by Nikki Hyson
Shivering anew, heart hammering against his ribs, the force of it nearly drove James to his knees. Lily. Friend. Words whipped through him at random, pulling emotions that grated, burned and healed. Puppy. Trusting. His fever rose, mouth drying before an answer could be formed. Lips parting to pant, his stomach rebelled under the onslaught of too much regret swallowed too quickly. He ached to retch. Her touch, her hand on his heart, sustained him. Please, don’t let me go.
Pulling her fingers from his shirt, she severed the lifeline.
Lily’s in danger. My fault. What can I do?
She took his face between both hands, her power lancing through his body. Her voice flowed through his veins, slicing every thought to the quick. “James,” she murmured, her tenderness the rescue he now needed. “Is that what you want?”
Memories burned bright, illuminating those first two years when he’d done nothing but sit until summoned.
“No. They’ll kill her. I’ll kill her, and think nothing of it.”
“Is she the only reason?”
“No,” he whispered, throat cracking. Memories invaded. Sitting. Thinking. Of nothing. Because nothing mattered, until the minutes felt like days, and they shoved the next name in his hand. “I’d rather be dead.”
“You are very lucky.” She pulled his face a little nearer until James’ gaze filled with her alone. “The Professor wishes the same for you.”
“What?”
“He overrode Hyde’s orders. He told me to heal you as best as I could.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t say.” She hesitated. “There is a condition.”
Of course there is.
“You will tell no one what transpires here today. No one. You are only to repeat the words I give you.”
What do you see in me, Professor? What do you want?
She squeezed his jaw. “James, do you agree?”
“May I speak to him?”
Her smile dimmed. “He sees no one.”
“He sees you.”
“Whether you realize it or not, your time is short. I need your answer.”
What’s the price? The one she can’t say?
“James.”
“I agree.”
Her hands left him, slippered feet passing over runes, as she stepped out of the circle. “Look, James. Look into me.”
Each breath a dagger thrust, each thought addled by flames licking through his memories, James drew together a pirate’s pride and his own fear of failing. Squaring shoulders hunched in agony, he gazed into the mirrors circling him. Whatever fate had in store, he’d face it boldly. It would’ve been bad form to do otherwise.
Circling the outside of the ring, her image no longer touched the reflective surface. “Look into me,” the Oracle commanded.
James stared back at the man reflected before him. Cris had been right. He looked like hell. The first time he’d been brought before her she’d found nothing. No Lost Boys. No ship. No past. Only a man. “What do you see, Lady?”
“The same as you.”
Disappointment panged. That first time he hadn’t known she saw the written lives of the others. He hadn’t known to be afraid of her answer. “Nothing,” he admitted.
In the mirror’s reflection she stood next to him, the sleeve of her dress brushing his arm. James flinched, looking down but seeing nothing. She stood within the mirror.
“I never said nothing,” she corrected, lifting her arm and pointing behind him. “There. Who is it?”
James turned, expecting only another copy of himself, but finding instead a window into a home. A little boy, no more than seven or eight, sat on a rug before a roaring fire. A small black puppy played with a ball, a red bow tied around its neck. The little boy laughed. James smiled.
“What is this?” the Oracle asked softly behind him. “This is not from your pages. This is not from your story.”
“It’s me,” James said, tears shining. The admission might condemn him to death, but he could longer no deny the truth. He couldn’t cast away the last memory of joy he’d ever known before a strawberry-haired slip of a lass looked the other way, ploughing straight into his life.
A single tear broke free. Sliding down James’ cheek, it disappeared into the graying brown of his beard. He laughed. “It’s me.” The fever broke.
Movement shifted his gaze to the next mirror. A little older but the same room, he sat at the table near a window. His tutor standing nearby, favorite of the many who’d come and gone over a decade. The young man’s hands moved with great animation as he spun the tale of Treasure Island. James remembered it clearly. The last story his tutor ever recited. James knew the rest without watching but, in this chamber, his gaze remained fixed.
