by Nikki Hyson
James turned left at the gate, traveling away from where he knew Lily rested peacefully. She’d no idea he would fail to keep his vow. He couldn’t keep her family safe. Her world was only hours away from shattering into a million pieces. He growled out his frustrations, causing two midnight lovers to give him a wide berth as they passed. He barely noticed.
Cris stepped from the shadows and to his side without a word. They continued on, strides in perfect unison, lacking destination.
“You knew,” James said at last. Both words as far removed from the world of inquiry as mortally possible. “You already knew.”
James stopped where the road ended. Three choices lay before them.
The park entrance stood across the street, lights twinkling from the skating pond just out of sight. The left and right were just more pavement, leading past shops that no longer mattered.
James didn’t choose. He stood still, facing the only man he’d dared to call friend in this life, or in the paper one before it. Betrayal ran deep between them, blood pooling cold and dark around the bottom his heart. His fingers encircled the silver handle of his cane for a second time that night. Only one thing might stop him. The truth. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference. What could you possibly do?”
“Get him out of harm’s way. Warn him. Refuse to touch the order. Anything but stand there like a fool and read it.”
Cris matched James’ ire with a look both curious and amused. “You do realize who you’re being asked to kill, don’t you? It’s Peter Pan.”
“He’s Lily’s father.”
“You’re Captain Hook, pirate and sworn enemy of Peter Pan.”
“Not anymore, dammit.” James ran a hand over his face, futile attempt to wipe the memories from before his eyes. “That was before.”
Cris regarded the outburst, considering his next words carefully. “If you’d done anything other than what you just did, Moriarty would’ve known. He would’ve sent someone else. Then you couldn’t have done anything at all.”
James drew a cold, cleansing breath, regaining the calm composure and level head he so highly valued. “What are you talking about?”
Cris tilted his head towards the park entrance. “Did you know the winter carnival is open?”
“How can I trust anything you tell me? You’re a survivor. How many times have you told me? You’ll always pick your interests over the safety of others.”
“And how many times have you so eloquently called me a liar?” Cris smiled, but it faded quickly under the light of James’ distrustful gaze. “Look. They’re going to kill you. When this is all said and done, they’ll burn you to ash before her eyes. Is that how you want it to end for you? For her?”
James didn’t flinch.
Cris did. “You already knew?”
James looked across the road. “Since that first night in the library. It seemed the most logical way for the cards to play.” Carnival lights lit the park like the break of a summer day. “Yes. I knew.” Music filtering over to them, he studied Cris. “Doesn’t answer my question.”
Cris sighed. “Guess I earned that one. Still hurts.” He pulled a purple, leather journal from the pocket of his jacket. “Alright. Yes, it’s hers,” he answered before the question could be asked. “I lifted it from her flat while you were watching her tonight.” He shifted stance, moving it out of reach when James opened his hand to claim it. He thumbed through, revealing pages of her neat, faintly cursive print. “She’s quite good. I wouldn’t mind if she wrote my ending.”
“Changing the ending is a myth. What are you going to do with that?”
“I’m giving it to him. Wait.” Cris took a step back, hand raised defensively. “Wait!”
James’ blade cleared an inch of scabbard. “Give me a reason.”
“Killing me changes nothing.”
James shook his head, grim smile playing across a humorless mouth. “Really not good enough,” he said without apology and took a step forward.
“Kill me and condemn her to death.”
He stopped, but didn’t lower the sword. “Explain.”
“He wants her and, one way or another, he’ll have her. I know his plan. I can out think him. You know I can. Just trust me.” He waited for the words to penetrate.
James held fast.
Cris pressed his last advantage. “Her life, as she knows it, is over. What you have to do is decide how you want it to change.”
The weight of three lifetimes pressed down upon James. All the bad choices and bloody deeds. He sheathed the blade, leaning heavily upon the cane. All the loss and pain. Everything puddled at his feet and drained away, flowing down the road to the sewer, where a life’s worth might be tallied.
He watched it go, no longer seeing Cris or the snow just beginning to fall. He was going to fail at everything. There was no oath kept. No chance at redemption. His life had become the punch line in a poorly written joke.
“This isn’t done yet.” Cris stepped forward, resting a hand on James’ arm. “We still need to see the Winter Carnival. They close up around two am. There’s still time.”
“Why?”
“Because we have to start somewhere and no one can accidentally overhear with all that noise. Come.” Jaywalking, Cris slipped Lily’s journal into his pocket.
James stepped off the curb, joining Cris because he didn’t know what else to do. He paused under the street lamps on the other side, wishing for stars but only blinded by electrified gas. It didn’t matter. The day was done. Lily would die if he didn’t do something. He’d always known it too. Since the moment he took the pizza from her.
“Are you coming?”
Cris’ query made him realize he still hadn’t crossed under the park entrance. Looking around, he drew a breath, and gathered all his thoughts. With effort, he pressed them into a tiny mental box and twisted the key. This couldn’t be worried over, or wished away. It must be planned for, and the hours were slipping away too quickly. Stepping forward, he exhaled. “Alright then.”
“There’s still one thing troubling me.” James stood from the park bench and stretched.
