Cathedral of Bones

by A. J. Steiger

  “Yes. As a matter of fact. I needed to talk to you.”

  “About the creature outside?” At Simon’s startled expression, he sniffed. “My wards aren’t just for show, you know.”

  “She’s not a creature. She’s a girl. A person.”

  “Not human, though. And not an Eldritch creature either. That means it’s an Abomination—an entity created or transformed through forbidden Animism.”

  Simon’s heart lurched. “We don’t know that.”

  “But that’s what you suspect, isn’t it?” His gaze drilled into Simon’s. “How much do you know about this . . . girl?”

  “Not much. She doesn’t remember her own past. That’s part of the problem.”

  “And what, precisely, do you expect me to do about it?”

  “I—I wonder if she could stay here? Just for a little while. Until we figure out what happened to her. It’s not safe for her, wandering around in the outside world.”

  Dr. Hawking regarded Simon in silence. His eyes were a cool gray, and despite the bloodshot whites, there was a disconcerting sharpness in them—as if he could pluck Simon’s soul from his body and weigh it on some invisible scale. “When you were seven years old,” he said, “you brought home a kitten. A filthy, half-starved stray crawling with parasites. You begged me to let you keep it. My answer is the same as it was then.” He grabbed his cane and pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. “Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”

  Frustration squeezed his throat. “Just talk to her. Five minutes of your time. That’s all it would cost you.”

  “It could cost me considerably more than that. Right now, the Foundation and I are not on good terms. I’ve already been expelled as a formal member and stripped of my title as Master. If they were to discover me harboring an Abomination, they could revoke my registration as well. Do you know what that would mean? I couldn’t continue my research. Not legally.”

  His research. Of course. That was all that mattered to him.

  “I’ll take full responsibility for her,” Simon said. “If anything happens, I’ll shoulder the blame.”

  His father’s face remained expressionless, but there was a slight tightening around his eyes and mouth. “Are you that desperate for companionship, that you would give up everything to help a girl you barely know?”

  “She’s my friend.”

  “Whatever the case, my answer hasn’t changed. I won’t risk—” He froze. The blood drained from his face as he stared at something behind Simon.

  Simon turned. Alice stood inside the doorway to the laboratory, hood down, her disheveled dark hair hanging down around her face. She hadn’t bothered to cover her tentacles. They writhed around her like the animated petals of some alien flower. “I got tired of waiting,” she said. Her eyes glowed purple in the shadows.

  A muscle at the corner of Dr. Hawking’s eye twitched. “How did you get past my wards?”

  “You mean that place where the air got a little thick and tingly?”

  For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Dr. Hawking’s face was ashen, his lips clamped together. For the first time in Simon’s recollection, he looked . . . shaken. Then his expression went blank. “Well, you’re here. You might as well stay for dinner.”

  Father was nothing if not unpredictable.

  “This way.” He limped toward the door, his footsteps heavy and uneven. His left leg was mechanical, and had been that way as long as Simon could remember. His father had never spoken of how he’d lost it.

  They followed him out of the lab; he locked the door behind them.

  One of the spiders clattered down the hallway, moving close to the wall, and Alice tensed, stepping away. The spider held a small feather duster clamped in the end of one metal limb. “Is that—?”

  “Golem,” Simon said. “Like the creepy clown in the marketplace. There are a lot of them around, but they’ll leave you alone. They just do the cleaning.”

  The spider clattered up a wall and began dusting off an iron sconce.

  His father limped ahead, ignoring their conversation. He led them to a spacious but sparsely furnished bathing chamber with stone walls and a claw-foot tub large enough to drown in. He glanced at Alice. “You’ll want to get changed out of those filthy rags first. I’ll have the golems bring you some clean clothes while you wash. Veera left some of her old things here. They should fit you well enough. Simon, you come with me.”

  Simon hesitated.

  “Go on,” Alice said.

  Simon nodded, uncertain, and followed Dr. Hawking down the hall. He wasn’t sure what to make of his father’s sudden hospitality.

  His attitude had completely changed the moment he laid eyes on Alice. Why?

