“What’s wrong?” Embeth repeated.
“I didn’t try hard enough for you. I’m so sorry. I never should have opened that door. And then mother abandoned me. And now look at me. Look at us. I don’t know what I am, and I don’t belong... anywhere or with anyone.”
“You have me.” Embeth smiled. “We have each other.”
Fang’s smile was weak, and her eyes stung. She wiped away the tears. She said nothing because... what was there to say? How could you possibly top the wisdom of a child? Of someone washed away into the sea of darkness?
“The one who’s helping you. What was her name?” Embeth asked.
“Coyle.”
“She’s smart. Friendly.”
She looked into Embeth’s eyes. “I think she’s just like you, little one.”
Embeth shook her head. “No. I’m smart, but I’m not her kind of smart. Where is she?”
Fang stood and searched the ceiling. The sounds of the Turned echoed throughout the cavernous theater. “I’m not sure.”
“I guess we can go looking for her, then,” Embeth said. “I think if we help her, maybe she can help you.”
“Help me with what?”
Embeth beckoned her to kneel down. They looked into each other’s eyes and leaned their heads together. Warmth rushed through Fang’s body. Her lip quivered as Embeth held Fang’s face with gentle hands.
Embeth patted her big sister’s head. “It’s foggy here, and I think Coyle can help brush the fog away.”
Fang stared into her sister’s eyes with tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Why do you love me?”
“Why do you love me?”
“Because you’re more valuable than all the stars in the sky. You’re all I have.”
Embeth grinned. “You’re my big sister, remember? And nothing will change that.”
They held each other tightly, uncaring that all the monsters in the world were trying to get them. Fang wished she could bottle this moment and open it whenever she was blue. But she knew there was still work to do, a job to finish. Embeth pulled away first.
“Besides, somebody has to love you. May as well be me.”
“You little brat.” Fang stood and tousled Embeth’s hair. “But you’re right. As always. I need to find Coyle.”
Embeth smiled.
Chapter 27
Mid-level passenger decks
Dawn’s Edge
“Conroy!” Coyle shouted. “Conroy, we need to get to the engine rooms. We need to shut them down.” She turned and yelped as the Turned pulled down a man running beside her.
“We can get there,” he huffed. “But that means we have to go back that way.” He thumbed behind him.
“There must be another way!”
He was silent for a few moments before he answered. “There is. Up ahead on the right.”
Coyle spotted a doorway. “This one?”
Without answering, Conroy shoved her through the doorway. Other passengers followed. So did the Turned. The small hallway echoed with fear and hunger. Heat poured into her legs. Exhaustion was setting in. But she had to find a way to live, had to find a way to stop the engines from running, before she could stop Moreci.
“Doorway on the left!” Conroy shouted.
Her heart wanted to burst. Her muscles ached. But it was the victims who urged her onward without stops, their panicked screams long since burned into her mind. A doorway waited at the end. Just one door with a small window. She prayed it wasn’t locked.
“Go up two flights,” he rushed. “Turn right, go down the hall and up again twice. You’ll find the engine rooms!”
Conroy opened the door for her and she dared a glance behind. The Turned were steps away. Conroy grabbed her shoulders and shoved her inside.
“Go!” He shouted his last.
The door slammed. She pulled herself up in time to see Conrad’s last moments before the Turned were on him.
She ran.
Chapter 28
Maintenance deck
Dawn’s Edge
Electric lamps blinked incessantly, scattering light through the dark halls and rooms. The light show was just another distraction, because the lights from Coyle’s suit worked perfectly, illuminating the space in front of her.
Conroy’s efforts had limited the power, but the massive ship was still moving toward its final destination. Without additional help, the fate of the engines was left to Coyle. Though she was unsure how exactly all this was to take place, she knew there would be means.
Everything around her was unfamiliar, but she followed Conroy’s directions. A door led to another passageway, which led to another door and on and on. She finally reached a series of open spaces with stacks of heavy machinery. The outer edges were lined with railing to keep the workers safe. She picked a route and pressed on to where the engines were.
