Gloom Town

by Ronald L. Smith

  Foxglove fell, and Rory dropped his lance and dove onto him.

  Izzy scrambled away, pulling the whalebone dagger from the pouch at her side. She rushed back and stood over Foxglove as Rory put his hands around the Golden Jackal’s throat. He was going to choke the life out of him. The strange sensation of fur on Rory’s skin felt wrong. He couldn’t do this. It was like killing an animal.

  “We know what you’ve done!” Izzy shouted. “With our shadows!”

  “And with the boy,” Rory said, using all the weight of his body to hold Foxglove down. “Timothy. You killed him!”

  Izzy knelt and raised the dagger over Foxglove’s chest.

  She could do it, Rory thought, remembering the last time he’d seen that knife, when Izzy had thought her prospective customer was an enemy. She could do it in an instant.

  Rory’s hands tightened around Foxglove’s throat.

  No, a quiet voice sounded in his head. They were taking him to see their queen, Foxglove had said. She was the one he and Izzy had to stop—Mara of the Shadows.

  He jumped up.

  Foxglove immediately began to cough and sputter.

  “What are you doing?” Izzy shouted. “We have to stop him!”

  The fighting around them had ceased. Foxglove’s pack of creatures lay crumpled in the hallway, some barely moving and others not moving at all.

  Ox Bells picked himself up from the floor. A gruesome gash ran along his neck. One-Handed Nick was nowhere to be seen.

  “The room with the red door,” Rory sputtered, out of breath. “That’s where they were taking me. That’s where she is—Mara of the Shadows. We have to stop her.”

  “You will die,” a trembling voice whispered.

  Rory turned.

  Foxglove was holding himself up by resting one outstretched arm against the wall, while the other gently caressed the fur at his throat. “Your shadow has been ripped from your body, child. Never to return.”

  “Kill him, Rory,” Izzy said. “If you don’t, I will.”

  Rory looked to his friend, and then back to Foxglove.

  “You will burn in her fire,” Foxglove croaked, his jackal teeth stained with blood. “She thirsts. She hungers.” He slumped to the floor.

  Rory felt nothing. He wasn’t sure if Foxglove was dead or not, but he didn’t have the slightest bit of compassion.

  “Rory,” Ox Bells called out from behind them, stumbling a bit, then opening and closing his eyes as if dizzy. “Isabella . . . what the—?” He crashed to the floor, scattering splintered frames beneath him.

  It took all of Rory’s and Izzy’s strength to drag Ox Bells outside. They propped him up against the broken door frame as the strongman mumbled and groaned.

  “Where’s your friend?” Rory asked.

  “One-Handed Nick,” Izzy added.

  A purplish-black bruise bloomed under Ox Bell’s left eye. “Creatures,” he said. “Tears of a . . .” His head slumped to his chest.

  Izzy knelt, then picked up Ox Bell’s huge hand and felt his pulse. She closed her eyes and moved her lips, counting silently, then stood back up. “He’ll be okay,” she said.

  “What about Nick?” Rory asked.

  “I don’t know where he is,” Izzy said, peering around the shadowy front yard.

  They stepped back through the broken remains of the door. The sound of lumbering feet made them both turn.

  One-Handed Nick staggered out of the drawing room, his face bruised and his expression dazed. “Great winds,” he said. “Where the hell am I?”

  “Ox Bells is outside,” Izzy said, angling her head down the hall. “Take care of him.”

  Nick nodded and stumbled past them. “Monsters,” he muttered. “Well, I never . . . clams and oysters.”

  Rory turned to his friend. “I’m going through that red door, Izzy. I don’t know what I’ll find, but I’m seeing this through.”

  Izzy took his hand in hers. “Not without me, you aren’t.”

  And together, they rushed down the hall.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The Infernal Machine

  The shadow key lay at Rory’s feet. Black tendrils swirled around it. “Foxglove was about to use that to open the door,” he said.

  Izzy bent and looked more closely. “Don’t touch it,” she warned, rising back up.

  Rory lifted his head and focused on the red door. The thin, spidery trees moved in a breeze he couldn’t feel. “We have to go through,” he said. “We have to face her.”