  Chapter Fifteen

  The dining hall was long and high-ceilinged. An elegantly carved table ran down the center. Simon took a seat at one end, his father at the other.

  Simon’s eyes wandered to a spot on the floor. Olivia’s blood had long since been scrubbed off, but a faint stain had lingered through the years, a slightly darker patch on the stone.

  Dr. Hawking poured himself a glass of wine and took a long swig. “You say she doesn’t remember her past.”

  “No. Only the last few months.”

  “And where did you find her?”

  “Near Splithead Creek. She was hiding in an abandoned cabin. I went there because we’d received a request for aid from the villagers. They claimed a monster was living in the nearby mountains. Turned out she was the monster. She can transform into a sort of . . . dragon. Or something like a dragon. With tentacles. Though she has those all the time. You probably noticed.”

  His father shook his head and muttered something under his breath.

  “You know something. Don’t you?”

  “I know that she shouldn’t exist,” he snapped. “How she came into being, I have no idea. But I can tell you this—you shouldn’t be walking around the city with that creature. If you were spotted together . . .”

  “Stop calling her a creature. Her name is Alice.” Simon’s hands were clenched into fists in his lap, white-knuckled. His father was holding something back. He was sure of it. But he knew, from long experience, that pushing for answers would only make him clamp up harder. “And no one got a clear look at her. We made sure of that.”

  “Good.” Dr. Hawking poured himself more wine. “Have you been taking your medication?”

  The question caught Simon off guard. His father had a way of doing that—changing the topic suddenly. He opened his mouth to reply, but the words stuck in his throat. He didn’t know how his father would react to the fact that Simon had been weaning himself off the pills. What business was it of his, anyway? “Yes. Of course.”

  Dr. Hawking nodded.

  Soft footsteps broke the silence. Simon looked up.

  Alice stood at the foot of the stairs, one hand resting on the banister. Her dark hair was freshly washed and shiny; her gray skin glowed with a clean, healthy sheen. She wore a simple dress—dark gray, tinged with lavender—with long sleeves and pearl buttons running up the front. One of his mother’s. It was sober yet elegant, and wide enough to accommodate her tentacles; they trailed behind her, looking almost like a part of the dress, like some elaborate train with a life of its own. He would’ve thought that feminine clothes would look out of place on her, but no. They complemented—rather than clashed with—her strangeness.

  Simon stared.

  She fidgeted. “What?”

  “Nothing. It’s just . . . I’ve never seen you in a dress.”

  She glanced down at herself, frowning, and plucked at the fabric. “Is it showing too much?”

  “N-no. It’s fine. It looks nice.”

  Snug or not, the dress was, if anything, overly prim. The long sleeves and high neckline resembled something a librarian or a schoolteacher would wear. She looked much more . . . normal. More like a girl, which made him aware that she was a girl. And Simon had always been completely hopeless around gi
rls his own age. Alice was so different that he’d forgotten to be nervous around her, but now the old awkwardness came rushing back.

  Silly, he thought, that a change of outfit could have such a dramatic effect on him. It was probably evidence of shallowness on his part.

  “Have a seat,” Dr. Hawking said.

  She approached the table and sat next to Simon.

  A pair of spiders clack-clacked out of the kitchen, carrying a steaming pot of stew. More came behind with platters of bread and vegetables. Dr. Hawking lifted the pot by the side handles, set it on the table, and scooped the food into his bowl. “Help yourself.” He hunched over his plate and began spooning stew into his mouth.

  Simon dished out some stew for himself and passed the pot to Alice, who took twice as much. His stomach was a shriveled ball, but he forced himself to take a bite.

  Alice polished off her bowl and dished out more stew, then reached up with one of her tentacles, grabbed a bottle of wine, and poured some into her glass. When she realized both Simon and Dr. Hawking were staring at her, she froze. “What? Is this rude?”

  “I don’t believe there is any established etiquette as to the use of one’s tentacles at the dinner table,” Dr. Hawking replied. “Though I do believe you’re too young to be legally drinking.”

  Alice shrugged. “I overheard you talking to Simon. My whole existence is illegal, isn’t it?”

  “Fair point.”

