by Nikki Hyson
Lily handed the girl a twenty with her thanks. “I appreciate it, Jen.”
“No trouble. How was the write-in?”
“Excellent. About fifteen crossed the finish line. I had way too much coffee. The toffee was a hit. Thanks for making it. How’s your word count?”
Jen grimaced. “Coming. Sorta. Only twenty thousand. Algebra final killed me.”
“It’s still more words than you had. I’m proud you even started. To me, that’s a win. See you tomorrow.”
“Okay. G’night.” The young girl, offering James a curious smile, shut the door.
Lily patted her leg, redirecting Amos’ focus back to her. “Let’s go.” In the confines of the building he came easily to heel, surging forward only when they reached her floor. Tail wagging, he sniffed the floor mats in front of each apartment on the way to theirs.
Still wrapped in a pondering silence, Lily opened the door.
James felt a cold knot harden in his belly. Her words from only a few hours earlier rose to the surface. I know you and Dah lied.
“Would you like something to drink?” Shedding her coat, she opened a biscuit tin. “Tea? Juice?” Fishing out a dog snack, she still didn’t look his way. “Water? Writing all day. You must be starving. Something to eat?”
To his surprise, James realized he felt hungry, but knew he couldn’t possibly eat. His stomach, churning with tempest force seas, promised a rough ride if he dared.
Lily faced him when he didn’t answer. Noting he’d frozen on the welcome mat, her shoulders sagged. A sigh escaped. “Sit down, James.” Amos nudged her hand for another treat. “Please. I just need to know.” Actions rote, she offered the beagle a second, then a third biscuit. “I need to know, because of my father. Because of you. Who are they? What are they?”
The kindness vibrating across her tone did nothing to stop the terminal tick tock of seconds before James told her the truth. “A glass of water? If it’s no trouble.”
“Of course. Anything else?”
James shook his head. “No.” Sinking into one of the two battered armchairs, he watched her enter the kitchenette. “Thank you.” Bones melting into the lumpy cushions, weariness passed through him deeper than any he could ever remember. Except, perhaps, on the night he’d died.
Lily returned with two glasses. Giving him one, she set the other on a nearby desk. Pulling a footstool around in front of him, she sat. “Now,” she said, holding out her hand. He reached for her glass, ready to offer any small service to prolong the moment.
She took his cane instead.
“Lily.”
She shook her head slightly, apparently done with secrets and prepared for any offered warning. Carefully she passed fingertips over the shaft, tip and handle. She examined every inch before stopping where handle joined shaft. An unnatural crease gave her pause. Gazing across it to him, she asked, “Will you, or shall I?”
“Please, let me.” Accepting it, James held the handle with his good hand. Locking the shaft between his knees, he gave it a quick twist. It clicked. He pulled up, revealing a scant three inches of razor sharp blade shining bright in the lamp light.
Lily sat back on her perch, drawing both legs up and crossing them. As if raising a drawbridge and securing her defenses. “James, what’s going on?”
He slid the blade home, locking it with a twist before setting it to the side. Claiming his glass anew, James took a long drink. Tilting the rim of the glass towards her, he swallowed and started.
“You remind me so much of her. It’s the only reason I kept coming back. I didn’t know, until today, what I’d lost before. Ironic that I’ll lose it all over again.”
“Don’t talk like that. You can’t possibly know what I’ll think or say.”
His smile grew sorrow tinged. “We’ll see.” Drawing a breath, he held it. Then let all his inhibitions go. Staring straight into her trusting sea green depths, James began at the beginning.
29
Lily watched his chest expand; drawing a breath, buying himself a second, and then a third moment. James didn’t blink. Didn’t waver.
“My last memory of Neverland is of going over the Jolly Roger’s side. The croc swimming in the water below. I knew, my end had come. After all of the adventures, all of the battles whose outcome balanced on a sword’s edge, after everything, it came down to me and that damned croc.”