His father burst into the room, furious because the tutor was related to some duchess or other. Words followed. Apologies. Attempts to persuade. A thrashing. His tutor broken and bleeding on the floor. Pointed, painful to watch as a child, James found it equally so to renew this memory as a man.
“Stop, James. Please.” A touch, soft and gentle, lay across his eyes. The Oracle stood before him. Their bodies nearly touching, her scent filled his senses, her fingertips blocking his view. “You haven’t a need to remember this.”
Even without the pictures playing out before him, he could still hear the resolution to this moment. It continued on whether she wished it to or not. He needed it. He had to hear the words one more time. Gently, he pulled her hand from his eyes.
“Tell her not to meddle again, or I will not be so forgiving.” He watched Father’s footsteps snap across that hardwood, exiting to the hall where a call would be placed to the police.
His tutor, his friend, lay on the floor. One eye nearly shut and lips split, the young man lifted a bloody hand, damaged by his father’s booted heel. “James, come here lad,” he whispered, beckoning James closer. James relived the fear rippling through his young heart, at the thought of moving any closer. He remembered his friend’s smile.
“Please, James. We have no time.”
The boy drew close. Into an embrace he’d never dared before. “I’m your uncle, James. I’ve a message from your mother.” Words whispered soft and swift. “She loves you. I love you. We’ll always love you. Always.” Tears on both their cheeks. “You are in our hearts. Never forget. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
Ever present, her voice slid over top of the moments that followed. “James, you must stop.” Freeing him from the memories, she whispered, “Come away now.”
Looking away from his life in the glass, James kissed the palm trying to shield him. Only one question begged an answer. “What am I?”
“A child of two worlds. Once born of flesh and blood. Yet, someone with the power over pulp and ink couldn’t let you move on. They wrote you a second, immortal life where you might have stayed if not for the Guild. Pulled from your pages, the first life is now free to return to you.”
“How do you know this?”
“Because we are the same. You and I.”
“What do I do now?”
“Tell them I have sorted you. Only nightmares, stirring up emotions. All will be fine now.”
“Paper souls don’t dream.”
Finely arched brows drew close, marking impatience across her unlined face. “Yes, James. I know. So do they.”
He nodded, accepting her command. “Now, what do I do?”
“Start writing everything you can remember. Keep it secret, safe, but write it all down. Slowly, the ink memories will start to separate from the living. You’ll never forget being James Hook, but you will know who you were.”
“And then?”
“It’s more than most of us get.” The sorrow she couldn’t quite conceal told everything. “Isn’t that enough?”
“You don’t know who you are,” James murmured.
“I’m nothing; no one.” She gave him her back, gaze fixed on a mirror revealing only a man and a woman. “He pulled me here to be the Or
acle. He knew the truth before the summoning. I didn’t have a chance to hold onto my past before he took it. Even my paper life is gone.” Her face flushed with the anger of stolen moments. “The Professor might suspect you, but he doesn’t know. That’s the only chance you have. Don’t let him know.”
“What about Hyde?”
Snorting derision, she met James’ reflected eyes. “He knows nothing. Fear his cruelty, not his cunning.”
“What has he done to you?”
Facing him, she blunted his question. “Before you go, I need something from you. It will help you keep the emotions in check, to live the lie you must.”
“What?”
“Your memory. Your first true memory.”
He opened his mouth to agree, but she stopped him.
“James, you don’t understand. It is your only memory of your mother. You will never know her face again.”
“How do you know?” He stopped, looking into the glass behind her. A woman lying in bed, newborn child cradled in her arms. She was smiling and so was he, blue eyes gazing up at her. She sang a lullaby.
“You’ve seen this before.” James gripped the Oracle’s arm. “You saw it on the first day, and didn’t say anything. You didn’t let me see it.”
“All true.”
“Why?”
“I lied because only two things could have come of the truth. Either they would have seen you as a superior oracle and burned me, or seen you as a usurper and destroyed you. This way, we both lived. You remained a mystery. I remained valuable.”