  “Anyway, I’ve never had wine. I want to taste it.” She took a sip, grimaced . . . then took another sip. With another tentacle, she grabbed a hunk of bread from the platter and dunked it in her stew.

  A few crumbs fell to the floor. One of the spiders scurried over and swept them up.

  Simon stirred his stew around and poked at a potato with his fork.

  “Oh for Spirit’s sake,” she said. “Eat.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  She flushed, gray cheeks darkening. “Sorry. It’s just . . . you never eat anything.” She pointed her fork at him. “Food is necessary for survival, you know.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” He dunked some bread in his stew and took a bite.

  Dr. Hawking watched the exchange expressionlessly.

  Alice polished off another bowl. “Is there any coffee?”

  “No. No coffee.” A bit of stew dribbled down his gray-stubbled chin as he ate. He didn’t seem to notice.

  Once they’d finished, the spiders reappeared and began collecting the dirty plates. Simon had grown up with them, but he’d almost forgotten just how remarkable they were. One reared up on its two sets of hind legs and used its long, many-jointed forelimbs to collect the bowls and stack them atop its back, then clackety-clacked off toward the kitchen.

  Dr. Hawking stood, clutching his cane. He fixed his piercing gaze on Alice. “Girl. If you don’t mind, I would like to speak to you alone in my laboratory.”

  Simon tensed. An image of the unfortunate imp, splayed out on his father’s dissection table, sprang into his head. “Why alone?”

  “Because I have some questions to ask her, and I don’t require an audience.”

  Simon opened his mouth to argue, but Alice placed a hand on his arm. He looked at her in surprise. “It’s all right,” she said quietly. “This is why I came here. Isn’t it? To figure out the truth?”

  Alice stood.

  He watched, feeling helpless, as she followed his father up the stairs and disappeared.

  The minutes ticked by.

  Unable to bear the wait, he walked up to the laboratory and pressed his ear to the closed door, but he could hear nothing. The silence was unnerving. With a sigh, he sat down on the floor, his back against the wall.

  Father wouldn’t actually hurt Alice. Would he?

  He was thinking about knocking when, finally, the door creaked open. Simon leaped to his feet. “Alice?” She stepped out and closed the door behind her. “Are you—?”

  “I’m fine.” Her eyes held a distant, preoccupied look. “He said I can stay here for the night.”

  Simon waited, but she didn’t seem inclined to say anything else.

  He cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll show you to one of the spare rooms.” Simon began to walk, Alice trailing behind him. “So what did the two of you talk about in there?”

  “Not much. He asked me some questions about myself, which I mostly couldn’t answer. Then he took a blood sample, along with some hair and nail clippings. He said they would be valuable for his research.” She produced three empty glass vials from a pocket of her dress. “He also gave me these, and told me to—and I quote—‘fill them with any fluids I can produce and return them to the lab as soon as possible.’”

  Simon winced. “Sorry. He can be very forward.”

  She shrugged and pocketed the vials. “I’m as curious about the answers as he is.”

  Simon watched her from the corner of his eye. “Did he say anything else to you?”

  “He told me to—and again, I quote—‘keep your tentacles off my son.’”

  A small, choked sound escaped Simon’s throat.

  “Seems he’s rather protective,” Alice remarked.

  “That’s not the word I’d use.” Simon’s father had never expressed the slightest interest in his personal life before. Why now? Did he just hate the fact that Simon had finally made a friend? Was he already trying to drive a wedge between them, out of sheer spite? “I don’t see how it’s any of his business,” he muttered.

  “Well, apparently he has a strict policy against you getting involved with Abominations.”

  “I hope he didn’t call you that to your face.”

  She shrugged. “It’s what I am, isn’t it? Anyway, I told him that I was here to figure out how I could get back to normal, and that was all.”

  Anger bubbled up in him at his father’s outrageous rudeness. He pushed the feeling aside. Dr. Hawking was allowing Alice to stay; for now that was all that mattered.

  Most of the spare rooms Simon checked were either being used for storage or were so caked with dust it would take hours to make them habitable. The spiders only cleaned what they were instructed to; evidently, Dr. Hawking didn’t consider most of the rooms worth bothering with.