Amos, whiskers dripping with water, padded over to the footstool. Lily put out a hand, expecting her fingers to fill with brindled fur a moment later. Grunting exhaustion, the beagle didn’t notice. Amos leaned into, and then slid down, the chair where James sat, nearly settling on worn Oxfords.
James’ gaze remained lowered to the dog for a long moment, confession coming even before he met Lily’s eye. “I’d been determined to meet death head on. Then I opened my eyes, furious because I couldn’t remember closing them. The idea that a flinch cost me was infuriating…”
She knew truth rode on the heels of this hesitation. Lily waited. He exhaled softly, words coming on a breath.
“But I wasn’t dead. I was in a small room made of gray stone. A man sat at a desk where a candle stood. He didn’t look up. Didn’t say a word. Just kept writing. A mirror hung on the wall, shimmering like breath on water. On the other side of that cursed glass, my ship sailed on Neverland seas. The men were scattering. Some called out for me. Others just ran.
“I tried to answer them, but then I realized I was lying on my backside; the cold of the stone seeping through my clothes. I haven’t felt warm since my last drenched moment in Neverland.”
It might be the beginning she’d asked for, but before many stanzas were spoken she wished she never had. Lily sucked in a breath, for a moment thinking to stop him, but then let it go soundlessly.
“A man stepped between me and the glass, snapping his fingers when I didn’t react quickly enough. ‘This way,’ he snapped. ‘Class is about to begin.’
A name rose unbidden to Lily’s lips. “Cris?”
James shook his head. “No. Rochefort.” He hesitated, gripping the arms of his chair, as if that alone kept him there. Knuckles white, he drew a slow, steadying breath.
Lily pressed a hand to her mouth, stoppering words capable of prolonging the telling of this tale. I’m so sorry, James. She needed to know. I have to know.
James continued.
“I followed Rochefort out of the room and into a gray hall. I asked questions, demanded answers, but he answered none.
“We reached a room, a dais standing at the far end. It appeared we were the last to enter, a dozen others already gathered round. Many appeared as confused as I, but Rochefort left. I recognized none, but I knew them well. They were as capable of violence as I. Pirate hearts one and all despite varied clothes, complexions, and accents.
“Somewhere behind the dais a door opened, and a man came forward to face us. Impeccably dressed, grooming flawless, our attention fixed not so much on the man, or the suit, but on what he carried. He held a stack of books down the length of one arm, each leather bound volume as different as the man standing to my right and left. ‘My name is Edward Hyde,’ he said. ‘Some of you may have heard of me. I am your master now. The life you knew before is over. There is only this.’
Lily couldn’t suppress the gasp, memory wedding with the words James painted. The man at my library. The one the other three feared. She squirmed. “That man today?”
James nodded. “Yes. Hyde.” Again, he waited. After a moment, he reached for her glass of water. She shook it off, hands trembling too badly to hold it. Leaning forward, he caught her eye. “Shall I go on?”
Lily didn’t hesitate. She couldn’t, or she’d never let him start again. She nodded once.
He leaned back heavily, and continued.
“One of our number stepped forward, chest out and finger jabbing. ‘Look here,’ he said. ‘What gives you the right to bring us here? You can’t think we’ll stand for it.’”
Lily swallowed hard, knowing the very worst
had yet to come.
James’ voice broke, just a little. “Hyde picked one of the slender volumes from his arm and held it up. ‘You will stand for it, and you will not interrupt. This is your only warning.’ As he spoke the pages began to smoke, the brown leather to glow with an unnatural light. Some tried to shield their eyes, to look away, but no one could. The dissenter fell to the floor.”
James paused, and Lily hated herself. Why was she making him relive this?
He shook his head, leaning forward to rest a hand on the cushion’s edge. “No. You’re right. You need to know. You need to fear them. Just, give me a moment.”
She nodded, wanting to comfort, but unable to make herself move. Between them, on the floor, Amos snored softly.
