Harley Merlin 8: Harley Merlin and the Challenge of Chaos

by Forrest, Bella

  * * *

  Leaving the island Bestiary, I arrived at the new location of my beach house and stepped inside. I padded down the hall and inhaled the salty air, before heading for the room at the back of the main corridor, where my grandpa slept. I say slept, but that was a little too polite—the guy was a living prune. He lingered somewhere between life and death, stuck inside his glass coffin like a mummy on display. I knew I should have properly killed him by now, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. He’d always championed me. I couldn’t have sent him back to the afterlife, not for all the power in the world.

  Sorry, Gramps. I brushed my fingertips to my lips, then placed them against the coffin. It left a slight smudge, matching the countless marks that already smeared the case. He really was horrific to look at, his face all shriveled up and purple, with one eye half rotted out of his head while his leathery skin strained against his skeleton. The Norman Bates flavor of this wasn’t lost on me, but he’d kept me going, reminding me of why I’d set out on this path, and that was as good a reason as any to keep the raisin around.

  I went to the back of the room and pushed through a door into an annex beyond.

  “Good morning, sunshine.” I smiled at the faint sound of chains rattling. Someone stirred in the windowless gloom. When I flicked the switch, an anemic bulb sputtered to life, casting a dim glow. Slumped against the far wall behind the bars of a cage, covered in her own filth and misery, was the real Imogene Whitehall.

  I took my job very seriously, and that included keeping up appearances. Playing the role of Imogene Whitehall wasn’t as easy as I made it look. Even Meryl Streep would’ve needed a helping hand with this one. If I didn’t get an Oscar after this, then something was rigged. So, I’d kept the real Imogene around, using her for information and torturing her into submission whenever I needed something important: lists of names, valuable artifacts, that sort of thing. I’d been playing her for so many years now that I’d lost count. Four, perhaps? Maybe longer.

  However, her time had come to an end. I no longer needed her. I had everything I wanted, and all my pieces were moving into the right positions. I had the magical world at my feet, right where it needed to be. It had taken years of dedication and careful orchestration, building to this exact moment, and now it was just around the corner. Soon, I’d ascend and take magic away from everyone—those who were faithful and deserving would get suitable powers; those who weren’t would stay human until they died, or until I killed them for disobedience. An empire needed slaves, after all. Humans were perfect for that job.

  My new magicals would gain authority over this world. They would rise up as the superior species, taking their deserved place at the top of the food chain. No more hiding from the humans. No more tiptoeing or walking on eggshells. No more shame in our abilities, instead of celebrating our power and making those weaklings fear us. The entire planet would know of Eris and her magnanimous nature. They would pray to me and worship me and beg me for a slice of power, because I’d walk in their world like no Child of Chaos before me. Thanks to Harley. It would be a beautiful thing.

  And then, I’d use Jacob and his Sensate abilities—after I’d whipped him into shape, of course—to keep track of those I’d gifted with Chaos. The young were easier to break down and mold however I saw fit, once they’d been crushed into submission. And Jacob certainly had potential, if I allowed him to retain his Portal Opening abilities. He could zip here and there, keeping an eye on my people, making sure to nip any rebellions in the bud. After all, I wouldn’t have the time or the inclination to go around doing all the hard work, after I’d ascended. That was the main point of having minions, right? To get them to do the stuff I didn’t feel like doing. Naima would be at my side, as usual. Finch, Jacob—they’d all bend to me, after some re-education. Maybe Alton, Levi, and Remington would join me, in the end, and whoever else decided to be smart and work for me, instead of dying. Or, worse, becoming mere humans.

  “Katherine?” Imogene blinked up at me.

  I chuckled. “Who else? Did you think someone had finally come to save you?”

  “Release me, Katherine. Release me, and I won’t say a word.”

  “You never do change that record, do you?” I smirked. “Well, I’m here to say that today is your lucky day.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m going to release you.”

  Imogene’s eyes widened. “You are?”

  They really never see it coming, do they? “I am. The time has come.”