  There was one, though, that he knew was kept spotless. The idea of giving Alice Olivia’s old room made him uncomfortable, but it would probably be the most hospitable.

  Still, when they reached the door, he hesitated, hand on the knob.

  “What’s wrong?” Alice asked.

  “Nothing.” He pushed the door open. The hinges squeaked.

  Olivia’s room was just as it had been when she was alive. The bed was still made, covered with a soft down comforter patterned with flowers. The mirror over the dresser was still polished and bright. A stuffed rabbit with bright button eyes sat on the bed.

  Alice surveyed the room. “It’s very . . . pink.” A brief pause. “Wait, is this—”

  “Yes. It was hers.” He turned away. “We, um. We should get some sleep.”

  “I guess so.”

  He lingered, his eyes searching her face. His mind drifted to the mysterious, egg-like pod in the mountains. “Alice . . . what’s your very first memory?”

  Her teeth caught on her lower lip. “I remember that it was dark. I couldn’t breathe. And then . . . suddenly I was in the forest, and it was raining. But it’s like remembering a dream. It’s all muddled together.” She clutched the hem of the dress and curled a tentacle around her legs. “I don’t know what he’ll find when he analyzes those samples. I don’t know if . . .” Her voice caught. “Simon . . . what if I’m wrong? What if I was never human?”

  “It doesn’t matter. You’re Alice. That’s all I need to know.”

  They stood in silence a moment longer, just looking at each other. Her eyes caught the lamplight like a cat’s, shining. Her lips parted, quivering slightly, and for a moment, she seemed about to say something else . . . then she turned away. “Good night,” she whispered. The door shu
t softly behind her.

  Simon made his way down the hall, toward his own bedroom. He paused in front of a familiar door—his mother’s study. Lightly, he touched the knob. He hadn’t set foot in this room since her disappearance. Even when she was here, he hadn’t been allowed in the study unsupervised.

  He pushed open the door, revealing a round space, crammed floor to ceiling with bookshelves, the books all still there, covered in a fine layer of dust. Dust, too, lay over the moss-colored carpet with its light golden pattern of leaves. An ornately carved, claw-foot table stood in the center. On it sat an empty teacup, untouched—there was still a faint smudge of red lipstick on the rim, faded with time—alongside a silver comb with a few long, golden strands of hair caught in its teeth. If not for the dust, his mother might have been in here just this afternoon. His throat knotted, and he swallowed until it loosened.

  He trailed his fingers over the books’ spines, pausing on one. The wrinkled leather felt familiar. He pulled it out, studying the blank cover, which had a mummified, foreboding look to it. He flipped to the first page and saw the drawing of the tentacle curled around the sphere: the symbol of the Chaos-worshippers.

  He recognized it. It was the book his mother had given him for a present so long ago, the one his father hadn’t allowed him to read. As a child, he’d snuck into her study once or twice and peeked inside the book’s pages, but he’d always been too frightened to look closely. It felt as though the tome held some dark power—as though a pair of scaly, clawed hands might reach out of the pages and pull him in.

  Silly. Of course.

  He flipped through the pages now. Each one contained a detailed ink drawing of a god, followed by a chapter of description. There was Yig, the man-eating serpent—Crom Cruach, a vast, spiny worm with a round mouth full of teeth—Ghatanothoa, which was little more than a mass of writhing tentacles and bulging eyes.

  Such beings couldn’t truly exist. Could they? They all looked as though they’d crawled out of the feverish hallucinations of a madman.

  He turned a page to the chapter marked Azathoth. Unlike the others, it contained no illustration, just a blank spot on the page, and a few brief paragraphs beneath that: There are only a few scattered references to Azathoth in ancient texts. It is referred to as the blind idiot god and the Demon Sultan, as well as a source of unfathomable power. It is unclear, however, whether Azathoth is an actual entity, a symbolic representation of these concepts, or something else altogether. Some scholars have put forth the idea that Azathoth is, in fact, another name for the Outer Realm—a dimension of pure, chaotic energy, which exists between worlds.