James drew a breath and carried on. “He writhed in agony, screams strangled by the smoke rolling off his body. His eyes, his mouth, the tips of his fingers— all glowed fiercely. He shrieked as Hyde’s thumb passed over the leather in a strange patterned manner; words murmured as smoke flickered to flame. The man on the floor erupted into flames, as the book did the same. Within seconds both were no more than ash.
“Hyde shook the man from his fingers and pulled out another volume. He held it up, looking to each of us, one after the other. ‘You are all characters in books. Nothing more. I could destroy each of you and no one would know you’re gone. You’re nothing. Paper souls. You have done nothing except what you were written to do all the days of your lives. You will continue to do so now. Never cross me. Do you understand?’
“Wait.” Lily lifted eyes, searching the face she thought she’d known just a few minutes ago. “How is any of this possible? What magic is this?” The question she’d wanted to ask her Dah, but not been able to form the words.
“No one knows. A few have tried to unriddle it but…” James shook his head, as helplessly ignorant as she was.
Lily gulped dryly, nodding once more. “Finish it.”
“No one spoke. I don’t think some of us even breathed. Hyde nodded. ‘Good. Now, look to one another. I wouldn’t have called you up if you weren’t all known killers. That is what I ask of you-only what you have already done. You are my assassins now. You will be well cared for in return for unblinking devotion. Anyone with a problem is free to leave.’
“More than one wanted to go, but ash still covered the floor. His gaze dared us.
“‘I want to go.’ To my shame, the youngest among us spoke. He couldn’t have been twenty. He stepped forward, olive complexion standing out as greatly as his accent.
“Hyde looked at him. ‘Are you certain?’
“The boy’s chin came up, shoulders squaring. ‘I’m not a murderer.’
“Hyde held his book out to him. ‘As you wish.’
“The boy reached for it. Foot still raised, he burst into flames. Hyde shook the book from his fingers for a second time. ‘Do you understand yet? There is no going back. I hold each of your books. You will do what I say. Or die.’
“No one else stepped forward. The heat of the boy’s death still on our faces, Hyde smiled. I’ll never forget that first smile. I learned later, as many as half were often lost making The Point. Hyde enjoyed every moment.
“Afterwards we were sent to the Oracle. If she found no defects, we were transferred to our handlers.”
Wrapped in a spell of horror and disbelief, Lily finally swallowed the hard lump. “Cris.”
James, nodding finally, agreed. “Yes, after the first time. He was there the second time and every time since. He erases everything from the crime scene. Transfers it to canvas. It is what he presents to Hyde to prove our work is done.” He stopped, hesitating as if there might inconceivably be more. Then, he continued on.
“That’s why I had to bring you the puppy. Cris would have either put her in the painting or left her there. It might’ve been days before someone went looking. I had to rescue her.”
“You murdered River’s owner?” Lily tried to shake the ice water running through her veins. It only thickened to frost, saying the words aloud, freezing her to the core. “That’s how you found her?”
“I had no choice. Every time I resist I feel my blood begin to boil. I sense my pages starting to smoke.”
“I understand,” she said, fingers flicking his defenses aside. “Who was he?” Her eyes shuttered for a moment, trying to find words she could use to make sense of this. “What had he done?”
“They never tell us those things. We only get a name, and an address.”
Something in his tone, the downward shift of his gaze, raised doubt within his words. “And yet, this time, you found something out you weren’t supposed to.” She tried to catch his eye. “You figured it out.”
He evaded the connection. “It’s only a guess. Just speculation.”
“James, what is it you think you know?”
“He was a writer. There were stacks of manuscripts everywhere. He’d even drawn sketches and pinned them to the wall above his desk.”
“What was his name?”
“Lily.”
Her tone rivaled the edge of Pan’s sword. “You said they told you names. Who was he?”
“Just because—”
“—James—”
“—doesn’t mean you knew him. How many writers are in the city, and you only have thirty or forty show up for most write-ins? You couldn’t have known him.”
“Who—?”