  I stepped up to the bars of the cage and reached out to Imogene. Shaking, she took my hands in hers and held them tight, a desperate woman looking to her captor for help. It was pathetic, how low she’d been brought. This Imogene Whitehall wasn’t anything compared to my Imogene. My Imogene wouldn’t have allowed herself to be captured in the first place. In a few minutes, my Imogene would be the only one left, until I finally dispensed with her, too. It’ll be like taking my bra off after a long day. Blissful.

  “You will soon be free, Imogene,” I whispered. “You have suffered long enough.”

  “Thank you, Katherine. Thank you.” Tears rolled down her dirty cheeks, leaving trails across her skin, like a grubby slug had gone wandering.

  I tugged on Imogene’s hands, sending her sprawling forward, her head hitting the bars of the cage. “Ossa tua: ut conteram eos. Turn illa pariter. Ossa vestra iactata fatiscit, sed solum cinis donec manet.”

  As the words left my mouth, tendrils of black shot out of my palms and slithered into Imogene. I smiled down at her as the coils of Chaos threaded under her skin, turning her veins gray. She stared back at me in horror as the curse began to do its thing.

  A scream escaped her throat. Her body folded in on itself like human origami, her lungs collapsing and stifling that howl with a pleasing gurgle. The crunching of her collapsing bones reminded me of car tires on gravel, from vacations I’d been on as a kid. Only, this time, my dad wasn’t coming to take me out of the back seat, asleep, and carry me into the house. It’s funny how you never realize something is going to happen for the last time. Take Hiram. If I’d known when he was going to hug me for the last time, I’d have used this curse on him there and then and put the dust of his remains in a fancy vase, to look at in darker days.

  Imogene’s skull cracked, black veins spiderwebbing across her face, rotting everything away to nothing but dark gray ash. Her mouth was still open in a terrified “O” when it disappeared completely, the dust of her drifting up with the breeze that filtered in from outside the door. Soon enough, there was nothing left but a smear of black dirt on the ground. A streak of the woman that Imogene had been.

  “It was a pleasure.” I chuckled to myself, before striding out of the room and locking it behind me.

  Heading out of the beach house, I paused on the veranda. Across the sea, the sky had darkened to a stormy swell of clouds. My time was coming. I could feel it getting closer by the second. And, with it, I sensed the agitation within Chaos as the winds whipped up around me, clawing at my clothes and my face. You don’t have the power to stop me. Chaos rules, remember?

  “Cry all you want, little Children.” Grinning, I looked up at that blackening sky. “I’m coming for you, and, once I’m done with you, there’ll be no bitch badder than me. You’ll be laying out the red carpet, whether you like it or not.” I said it out loud so the Children of Chaos would know that the days were numbered for one of them.

  Thunder growled in the distance, the sound widening my grin. I guess they didn’t like that. Not that I gave a hoot what they thought. I was on my way, and they couldn’t do anything about it, no matter how hard they stomped their feet or threw their tantrums.

  I was going to ascend. I was going to be a Child of Chaos. It was no longer a matter of if, but of when.

  Six

  Harley

  I hadn’t spent much time in Alton’s new, non-director office. He’d taken up a smaller study along the main corridor of the SDC after he
’d resigned from the position. It was cramped and didn’t really have an Alton vibe to it, with mahogany walls and dusty furniture and a way smaller desk than he used to have. But I guessed, if he didn’t have the big job anymore, he couldn’t have the big office. Right now, he sat in a plastic office chair, looking worried at my sudden arrival. He’d known this moment was coming, but I supposed he’d thought he had more time. Carefully, I locked the door behind me and focused on the reason I was here.

  “I’m ready to talk,” I said, with a firmness that didn’t leave it up for discussion.

  Alton pressed his lips together before speaking quietly. “I suggest we up the security. We can’t risk anyone listening in.” Rising from his chair, he crossed the room to join me at the door. Together, we started to put up hexes to keep out any potential eavesdroppers.