The screams of the living had long since faded away—whether from distance or death, she would never know. She stopped. Something wasn’t right. Stench filled the air.
And then she saw them.
The lights flickered over their ghastly forms, making their movements jittery, convulsive. Pale, yellow eyes shone from deformed skulls. Long, bony hands stretched, reaching for her soft skin.
Her legs pivoted without command, every fiber of her being begging to escape. The fringes of her mind pushed close to unbridled madness. She had to leave, had to run, had to get out.
Stay alive!
She took a step—just one. The hesitation was enough to make her reconsider. She couldn’t. Running away wasn’t an option anymore. She had a job to do. If she didn’t fight now, they would lose everything. Coyle pulled out her knife and braced herself. She had time for one quick prayer under her breath before her knife flashed like a hammer, stabbing and slashing anything close. Some fell and crawled toward her, grabbing at her legs. She kicked them away, slashing at the others, and still they crammed forward to grab and pull and bite.
Something grabbed her shoulder. She pulled to the side, stabbed the ghoul in the temple, and sent another over the railing. She was pulled backward, but she leaned forward and spun away, jabbing the end of the blade into each of their heads. The last fell away with her knife wedged in its eye. She grabbed for it but wasn’t fast enough. One of them slammed into her, knocking her down. She pushed away from the floor, but the ghouls heaped on top of her. Claws scraped at her back and legs and head, desperate to dig through the leather armor. She squirmed away and twisted around on her back, kicking at everything close. She crawled backward and got lucky; the Turned tripped and tangled over one another. Their long arms crossing over each other until they were locked in the struggle of pursuit. She used the moment to push herself up, hobbling away as quickly as she could. She reached a wall of machinery and looked over her shoulder.
Her eyes bulged.
A small horde followed behind the initial rush. Echoing howls chilled her blood. There were too many now. Far too many. But a thought flashed through her mind. She flipped open the tab on her forearm and pushed the button marked Tesla Mode. And then she heard the mechanical voice of her suit.
“Power at full capacity. Tesla Fist activated. Point weapon toward threat.”
Tesla Fist?
Sparks hopped between the metal studs on her left fist. Warm energy tingled through her arm.
What am I wearing?
“Point weapon toward threat,” the voice repeated.
A high-pitched whine grew, and her arm hummed. She squeezed her fist at the horde. Chain lightning erupted from the metal studs of her gloved hand. White ribbons of electricity jumped to each of them, spraying the air with blood, flesh, and bone. All at once, they fell in a heap of sizzling ruin. She took a few steps back, wiped the mess from her goggles, and observed. Nothing moved. She wrinkled her nose at the acrid stench of charred flesh and ozone.
She shook her hands of gore and sighed.
“So that’s what Tesla Mode is,” she said, shaking spattered
gore from her hands. She inspected the smoking metal knobs on her fist and, remembering her knife, stepped through the mess to find it. She grabbed the hilt and felt someone staring at her.
“All done, then?” Fang asked.
Coyle spun around. “All done being disguised as Poes?” Coyle pointed her knife at her.
Fang cocked her head. “Took you long enough. Points for being the sharp one.”
“On this ship? In these circumstances? Yes, I am going to be as sharp as I can. It’s kept me alive this long.”
“I thought I was careful.” Fang smirked. “How did you know?”
“There was something off about you, about Poes. I couldn’t be certain, but I had my suspicions you weren’t who you said you were. Your eyes held the same gaze they did when we met in the jail cell. I let you hold my arm twice and used the opportunity to test your pulse. It wasn’t as strong as a man’s, yet certainly not a woman’s. Your natural scent was fully covered by the cologne you wore. And then I passed out on your lap. You definitely weren’t a man.”
“That doesn’t sound very ladylike.”
“Does any of this look as though I’m trying to be a lady?”
“Touché.”
“Why did you disguise yourself as Poes?”