  “Mara,” Izzy whispered.

  Rory bent down and put his fingers around the key. Izzy sucked in a breath.

  The key felt solid, although the smoky lines that licked Rory’s hand did not.

  “Open the door,” Izzy urged. “Quickly!”

  Rory put the key into the lock.

  He turned it.

  He heard a distinct click, as he had when he’d spied on Malvonius and Foxglove during his first days at the manor. He pushed the door open.

  “Great winds,” Izzy said quietly.

  Directly in front of them stood a tall tree with gnarled roots and drooping black leaves. Rory stepped forward and laid his hand on the rough bark. “Izzy?” he asked. “Where are we?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered.

  A dense forest lay beyond the tree.

  Rory turned around. Behind them, only shadows loomed.

  He spun around to face the forest again, and felt cool air on his face. “We’re outside,” he said. “How can we be outside?”

  A dim red light played at the edges of their vision, but there was no sign of its source. Rory thought of the red glow he’d seen pulsing at the door’s bottom edge.

  “They were creatures,” Izzy said in disbelief. “Not human, Rory. Creatures.”

  “I know,” he said. “You were right, when I first asked you what Arcanus Creatura meant—secret creatures.”

  Izzy shook her head. “But why animals? I don’t understand. I thought they were shadow stealers.”

  “I don’t know what they are,” Rory replied, remembering the weird sensation of fur in his hands as he had tried to strangle Foxglove.

  Izzy cupped her hands to her mouth. “Hello?” she called.

  “Shhh,” Rory whispered. “We have no idea where we are or . . . who’s in here.”

  “She’s in here,” Izzy said, fear creeping into her voice. “Mara of the Shadows.”

  Rory shivered at the name spoken aloud. “I knew it was all tied together,” he said, peering around as he walked. “She’s their leader. Foxglove called her ‘our glorious queen.’”

  “His queen?” Izzy echoed. “Do you think he made Swoop paint that picture, and then Swoop covered it up because he was afraid of it?”

  “Foxglove said Swoop was a member of Arcanus Creatura,” Rory replied. “A former member.”

  Izzy shook her head. “I knew that weasel was up to no good.”

  The loamy smell of upturned earth and dampness filled Rory’s nostrils. He looked around. “Let’s walk, and see what we can find.”

  They set out hesitantly, one wary step at a time. The red light faded, leaving only a dim grayness. Overhead, the dark clouds seemed ready to smother them. Rory felt a tightness in his chest. They tried to walk quietly, but branches snapped under their feet. Rory didn’t want to speak again, for fear of being heard.

  “There’s a path.” Izzy pointed to the left. “This way.”

  She turned and Rory followed, his mind still on the fight at the manor. The knight’s lance—he had forgotten it. He was about to curse himself when he suddenly remembered he had his own dagger and slipped it out of his boot. He hadn’t even thought to use it when he had been in the cellar, held as a prisoner. It turned out that fighting enemies didn’t always happen the way it did in books. It was much more frightening and frantic.

  The path they walked on was littered with dead, black leaves. Rory heard his heartbeat thrumming in his ears.

  “What are we g
oing to do if we find . . . her?” Izzy whispered, finally breaking the eerie silence.

  Rory was relieved to hear her voice, but he didn’t have an answer. It was as if he was asleep and awake at the same time. He shrugged, uncertain how to respond. Izzy seemed to understand and pressed no further.

  They walked on. The landscape didn’t change, but Rory started to feel as if a fog was descending. He felt it on his skin first, and then he saw it—a thin layer of black soot, which he brushed off his arm.

  “It’s on me too,” Izzy complained.

  He was about to reply when they came around a bend in the trail and stopped in their tracks.

  A few steps ahead of them sat what looked to be a massive iron forge. Four thick legs supported its weight, ending in clawed feet. Its gaping mouth was nothing but darkness, releasing wispy trails of black and red smoke that swirled up to become lost in the tree branches and shadows above.

  “Tears of a fish,” Izzy whispered.

