seen a certain fire.

A flame that'd flare hotter until everything in its path was ash.

Fitch was confident that Rosenfeld's advice would lead them true. A hunch, and hunches had weight in Rustwood. But it was hard to keep track of who was who after crossing the mountain border. What if this Fitch wasn't as reliable? What if a different Fitch, in a different Rustwood, had told Rosenfeld to cram her advice? Were all men really created equal?

She glanced at the man sitting beside her, his dirty knuckles tight on the wheel, teeth sinking into his lower lip every time they hit a pothole. She couldn't doubt like that. If she didn't trust him, what did she have left?

They looped through the dirt tracks lining the quarry on the west side of Rustwood, looking down on the shining thread of the Pentacost River. The ruined convent was just coming into sight when Kimberly pointed to a dark shape against the hillside. "That's the one."

Fitch raised one shaggy eyebrow. "How do you know?"

"Got a feeling."

"Good enough for me." He flashed the headlights at Goodwell's white van. "Still don't like this plan. You going in alone-"

"Not alone. I'll have Chan and..." She shuddered. "Darling."

"Still don't know why it has to be you three."

"Rosenfeld said so, that's why. Besides, Darling knows the way, and Chan won't let her out of her sight. Those two have gotten real close, you know."

"I know, and I don't like it. What if the fucker stabs you in the back?"

"Shoot her when she comes out and go down there to get me. So long as you don't leave me in the dark, everything will be okay." Inside her jacket pockets, her hands clenched tight. "You know I've never liked the dark."

"Nobody likes the dark," Fitch said. "We just stop cryin' about it."

The car rolled to a stop. The hill ahead was already a shadow against the night sky but the mineshaft at the base of the slope was darker still. The opening was flanked by tall cairns of white stone, just like the mineshaft they'd ventured down what felt like months ago, on the long walk to the Pentacost Convent.

Kimberly ducked her head as she stepped out into the rain. Goodwell had pulled up nearby, van purring, but hadn't emerged yet.

Good. It gave her another minute with Fitch.

"We've come a long way," she said to the vagrant, as he hopped out the driver's side and shucked his collar up.

"Sure have. Still remember the day I dragged you out of that cellar."

"You saved my ass. I saved yours."

"That's how it goes. Knew from the moment I felt the tug that you were gonna shake things up, but I never believed it'd come to this. Hoped, but didn't believe. Didn't dare."

"And yet, here we are."

"Here we are, Mrs Archer."

She smiled at Fitch in the gloom. He'd seemed such a big man the first time they met, leaping from the bushes at the side of the highway to chase her car down the road. A terrifying apparition in a town full of monsters. Now, standing before her in the pickup's headlights, he'd become so much smaller. The burn-scars up the side of his face didn't make him look tough. They made him fragile, a man who deserved to be protected. Given a safe home in a safe town.

But that wasn't likely. Not for her, not for Fitch, not for anyone. All they could do was cut out the cancer at the heart of the town and hope the wound healed.

"Be ready," she said, "because I'm gonna come running out of here like a bullet."

"Got a signal?"

"Yeah. Wait for the explosion, then light the fuses and start your engines."

Up ahead, Goodwell had finally hopped out of the van. He shivered in the cold, hands tucked into his armpits. "Got your dynamite ready. You need a lighter, or-"

"No need. Fitch told me all about it on the drive. Old sticks weep nitroglycerin, apparently. All I need to do is throw it and run." She hoped she looked more confident than she felt. Fitch had also mumbled about friction ignitions, crystals forming on the outside of the cardboard sleeves that could be set off by as little as a rub between the palms, like some malevolent genie erupting from the bottle.

It was the biggest risk she'd taken since coming to town. Then again, what was life without a little risk?

Brief, she thought, if their plan didn't work.

She took two sticks of dynamite, each individually wrapped in plastic, and cupped them against her chest. The bags slipped in her shaking palms and for a moment she saw them falling, hitting the soft earth, turning her and Fitch to wet sprays of blood and bone.

Then her fingers hooked in the bags. She froze, breath coming hard, panic sending bright spots dancing across her vision.

Fitch hadn't moved. "You okay, Mrs Archer?"

"I don't know. Yeah. I think so." She straightened, moved towards the mouth of the mines where her companions were waiting. Chan looked miserable in the rain, one hand on the pistol holstered at her side. Goodwell had the other tucked into his belt, and while Kimberly didn't much like the detective being armed, the idea of him helpless while the pretender's servants came from behind was worse still.

Even if he was taking a paycheck from the old queen, she needed him dangerous.

One long breath. "Karen. Dead lady. You with me?"

Chan nodded. "You're calling me Karen now?"

"Figured if we're about to die, we might as well be on a first name basis."

"What about me, huh?" Darling glowered behind her massive sunglasses. "No first name for me? Real friendly."

"No fighting, you two. Not here. Not now." Fitch shielded his eyes from the rain, peering into the distance. "Huh. First time for everythin'."

"What's that?"

"St Jeremiah's. Lights are out." Fitch swiped one hand across his scalp. Kimberly couldn't help but notice the stray hairs tangled between his fingers. "Hope everyone up there is doin' okay."

He was right - where there was usually a blaze of lights atop Worthington Hill, now there was only darkness. But what did Kimberly care? The only thing the hospital had ever done for her was lock her up, call her insane. Keller, at least, he'd been on her side... as far as his textbook definitions of sanity allowed. Everyone else there could go jump in a lake.

She'd make sure to file a complaint if they ever got out of the mines. But that was a problem for a future Kimberly. Now, all she had to do was walk into the dark.

"See you soon," she told Goodwell and Fitch. "Don't die while I'm gone, boys."

Then, with Detective Chan to her left and the dead woman to her right, she passed the white stone cairns and stepped into the black.