“I had to find out who I was, where I came from.”
“So none of the others know?”
Fang shook her head
“And then Veiul showed up in Fort Alcatraz. She could have killed me.”
“But she didn’t, oddly enough, and that brought more questions. Why not? And more importantly, who told her not to?”
“Couldn’t it be Moreci?”
“Why does he want you alive?”
Coyle shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest.”
“I normally don’t say this, but the thought that someone wants you alive makes my skin crawl. Someone else is in this game, besides Moreci, besides Veiul.”
“So who’s the inside threat?”
“I had to leave the main group to find you, but I’m sure we’ll find out who it is soon enough. Have you found anything useful?”
“Yes, actually. I discovered a hidden message etched into the ghouls. Someone left it for me.”
“And?”
“I think it tells me—us—how to stop Moreci.”
“Well, how does it go?”
“Reverse the darkest deed / in ageless artifacts dwell / Repeat the faithful creed / Mirror cast the spell.”
Fang clenched her jaw. “Ageless artifacts dwell. Sounds like the book to me.”
“You think there’s a faithful creed in there somewhere?”
“I don’t know. But we’ll sort this out. Who would leave a message for you to find?”
“It must be Treece.”
Fang nodded. “That’s the only thing that makes sense. He doesn’t tell us everything.” She turned behind and looked back at Coyle. “We need to stop the engines.”
Coyle nodded but didn’t move.
“What? What’s wrong?” Fang asked.
Coyle paused. She had to ask. It was in her nature to ask. Just like it was in Fang’s to kill.
“You’re a murderer. Why should I trust you?” Coyle wasn’t sure if her voice was trembling.
Fang shook her head. “No answer is going to satisfy you,” Fang said. “If we stray to this topic, the point of trust will be moot. I suggest we continue to work together until we find a decent solution to your morality issues.”
“Morality issues? My beliefs are central to my motivations, and I have to know whether or not I can trust... someone like you.”
“We wake up with choices every day, don’t we? I’m not sure what brought you all the way up here, yet here you are. And please correct me if I’m wrong, but how many times have we been in the same room without you receiving so much as a threatening glance from me?”
“You didn’t stop Veiul from knocking me senseless. You almost let me get slaughtered by these creatures just now.”
Fang crossed her arms. “And you’re still alive. You know what? You’re far more capable than you think you are. Maybe you just need a few more opportunities to unearth the real you.”
They faced each other. The heat from Coyle’s cheeks matched the fire in Fang’s eyes. But Coyle realized Fang was right. No answer was going to satisfy her question, and they still had a city to save. Coyle let out a deep sigh and shifted her feet.
“I guess we’ll find out,” Coyle said.
“Perfect,” Fang said.
“On one condition.” Coyle grabbed Fang’s shoulder before quickly letting go. “We don’t kill anyone we don’t need to. Especially Moreci. Agreed?”
Fang tilted her head. “No promises.”
The same sharp static filled their ears. The metal floor pulsed with chaos. Howls filled the air. The Turned were coming.
“You have your knife? Good,” Fang growled. “Remember: eyes, temple, basis cranii.”
“What was that last one?”
“Base of the skull,” Fang said, and she leapt over the tide of rot. She landed a kick to one Turned and stabbed the other’s head. Both dropped. Her blades flew into the eyes and temples of the next two, sending them to the floor. Her body twisted in the air, daggers flashing, skulls cracking, blood spurting.
Coyle turned. More ghouls were shambling along the walkway behind them.
“I’ll take these back here,” she said.
“Forever grateful, Coyle,” Fang replied. “This time, get a better grip on the knife.”
Coyle rolled her eyes, swung into the ghoul’s forehead and yanked it out. Then she stabbed another, and another, and another. Her arms burned, but she found her rhythm, and soon the small squad was silent at her feet. She turned to see Fang walking away from a fresh pile of dead.