  Rory remembered the hissing sound he’d heard coming from the red door before. Now he knew its source. He gripped his dagger tightly in his sweating fist.

  “What do we do?” asked Izzy doubtfully.

  As if in answer, black mist began to pour out of the forge. And then, out of the forge’s mouth, two shadow hands gripped the sides and something began to pull itself free.

  Izzy and Rory gasped.

  The formless black mass in front of them had red at its very center, just as Rory had seen in his dreams. As they watched, both of them crouched, ready to flee or fight—they weren’t sure which—the shape began to reveal itself.

  It was a woman.

  She was at least six feet tall, with skin as white as milk. Wispy, black threads swirled around her insubstantial form. Rory wasn’t sure if she was wearing clothes or cloaked only in shadows. Her hair was a tangle of leaves and vines.

  He felt woozy, like he was about to faint. Sweat beaded on his forehead. The woman’s eyes landed on him.

  “Where are my beasts?” she asked.

  The voice that came out of her was unusually deep, but also melodious, as if it could lull one to sleep.

  Rory gave Izzy a shaky, sidelong glance.

  The woman took a step forward. Rory felt heat coming off her, as if she were made of fire. Her cold, vacant eyes pierced his soul.

  “Are you disciples of mine?” she asked.

  Rory could have shaken his head no, but he remained still.

  “Tell the jackal I am waiting,” she said testily. “How many more do I need before I am whole again?”

  Rory swallowed.

  We will need more. Much more.

  Izzy remained just as still as Rory. The air felt cooler, as if icy fingers were reaching out to touch them.

  “My wounds are many,” the woman said. “I thirst. I hunger.”

  Rory swallowed hard.

  Foxglove’s queen stared at both of them with an imperious gaze. “Speak, humans!”

  The dizziness in Rory’s head disappeared and was replaced by a dull ache. “We know what you’re doing,” he said quickly. “Stealing shadows.”

  “We’re here to stop you,” Izzy added.

  The woman tilted her head, revealing a long, snake-like neck. “So you are not my acolytes.”

  Rory swallowed again. “Who are you?” he managed to ask.

  But he already knew. He’d seen her likeness carved into Foxglove’s cellar door and painted on Swoop’s wall.

  Mara of the Shadows. Queen of Sorrow.

  The woman drew her head back as if insulted. “Stupid children!” she spat out, and raised her head higher. For a moment, she seemed to grow as tall as the trees around her. “I have many names,” she said slowly, beginning to walk toward them.

  Izzy and Rory backed up again.

  “Prosperine,” the woman said. “Lamia. Jezebeth. I am all of these. But now, I am Mara. And you should be kneeling.”

  Rory still held the dagger tightly, but he had no idea what, if anything, it could do against such a strange foe.

  Mara’s empty eyes roamed over them. “I see that you two have already been excised,” she snapped. “If not, I would draw your shadows out slowly, so you could feel the pain.”

  “You don’t scare us,” Izzy proclaimed. Rory tried to appear just as brave, but he knew his face betrayed him.

  Mara threw her head back and laughed, and her hair writhed like a bouquet of snakes. Her mouth was full of sharp, black teeth.

  She cocked her head again. “Where do you come from, boy? You have a dark look about you. A look I have seen before.”

  Rory’s tongue felt heavy. He and Izzy had been brave enough to enter, but they had no plan of attack. Nothing.

  Mara looked beyond them, into the thick forest of trees with black, drooping leaves. “The world exists in shadow,” she said softly. “You only see a half world. I see all.” She paused, considering them. “Before I kill you, can you tell me where my beasts are? I would assume they are not far.”

  She was going to kill them. Rory realized he had to act fast. He had to do something. Anything.

  He took a step forward, the dagger gripped in his sweating fist. Izzy stood ready beside him.

  “Oh my,” Mara scoffed. “Are all humans so brave?”

  “If we have to be,” Izzy shot back.

  Mara raised her hand in the air and twitched her fingers in an intricate motion. “Enough.”

  Curls of black smoke trailed from her fingertips and coiled around Izzy’s throat.

  “No!” Izzy cried out, struggling to move her arms, which had become pinned to her sides by more smoke-like coils.