“—Lily, I won’t play this game. I won’t go down the list of names I carry with me every day. I won’t—”
“—Was it Ian Monrow?”
On the point of rising, James fell back with a quiet groan. “How did you know?”
“He called me last week, all kinds of excited about getting a new puppy. He said she’d help him get out and about more. He should’ve been at the library tonight. He said his sister would watch the puppy for the weekend so he could finish his seven thousand words.” Lily shook her head, loss draining her strength away. “What had he done? Why would anyone look twice at him?” She read the thoughts flickering across his features. “He didn’t know anything. Do anything.” Frown deepening, she whispered, “Why Ian?”
“They don’t tell us.”
“Don’t lie to me, James. Please. Not now.”
He sighed heavily. “The Guild can only pull characters from novels if the writer is dead. It’s just one of the rules.”
Lily tried desperately not to grasp the meaning within his words, but they hammered home just the same. “And?”
“And I saw a man in the last group of initiates the day after I brought you River. He looked like one of the sketches on your friend’s wall. They could have been twins.”
“He was murdered so they could pull one of his characters from the pages?” She leaned back on the footstool, as if that could keep the ugliness of his life from spilling onto her. “So they could make his character an assassin?”
His slight nod confirmed all.
Swallowing down bile, her throat burned with the whispered words, “They’re monsters.”
“I know, and there is no way out. No,” he corrected grimly. “There is one way.”
Lily laughed mirthlessly. “To die? How does that solve anything? They’ll only pull someone else out to replace you.” Her words roiled faster, anger building to boiling. “Is that what they wanted my father for? To murder people?”
“I don’t know. I doubt it was their original goal. They might’ve trained him to be like Cris. Someone to take care of the afterwards. It doesn’t matter. They realized he’d never take the strain of such business. He got away.”
“How? How did he escape?”
“His Oracle found a way. Your father said he’d been there a long time. Might be Moriarty’s only mistake ever.”
Lily licked lips grown so dry they nearly refused to part. “Moriarty.”
“Yes. The Guild is his creation. He chooses the targets. He—”
“—was never beaten. Sherlock Holmes killed him. There’s a
difference.” Her thoughts jumped track between one beat and the next. “How many? How many have there been?”
“You think I’d keep track of such a thing?”
“Yes,” she said bluntly. “If you know their names, you know their number.”
James’ breath hitched. “Thirty-seven.” Shifting, trying to hold her gaze, he asked, “What would you have done, Lily?”
Her turn to look away.
He pressed. “If it happened to you, what would you have done? Where was the way out? How would you have written it?”
“I don’t know. I’d like to say I was a pile of ash right next to the boy, but I don’t know.” Lily shook her head, slim shoulders rising under the weight of a knowledge that never should’ve been hers. “I don’t know,” she repeated. Neither found solace in the admission, but the words still begged repeating. “I don’t know.”
Silence settled for a long while. Lily, elbows resting on knees, unfurled her fingers as if she could find the answers there. How many paper souls had lived and died because she dared create them? What had she done with her hands? Her pen? Her words?
Head still bowed before him, she finally whispered the niggling little question. “What’s it like?”
“What?”
“Inside your book. Did you want to fight your words? Did you feel incomplete?”
James seemed to understand the thoughts now twisting her guts. He could read her like a book. “Your father and I spoke of this last night. He described it best when he said that it’s only in our pages that we feel whole. We have a purpose. No doubts. It’s living out here that’s hard, Lily.”
She didn’t look at him. Instead, her head shook slowly, side to side, reason warring desperately with the fantasy within.
How could any of this be possible? The incredulity that’d nicked the back of her heart during her father’s confession twenty-four hours earlier ripped wide, creating a chasm that ran straight to bone. “I can’t do this,” she confessed. Ian! Each breath burned.
“Shall I go?” He paused for what felt like forever. A sigh muffled, lost in the creak of his chair as he rose. “I’m so sorry, Lily.” His weight shifted to carry him away. “So very sorry.”