James looked back to the woman and babe. Even now, the shadow of his father lurked. “Why didn’t I remember more?”
Her reply wasn’t an answer. “The girl. Lily, isn’t it? There is a connection it would be unwise to dismiss. Explore it. She can help you.”
“What will you do with it? My memory. Where will my mother go?”
“I’ll remember her for you. Trust me, James.” Not a question. A plea.
He felt no hesitation. “Yes.” Even though, in this house of hidden horrors, common sense told him otherwise. “I will.”
One cool hand went to the back of his neck, drawing his head down to her shoulder. Her cheek rested against his, mouth moving near his ear. “I’ve got you,” she promised, three words barely penetrating before the crash of shattered glass stabbed deep.
His knees buckled, threatening to pull her down with him, but she remained the stronger of the two. Her grip lent a touch of grace to an otherwise awkward fall. Kneeling, they clung to each other.
13
“James, what’s wrong? Everything alright?”
James focused his gaze on the damp pavement passing under his shoes. His lips curved slightly; a dry smile the best he could offer Cris. The knowledge of a conversation between his friend and Hyde rose fresh in his mind. His friend’s words, whispered on the other side of the Oracle’s shut door, echoed through James’ thoughts: What if the anomaly isn’t the girl?
Hook’s desires clawed up James’ spine; revenge for betrayal pressing hard against the backs of his eyes. Tempering the need for blood, his cane struck concrete forcefully. “Thanks. For getting it back.”
“Rochefort found me.”
Yes. Can’t have me leave without my prop. Unable to look at Cris just yet, James fished for words. Anything to silence the questions and deaden the anger. “Still look like hell?”
“Not quite, but you’re lingering at the gates.”
“Well, it’s been a long walk out.” Pausing at the corner, James waited. “Did you want to stop by your place first?”
“I’ve got everything.” Cris swung his satchel between them, eyes narrowing at the unnecessary question. “Let’s just get you home.”
Jerking his head, James took the left. Two streets passed silently.
Cris, finally glancing his way again, offered a tentative, “Want to talk about it?”
“Not particularly.”
The Count hissed a breath. “You heard what we said. I can only guess she managed it.”
Noticing the lack of query, Cris’ words from a scarce quarter hour earlier replayed through James’ mind. What if the girl is being drawn to him? Hyde needed no more than a gentle nudge. What if? His focus shifted to James.
Or rather to Hook.
Hook, the mystery. Hook, the one the Oracle had been unable to read on the first day. Hook, the one who could feel again even though that never happened to anyone. Hook, the killer of Lost Boys who would make a perfect assassin. Always Hook.
A growl rose up Hook’s throat, ready to accuse and denounce all in a breath. James swallowed it back, not ready to take steps that couldn’t be recalled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Cris tried. “I’m sorry you heard it.”
James slowed at a crosswalk, pausing only long enough to glance both ways.
Cris stretched out a hand. Trying for what? Confrontation or exoneration? James warned with a glance. Cris’ hand fell away, sighing heavily. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
After midnight, there was little reason to wait. “Must we discuss this? Right now?” James stepped off into their red-blocked path, timing his pace to avoid the solitary cab driving by. “It’s been a day. I’m done.”
“Fair enough.” Cris swung the satchel to his shoulder. “Moving in with you wasn’t my idea.”
“Didn’t say it was.”
“Okay. Well then.” Cris dropped off into awkward silence.
Hook wished crocs were easier to come by. James wished for a less complicated friendship.
Pacing outside the Oracle’s chamber door, Hyde growled his impotence. “Get out.” Eyes flashing black in remembrance of the blunt dismissal, he barked at the only person left. “Get out. How dare he? He promised.”
Rochefort arched a brow. “She isn’t the only woman.”
Hyde shot him a glare. “She’s the only one he won’t let me have. Why does he promise? I thought he’d keep his word this time.”