  After the memory dump that had flooded my brain back in New York, I had a bevy of new spells I’d never known before. I put them to good use, pressing my palms to the wall and whispering the unfamiliar phrases as they leapt onto my tongue, almost by instinct alone. Blue light pulsated beneath my fingertips, flowing across the walls and the door in rushing waves, reminding me of water lapping against the shore. Once I’d finished with that, and Alton seemed to be done with his own security measures, I wandered through the room with my palms up, scanning for any unseen hearing devices or hexes, just the way Finch had taught me.

  “I think we’re clear.” I settled down into the guest chair—another plastic, half-assed affair that had probably been nicked from an old storage room.

  Alton took the chair opposite and nodded wearily. “First, I’d like to ask you a question.”

  “Go on…”

  “How are you?”

  My heart sank. This wasn’t what I wanted to talk about. I was doing my best to compartmentalize everything, but people asking about my state of mind wasn’t helping with that. I knew they meant well, but it was easier to swallow everything until after Katherine had been dealt with. Still, when I met Alton’s concerned gaze, I felt my resolve crumbling a little.

  I shrugged. “As good as can be expected.”

  “I’m worried about you, Harley. Grief affects people in a multitude of ways. Sometimes it drives them to do things they might regret. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

  “Isn’t it better to channel my grief into something constructive?” I realized I probably sounded like an automaton, but I couldn’t let my guard down. If I did, I’d melt into a pool of tears, and Alton would be left to try and put me back together again. Right now, that wouldn’t do anyone any favors, with the weight of the world resting on my shoulders.

  “That’s not what I mean. Channeling grief can be helpful, especially in the healing process, but I just want you to know that you’re not alone in this. You don’t have to soldier through this by yourself. You have so many good people around you, and I would hate to see you push them away because you’re in pain.”

  “We’re wasting time, Alton.” I cut him off before it got too psychiatric. “I can cry every last tear I’ve got when Katherine is in the ground, so let me get straight to the point. I know you can bring my mom and dad back. I saw it in your eyes when I mentioned that spell, and I heard it in your voice when you didn’t immediately tell me it was impossible. So, I need you to do it.”

  Alton gaped at me. “That’s not necessarily true.”

  “Don’t BS me, Alton. I know you can do it. I’ve heard things.” I hadn’t, but he didn’t know that.

  “Heard what things?”

  “That there is dark, illegal Necromancy that can bring people back from the afterlife.” I remembered the prune in Katherine’s beach house. That wasn’t exactly the same, since Drake Shipton’s body had been put on ice and his spirit had been locked to his corpse. But still—something in the look Alton had given me made me think he knew of some other spell.

  “How did you know?” Alton’s words came out as barely more than a whisper.

  “I didn’t.”

  His eyes widened. “What?”

  “I didn’t, until you just confirmed it.”

  “Who’s to say I did confirm it?”

  I smiled. “You wouldn’t have asked to speak with me in absolute privacy if there wasn’t something massively illegal and dangerous that you wanted to talk to me about. Necromancy is a sketchy, gray area as it is. I put two and two together. You’d have crushed the idea outright if it couldn’t be done. Plus, I’ve seen the failed result of a similar kind of Necromancy, though it wasn’t quite the same.”

  A flicker of anger crossed his eyes. “Well played.”

  “I had a good teacher.”

  “Coldness doesn’t suit you, Harley. This is exactly what I was talking about.”

  “You’d have given up the truth if I’d just asked?”

  He sighed. “I’ve been of two minds about it ever since we spoke. It’s not something I’m comfortable discussing.”

  “Screw comfort. Do you think Katherine is doing what’s comfortable? No, she’s ripping up every rulebook in the game and risking everything to achieve her goal. We have to match that if we’re going to stand a chance of beating her.” We needed to find a way to bring my mom and dad back, so we could get the three hidden memories and discover what the heck that would lead to. If it led to ending Katherine, then it was worth risking everything.