  As Rory reached out to help, Mara flicked her hands again, sending more shadow ropes that snaked around his midsection. The dagger fell from his hand. He fought to move but could only twist to-and-fro, barely keeping his balance.

  The coil began to rise, working its way up his torso. He was going to be strangled, he realized, and so was Izzy.

  A sort of calmness washed over him at that moment. This was it. He and Izzy should have known better than to get into something they didn’t understand.

  But he was too curious, like Foxglove had said. A stupid, curious boy, and now he and Izzy would pay for it—with their lives.

  “Help,” Izzy croaked out, her face turning a shade of purplish red Rory had never seen before. Tears streamed down her cheeks. But he could not help her. He couldn’t even help himself.

  The black vines were winding their way up his neck. Mara watched them both with grim fascination, her mouth opening and closing silently in some sort of weird delight. “My beasts have been busy,” she said, “feeding me shadows. Do you know why I call them that? Beasts?”

  Rory couldn’t answer.

  “They’re my pets, really,” the Queen of Sorrow boasted. “I made them that way. I fancied certain creatures, you see, and my disciples were eager to please. So I . . . transformed them.”

  Rory wondered what kind of dark magic could do such a thing.

  “But I still give them the illusion of humanity,” the terrible queen continued, “so they may serve me in your mortal world.”

  Rory wriggled more, but to no avail. Izzy’s eyes were closed now, as if she had accepted her fate. She swayed like a top winding down, ready to fall at any moment.

  Mara glanced over her shoulder at the forge and then turned back around to face them. “Only a few more shadows for the Infernal Machine and I will fully walk in this world once again.”

  Infernal Machine? Rory thought. Is that what that thing is?

  Not too much longer now and it would be over. He closed his eyes.

  Izzy crashed to the ground.

  Suddenly, a wellspring of strength rose up in Rory. Izzy was his best friend, and all she’d ever wanted to do was help him. He couldn’t let her die.

  “No!”

  It wasn’t a scream. It was a shout, propelled by something buried deep down inside of him. He felt it coursing through his body, run
ning through his arms and legs. Maybe Izzy was right—maybe he did have a special power to call upon.

  He focused on it. It was a pulse, pounding in his temples. Boom, boom, boom. He pushed his will as hard as he could. “Stop!”

  The ropelike bonds that held him snapped loose.

  His hands flew to his throat. In his rush to breathe, he grasped the chain around his neck and yanked, sending the black stone he wore to the ground, where it shattered on a rock.

  He reached out to Izzy, but his hands found no purchase on the shadow ropes, which dissolved into thin tendrils when he touched them.

  Izzy gasped and opened her eyes.

  Rory retrieved his dagger from the ground, ready to take his last stand. But Mara’s attention was drawn elsewhere.

  She was focused on something at Rory’s feet—completely unconcerned, it seemed, that her captives were suddenly free. “What . . . is that?” she asked, as if annoyed.

  Rory looked at the shards of the onyx below him.

  A wispy thread of black leaked from the broken pieces.

  Mara tilted her head, watching.

  The thread of black grew in a spiral that rose from the stone, taking on a shape. A human shape.

  Mara approached slowly, fascinated. “That . . . What is that?”

  Rory didn’t answer. He had no idea. But as Izzy finally regained her breath beside him, the form grew taller. More solid. It was a black silhouette, and it bore a distinct profile.

  “It can’t be,” Rory whispered.

  In a blur of motion, the thing’s shadowy arm reached out and snatched the dagger from Rory’s hand.

  Izzy grabbed Rory and pulled him back.

  The queen rose up to her full height and, with her long neck outstretched, opened her mouth wide. A cloud of spiders poured forth, and a poisonous stench filled the air.

  Rory and Izzy coughed and backed away even farther, against the broad trunk of a tree. The shadow spiders scattered and raced toward them, running up their ankles and into the crevices of their clothes.

  “No!” Izzy screamed, slapping the terrible things away.

  Rory frantically did the same. They were a wave, a tide of biting, scuttling creatures. He danced around, trying to get them off while still trying to keep an eye on Mara.