Rochefort didn’t answer. “There are other things to be done. Barsad for one.” He shifted stance slightly, half turning to move down the hall without actually straying a step. “I know you’ll enjoy that. You always do.”
Hyde left the worn path before the Oracle’s door. “Yes.” Taking the lead to The Burning Room, his hand went to the pocket of his overcoat. He withdrew a fat, leather bound book. “I have it here.” His thumb pressed into the words engraved across its face, a slow smile growing. Humming the opening notes of La Marseillaise, Hyde traced an elongated figure eight across the leather.
Somewhere ahead, muffled by thick, plastered walls, a scream echoed.
Moving towards it, Hyde chuckled. “Are you certain we’re not to question Barsad?” His thumb continued to move, marking a path of invisible runes he didn’t understand. “I’d like to know what he said to rile Hook.”
The scream ahead rose into a shriek. “For the love of God, don’t do this! I’ve done nothing! Please! Pl—” The plea died, breath transformed into one long, shattering note. “Hooooo—”
They reached the door. “That’s what The Professor said. No words.”
Hoarse screams begged from the other side of the cool, grey door. The Burning Room. Hyde sighed. “Very well.” His thumb moved swiftly into the last stanza of the death song, tracing an Ouroboros circle that slowly wound in on itself. Barsad’s book turned to blue flame on Hyde’s open palm; the spy within the steel room hitting a note of complete anguish.
Neither lasted. Book disintegrating to ash within two heartbeats, the room faded to silence. Hyde brushed cinders from his fingers, gesturing for Rochefort to open the chamber’s door. Together they witnessed the small pile of charred black paper stirring on a puff of air.
Rochefort kept his eyes on the remains. “I’ll get this cleaned up.”
The pleasure of a moment past, Hyde no longer held any interest for the unlucky spy. He shrugged. “I’ll be down in the ink room. You’re right. Ther
e are other women.”
Rochefort, watching Hyde stride down the hall, glanced into one of the many mirrors lining every Guild wall. He nodded once before starting on Barsad’s remains.
Secret’s safe. From one of the Oracle’s mirrors, Professor Moriarty watched the entire scene unfold. He could see anywhere, hear anything within the walls of his castle. Absolute control. Power obtained during one of Morow’s stays as his Oracle, he relished the knowledge it afforded. Then why do I feel like a storm is brewing? Finally.
Turning his back to the mirror, The Professor looked at his Oracle. He could see everywhere but within the circle of her mirrors. A trick of Morow’s, who’d slipped into madness a little sooner than he’d hoped. Each repetition as Oracle had only made the insanity come quicker than the last time. Such a strange, disturbed man; a beloved character created by that meddling Eleanor who’d felt it necessary to hide the key. Even now, Moriarty wondered how long Morow’d last if it became necessary to call him out again. Burning, and an end to it all, might be the only way.
“Now, whatever am I to do with you?”
Her blue eyes flicked up to meet his, falling away a moment after. She didn’t reply, standing a little apart, but still within the circle of her mirrors. She hugged herself tightly, arms impotent shields against anything he chose to do.
The Professor considered his words briefly. “Is he of your kin? Had he a life before Hook?”
“Perhaps, but his writer wasn’t gifted enough.” Her words stutter-stopped, grating against the ire she must know her admission was rising. “He’s less than half of what he might be; more fiction than fact.”
“So. The first day.” He stepped closer. She shivered. “When you said you saw nothing. You lied to me?”
“No. I saw nothing. Smoke and incoherent shapes. No more.”
He studied her for a long moment. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”
The signs were starting to appear. The shifting color of her eyes from sapphire to jade and back. The streak of gold a bit darker than all the rest of her tresses. She was starting to splinter, both halves striving for dominance, and neither likely to win. She’d go mad before the transformation reached fruition. Such was the fate of every Oracle; of every paper soul he called forth who had once been flesh and bone. The inevitable could only be postponed by capturing memories into glass and then shattering them. If Hook—