“There are four engines. Two above and two below. I’ll take the upper section first. That means you need you to keep an eye out for more of those ghouls while I work, understand?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Good.” Fang snapped out a rod and pointed it above. A cable shot out from its end and pulled her high into the dark. She was gone.
“I knew something like this would happen,” Coyle growled. “Sherlyn, remind me not to work with vampires anymore.”
She jogged toward the lower engine room, but not before another wave of ghouls came around the corner. She sighed.
“Oh, come on, then. How many of you things did he make?”
Chapter 29
Starboard ballroom
Dawn’s Edge
“Where are they?” Moreci asked, slipping his pocket watch inside his waistcoat.
Cavin turned aside and spoke into his radio headset for a brief moment before answering. “Coyle was last seen heading aft, away from her team. None of us know why.”
“She’s headed to the engine rooms,” Moreci said. “She’s planning on shutting the engines down, though there’s no way she could do that by herself.” Moreci paced around the ballroom. His mind searched for answers to the new questions forming in his mind.
“And Veiul?” Moreci asked.
“She’s hasn’t been seen yet,” Cavin said. “Reports are she mixed in with the passengers, presumably on her way to stop Coyle.” His shoulders slouched and his chin dropped.
“What else? Out with it,” Moreci said, and looked at his pocket watch again.
“One of the reports—unconfirmed reports, sir—is that Fang was seen leaving the theater,” Cavin said. “Possibly.”
Moreci blinked. “Fang?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How in...” Moreci looked out the window, unsure of this new information. Finally, he shook his head. “Coyle and Fang. Coyle and Fang. I shouldn’t be worried. Two women against all of us. I won’t worry. When do we land?” Moreci asked.
“Within hours, sir.”
“How is Quolo?”
“Oh, splendid! The remaining crew in the cargo hold have either been destroyed or Turned.”
His smile was wide.
“Excellent! Now—”
There was a sudden lurch, and the ship leaned gently.
“What?” Cavin said and looked outside at the tilting horizon.
“The engines,” Moreci said. “One of them has been disabled. Get our other operative on that immediately.”
Cavin nodded and adjusted his radio.
***
The stench of hot metal and ozone filled the communications room. Sparks shot out sporadically from the jumble of wires and machinery. The massive radio antenna array had not been just disabled but completely destroyed.
“How on earth did this happen?” Chief Sykes said.
Bolt shrugged. “I’m not sure, but as I said earlier, I can fix anything.”
The floor shuddered and tilted enough that the men had to adjust their stance.
“What was that? Were we hit?” Bolt frowned.
“No. It feels as though one of the engines died.” Sykes squinted at Bolt. “What in blazes have we gotten ourselves into?”
Bolt held a finger up and pressed the radio receiver against his ear.
“How are you getting communications? Who’s talking to you?” Chief Sykes asked.
Bolt looked at the tangled mess. “This won’t be fixed for a while. I have other business to attend to.”
Chief Sykes turned around. “What business? What are you talking about?”
Bolt slammed his fist into the back of the Chief’s neck, sending him to the floor with a clatter. Another punch to the older man’s head, and he was still.
“Chief’s out,” Bolt said into the radio. “What’s the next objective, sir?” After listening for a short time, he reconnected wires, and the lights flickered back on. Then he turned and headed off to the engine rooms.
Chapter 30
Lower engine platforms
Dawn’s Edge
Crimson rivulets dripped down Coyle’s arms. Her gloved hands were soaked with chunks of flesh, bits of bone and blood. The grip on the knife was slick as she limped on one boot until she arrived onto a wide open platform where the engines thrummed with life. They were massive, the size of train cars stacked side by side and on top of each other. Flames burst from the opening, and shimmering waves of heat emanated from the dark iron. She stepped back a few paces and studied the moving parts. Automated metal scoops on a conveyor belt made their way from the coal bunker and dropped their loads into the firebox opening. Her knowledge of steam engines was sparse, but she knew moving parts had to move if the engine was to function. Rods were connected to other rods, which were connected to more rods, which were connected to pistons.
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