  For a moment, Alton said nothing. “You’re right… of course you’re right, but that doesn’t make it any easier. What you’re asking of me isn’t just ripping up some rulebook. It’s toying with the very fabric of the universe, and the cords that tie the living and the dead together. It’s delving into unknown territory. And I mean it when I say it’s unknown. All we have on this subject are theorems and possibilities—nothing has been tried and tested, for good reason. It’s illegal, for a start, but it’s also horrible and deeply unethical. What is dead is supposed to stay dead.”

  “You resurrected Astrid at least three times, and you resurrected the cultist who killed Adley and Jacintha. What’s the difference between that and what I’m asking?”

  He sighed. “They were recently dead, and thus not within the illegal realm of Necromancy. What you’re talking about is the resurrection of individuals who have been dead for a long time and have crossed over. It’s unknown territory, as I’ve stated. Why do you think nobody knows if there’s an afterlife or not?”

  “Because nobody has dared to figure it out?”

  He took a sharp intake of breath. “No, it’s because it’s ridiculously dangerous. It could open up a void that causes the living world and the afterlife to collide, resulting in all of those passed-on spirits flooding back through to our world, potentially trapping them here, away from the heaven they’ve been gifted. You told me about All Hallows’ Eve on Eris Island. Think of it like that, but on a global scale, with everyone who has ever died and crossed over tumbling back into this world.”

  “You’re skirting around the simple question, Alton.”

  He frowned. “There’s a simple question?”

  “Can it be done?”

  “Theoretically… yes. Yes, there is a way to briefly bring your parents back. Again, and I stress this, it is entirely theoretical, but it’s probable that it can be done.” He looked pale. “But, if I were to agree to this, there’s another problem, aside from the colossal disruption of the physical and spiritual planes.”

  “What problem?”

  “I can’t do it by myself,” he replied, after a shaky pause. “I would need a second Necromancer. A strong one. A very strong one. And one who doesn’t mind bordering on the highly illegal.”

  Necromancy seemed to have illegality woven into its nature, but I could see his point. That skill was a rare one, and we were running out of time to find someone who might fit the bill. Although, I was curious to know more about why he needed a second.

  “Will it take that much energy?”

  “It’s not just the energy, it’s the entire operation,” h
e explained, his tone strained. “Hiram and Hester have been dead for a long time, so they have no viable bodies remaining. Not only that, but, as you know, their spirits have crossed over to the afterlife. No Necromancer, as far as I know, has ever brought a spirit back from beyond that boundary. It’s just not done, and it’s entirely different than bringing a spirit that’s still in our world back into its body. But there have been theories, over the years.”

  I frowned. “You’re confusing me. Can it be done or can’t it?”

  “I’m getting to that.” He flashed me a warning look. “I was thinking we might use the bodies of Isadora and Suri, but they’ve been tainted by Katherine, making them unusable. Plus, I’m not sure that would sit too well with me, which I know sounds insane, considering what I’m discussing.”

  “So, we need fresh, untainted corpses?”

  He nodded. “In a nutshell, yes. However, using fresh corpses comes with its own set of difficulties. Should Hiram and Hester actually make it back, their memories might be jumbled with those of the corpses’ previous inhabitants. Since the whole reason we’re doing this is to find hidden memories, there’s a chance those memories might be so mixed up in the other person’s brain that they can’t be found.”

  “They really didn’t want to make it easy, huh?” I gave a bitter laugh.

  “I imagine they thought they’d still be alive, when they wrote it,” Alton replied sadly.

  “Yeah… I guess they must have.” That notion stabbed at my heart: the idea that they’d written this in the hopes that they’d be the ones to stop Katherine, if worst came to worst. Hiram must have realized that wouldn’t be the case when he’d written that strange, unreadable spell—the one with the weird, almost Arabic lettering. He must have known, then, that the Hidden Things spell would be nearly impossible to achieve, but there wouldn’t have been any time to go back and change it. Katherine had made it that much harder to end her using the Grimoire, without even knowing. She seriously had to be the luckiest witch to ever walk this earth.