Cris scattered the remnants of his crumbled pretzel to the pigeons gathering round them. “Just one? What a relief.” Chuckling dryly, he stood as well. “I thought this could go sideways in about a dozen different directions.” Leaving the empty park behind, he asked, “What’s the one?”
James flicked his fingers before them, swatting away the plot holes and inconsistencies. “Not us. Him. What’s Moriarty want?”
Cris shrugged, offering his best theory anyway. “In a word? Revenge. Two words? Power and revenge.”
“Revenge on who?”
“Didn’t you ever read about Doyle?” Cris shivered, hands thrust deep in his pockets. “Why were we sitting in the snow so long? Pick up the pace. I’m freezing.”
To James’ surprise, he realized he wasn’t. “What about Doyle?”
“He got tired of writing Holmes and killed him off. Sent him over a waterfall with Moriarty. Killed them both. Public outcry was huge and he brought back Holmes.”
“But not Moriarty?”
Cris shook his head. “No. He stayed dead.” Shivering forcibly, he muttered, “Damn, I’d love a coffee.”
James checked stride into a diner. They were already mopping up, but a five bought a paper cup full of the last pot’s final dregs.
Cris, hugging the cup close, offered a sideways, “Thanks.”
Payment made in answers, James posed another question. “So revenge on all writers. That’s why he makes them suffer. Why he kills them and turns their creations into puppets. And the power?”
“It’s how he’s written. It’s what mattered on the page.” Cris took a second sip and made a face. “Gah, this is the worst I’ve ever had. You gave her a five for this?”
“Tip included. So, he must have a book there somewhere. Who pulled him out?”
“No idea.”
“Never tried to find out?”
“I’ve been here for fifty years, James. I’ve seen what happens to the curious.”
James said nothing more, climbing the three flights to his flat. Only, with back to his Cris and key in lock, did he pose the last question. He didn’t want to see a lie, didn’t want to know he’d misplaced his faith and they were all lost. But he listened hard, daring the smallest catch to trip across his ear. “You could be one of the curious if he figures this out. Sure you want to risk it?”
“At some point I have to remember there was a life before this. There’s a way besides this.”
The tumblers gave, lock turning. James opened the door and stepped inside. “And after this?” Dropping the keys into a nearby bowl, he shrugged out of his coat. “If you aren’t discovered? What then?”
“Lily first. The rest will follow after.”
James knew he’d get no better answers. Surrendering the conversation, he asked, “Want something to eat or drink?”
“Hot shower first. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” James moved into the kitchenette. “I’ll go later.”
Cris shed coat, boots and all on the rug before heading to the bath. Pausing at the door, he gave a look bordering on curious. “You’re not cold?”
“No.”
“Why do you think that is?”
James barely checked his perusal of the fridge. Another riddle to be puzzled over? “No idea.” Honestly, he found it the least interesting question of the evening. “Go.” Shaking his head, he wondered how long the chow mein had been lingering. “Take a shower. Warm up.”
Cris stared at James a moment longer, but his friend seemed only interested in food. When did that ever happen? They enjoyed, but they never craved. They were never hungry. He stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door.
Flicking on the fan, Cris turned the tap to hot. The soft whir of blades stirred the steam quickly filling the room. He inhaled the warmth deeply, and waited.
A moment passed before the soft tap of a nail on glass registered, but he heard it and didn’t flinch. Cris took the stride needed to wipe the glass and looked out. The shadow of someone crouching on the fire escape penetrated clearly. He cracked the window two inches, loathing the blast of frigid air the moment before it hit him. He hesitated before speaking.
The man on the stair did not. “Well? Will he do it?”
“For the right price. For her safety.”
“He cares that much?”
“Yes.”
“And does he trust you? Implicitly?”
“He’d be a fool to trust me that much. He trusts enough.”
“Good.” Rochefort stood, turning to escape back down the iron stair.
Cris stopped him with a word. “You can tell him the price just went up. I don’t just want Haydee’s safety. I want Hyde’s position.”
Rochefort looked back. “He won’t like that.”
“I don’t care. What he’s asking…” Cris stopped, shuddering through a freezing breath. “James is my friend.”
“God help your enemies.” Rochefort put his foot to the next step. “I’ll tell him.”
Cris closed the window before the creak of the fire escape faded. Reaching for a washcloth, his reflection caught in the mirror. He didn’t linger there long.
36
James entered the cottage by way of the kitchen door, offering treats to the dogs coming forward to greet. Out of biscuits in seconds, he shut the door so none of the pack could wander after him. Leaving Cris to find his own way, he moved down the hall.
Light from the room beyond flickered orange against the wall. He knew it for what it was, a fire in the hearth. There might be no one up after all. James took another step, drawing even with the arched entrance. Able to see the two armchairs facing the fireplace, he realized one sat occupied.
“Hello, James,” Peter said calmly, neither rising from his chair nor turning his head. “Come to kill me then?”
“Actually, yes. I’m supposed to. They signed the writ yesterday.” Half expecting to be shot, James stepped to the side of the chair and into the light. If the positions were reversed, he would have. Staring at Peter’s empty hands, he almost wished it could be an option.
“And you lingered over it this long? I’m shocked. Why risk it?”
“They wanted Sarah out of the house. Needs to look like an accident. I don’t want to do this, Peter. I won’t do this.”
“Seems like you have little choice. Me or you.” The old man quirked a thinning brow. “Isn’t that the way it’s always been?”
“Why are you just sitting there?” Something inside James riled at this helpless, defeated Pan. He couldn’t bear it. “Do you wish to die? Do you want to break Lily’s heart? Sarah’s?”
“We can’t change our fate, can we?” Peter huffed a breath, waving his hand to clear the memories between them. “One of us was bound to die the instant they signed the paper. I dare say, the moment they brought you over. Aren’t you the villain, James? Kill me then, and prove it.”
Stunned, James stood silent. Their talk before this very fire only a handful of days ago was as naught? Why? What changed? “What about what you said?”
“About what, Hook?” Cloudy blue eyes sparking with fight, Peter settled deep in his chair. “Come now, you old codfish.”
James flinched. Daring me?
Peter’s words struck out, anger growling in the back of his throat. “Will you finish this, or not?”
No. James sat on the ottoman before Peter’s chair. Begging me. “How ill are you, Peter?” For an instant he remembered Lily and their reversed positions. Lily, begging for answers she really didn’t want to know. “What did the doctor say?”
The old man, who’d never wanted to grow up, grunted. “Shouldn’t have called you a codfish then?”
“Probably not. Where’s Sarah exactly?”
“In town. Some kind of artist seminar. Went early to stay with a friend. Been planned for weeks.”
“Have you told her yet?”
Peter’s gaze drifted toward the flame. “No one. Not yet.” He lifted his eyes to James. “Sure you won’t do this for me? It’d be so much easier.”
“Not a chance. I need more than that from you.”
Interest piqued, Peter shifted. “Really? And what has the Count to say? If you are here, he must be near.” Casting a swift glance back, towards the stairway, he lifted his voice mockingly. “Have you left him out in the cold?”
The staircase creaked, a shadow peeling itself from the darkness. Cris moved towards the living room and remained, half in and half out of the light. “Hello, old friend,” he said.
Peter chuckled softly. “Were we ever friends? I don’t remember.” Looking back at James, he said, “You’re off the hook then. Pardon the pun. My old friend will take care of us both. You because of the failure. And me…” Peter stopped, realization occurring. “Is it because I’m Lily’s father or because they finally found Pan? Is she in danger? I told you to protect her.” He tried to rise, indignation lending strength that illness claimed. “I told you it was dangerous for her to be near you.” Peter grimaced, swallowing pain. “Why didn’t you listen?” James helped him sit.
Cris stepped closer, claiming his authority within the first few words. “Three accidental encounters and the title of writer sealed her fate before the end of the second day. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Lily’s been allowed to live this long only because James has played every angle as far as he could. Her time’s up. They want her as their next writer or they want her Stephan as their next Oracle. It’s as simple as that. They think the death of her father will make turning her easier.”
“Moriarty doesn’t understand her at all. It won’t make her surrender. She’ll fight harder.”
James frowned. “I know that. He doesn’t.”
“So he doesn’t know who I am?”
“No,” James assured.
“Yes,” Cris countere
d.
They both looked at Cris. The darkness in Peter’s look required no words. Still, he left nothing to chance. “Ah,” he said with a jerk of his head. “My friend. Now I remember you. How could I forget? So, killing me is just a bonus? Finally righting an old wrong?”
Cris tilted his head. “Something like it. He wanted me to bring you back, and watch you burn. I convinced him otherwise.”
“How clever of you. So, what are you supposed to do now?”
Cris continued. “James is to kill you. I’ll frame you. There’s a body in the car very like you in size, already mauled by some animals. We’ll dress it in your clothes and leave it a couple miles up the road for someone to find. Sarah will think you wandered off, got hurt and then killed by wild animals. Only Lily will see the painting.”
“An accident then. How thoughtful.” Glaring at them both, he promised, “I won’t let you use my death to make my daughter’s life hell.”
“No, didn’t suppose you would.” Cris smiled easily. “We’d like to use your life to save hers. I have a question for you, Peter. Do you trust me?”
“Not the slightest.”
“Fair enough. Will you do whatever it takes to save Lily?”
“You know I will. What do you want?”
James listened as Cris spelled out the plan for a second time. This time through, he was no longer impressed with the sheer gall or high likelihood of failure. He listened instead for the slightest shift from one part to the next, for anything that deviated from the original. In short, he was waiting to catch his friend in a lie. He found nothing.
“Well?” Cris asked after he finished, arms folding across his chest, back still facing the fire. “Will you do it?”
Still dazed, Peter looked from Cris to James, and back again. Words slow to form, he cleared his throat before offering his ultimatum. “Answer me one question. Then I’ll answer yours.”
“What is it?”
“Why? Why are you doing this? If you get caught.”
“I won’t.”
Peter held up his hand, skin across the back so thin the blue of his veins stared out in stark contrast. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t dismiss me either, Count. Not now. Not when it’s Lily’s life hanging in the balance. Why?”