by C H Chelser
The inside of her head exploded.
“You can’t have her!”
With all her might, Mercedes threw the angel out of the house and pulled up such invisible shutters as to keep him and all others like him out forever. The air in the kitchen shimmered with his lingering energy, but that dissipated fast, burned away by her fury. Finally she remembered to breathe.
“Danielle?”
The kitchen appeared empty to her senses. She tried again, tried harder.
“Danielle, you can come out now. Danielle?”
No reply. Mercedes frantically paced around, seeking the girl’s presence yet feeling nothing but the tears in her eyes. Had she been too late? Antoine had accepted the angel’s offer, but had Danielle? She hadn’t seen, but there was so much she couldn’t see.
“Danielle, I’m sorry I sent you away. You don’t have to go. Danielle? Please stay. Maman needs you.”
Silence. Then, light. She whipped around to see where it came from, only to be blinded by it. She shielded her face with her hand.
“Mercedes? What is going on?”
Peering between her fingers, she recognised Eric standing in the doorway, his dressing gown open, lamp in one hand and a hearth poker hanging loosely in the other. The sight and sound of him clashed with the much subtler presence she had hoped to find. Their solidity strangled her and she turned away, gasping. In a last attempt to call her daughter Mercedes opened her mouth, but then reality caught up with her.
A dull pain shot through her hip when she sank to the floor. Tears obscured her sight completely, while distress did the same to her second sight.
“You, help her,” she heard Eric say in the distance. “And you can go, François. There doesn’t seem to be a trespasser after all.”
Mercedes wanted to say that someone had come in unbidden, but a fleeting touch on her arm startled her.
“Are you all right, madame?” Amélie whispered.
“No. No, I... I cannot find Danielle. I saw her just now, but she...”
Eric scoffed. “Danielle is dead.”
“But I swear—!” She stopped. Emotions overran common sense, but what was left of it resorted to lies. “Or was I dreaming?”
Steps muffled by house shoes approached from behind. Eric crouched down beside her.
“You must have been,” he said, kinder now. He patted her thigh before taking her elbow in a gentle grip and helping her get up. “Amélie, take her back to bed.”
“Mon cher?”
“Go with her, Mercedes. I need to think.”
“It was a dream, I swear. Only a dream.”
“Shhh, I know.” He trailed what was meant to be a tender finger over her bruised cheek. She winced. “I still keep that bottle of laudanum in the drawer of my bedside table. Take some, so the dreams won’t come back.”
“No, Eric, please. No laudanum.”
“You need it. Amélie, make sure she takes a dose. I don’t care if she resists.”
“Yes, monsieur.”
When the maid took her hand, Mercedes cast one last glance for any sign of her daughter. In vain. Defeated, she allowed herself to be led away. If there was one thing she had learned over the years, it was knowing when to stop trying.
***
From the moment that the last fraction of light around him disappeared, the concept of progress became inexpressible in either distance or time. Yet with every measure of whatever remained, tracking the myriad of refracted energy grew more daunting.
The slithering trails led him ever deeper into pitch-black darkness. Like dense bushes in an ancient forest, the thick void provided plenty of cover for the other to hide in, but it pushed on. Ever in close pursuit, so did he.
In the absolute absence of light, the depth of darkness is defined by pressure: the pressure of increasing density. In life, he had believed rock to be the densest of all forms, but in death he had learned the error of that presumption. This pressure weighed down on him, slowed him as it hindered and warped everything in its grasp. Chosen appearance caved in, in favour of true nature. Even his. Only a handful of creatures could survive here. It repulsed him to know he was one of them.
Still, his objectionable nature was the only reason he had not yet lost the fleeting trail of his prey. That fact alone spoke volumes about them both, but what it said was far from reassuring. They were fast approaching the outer edge, the event horizon of existence. If existence was water, this plane was a few degrees below freezing point. Beyond it, all was ice.
The other entity skirted the regions near the outer edge, hiding in its hunter’s apprehension to follow in this dangerous game. A desperate gamble or an ingenious tactic? Either way the other was cornered.
He approached with caution. Cornered prey was unpredictable – a night; a street; a trap ready to be sprung; a fly caught in the web of the spider, awaiting the inevitable; certainty; justice; then, the trap sprung but empty; outrage!; vigilance; waiting, endless waiting; and ultimately, failure –
‘That is not the one I seek now.’
His thoughts were dimmed by the pressure. All of him was. He fought to separate the distant memories from his present intent, but the weight of this world distorted the difference until there was none. Deeds and shortcomings of the past revealed themselves in a present with no definition, undeniable in the ink black, as was his true nature. All that was, was what he knew himself to be. And the others here – wait, there were others? Yes, of course. It was too easy to forget about the existence of anything beyond yourself when your own existence was all you could perceive.
The other. He had come here because of that one other – because of the one who brought chaos and confusion; the one who had destroyed him –
‘No, focus. Focus on the creature. It can hide, but it is there. Focus! Find him!’
With great difficulty he wrested himself from the limited perception the pressure imposed. The presence he sought had gone, but not without leaving faint trails and a wisp of its fragmented soul marker. He continued to pursue, but the distractions of his own mind broke his concentration. Progress was slow, if indeed he made any. Yet he clung to the trail with the tenacity of a hungry tiger.
Hunger. He tasted his hunger in the trail. Or was it the other’s? He could find no distinction. The hunger of the parasites, that he was familiar with, but this plane was too deep for the parasitic crawlers whose appetite he had acquired by choice. What he sensed in this creature, however, was too similar to the desire he had always refused to permit himself.
He writhed. Even the most depraved soul could make itself useful with sufficient self-control. By that rule alone could he justify his own existence.
Yet this one, this creature… It had chosen the other path.
“They die,” the boy had said.
The universe condemned depravity without control to waste away at its outer edge. The pressure here ensured that the residing souls did not leave until they had achieved a measure of self-restraint, much like a prison did not parole its convicts until full rehabilitation was ensured.
Of course that never happened. Those who sank to these depths were lost beyond redemption. Inevitably. Himself, too, if not for his keen awareness. He had known which wicked desire sought to govern him even before he had sunk this deep, and he had denied himself any and every indulgence concerning that desire. Only this stringent self-restriction garnered the leave that permitted him to reside away from the outer edge. It was important to remember that. It was important to remember why he had been granted this reprieve, lest he should lose control, and thus no longer be worthy of this privilege.
“They die,” the boy had said.
He knew, and the boy had sensed that he knew. His earlier suspicion was correct, then. The trails he followed with great pain spoke of hunger that mirrored his own. When he had called out, in the grey fog where such signals were possible, his own soul marker had responded as well. But this creature lacked self-control. How had it escaped its prison?
The memories obscuring his senses were stripped away as he clawed at them. Though unwelcome, they supplied an answer, even if among the confusion he lacked the presence of mind to name it.
More memories, of a power, a strength he recognised along with the danger it posed. He slowed to a halt.
“Stop it,” the boy had said. A multifaceted thought he had not wished to entertain at the time. Now he had no choice. He cared little for pleas, but the sound reasoning behind the boy’s words couldn’t be denied: it takes one to know one.
Indeed. His continuous hunt for miscreants in the fog was based on the same premise. This hunt was no different. A greater challenge, surely, and for more than one reason, but ultimately the same: another parasite that couldn’t control its appetite. Detestable! Every action required the actor to take responsibility for it. Such were the laws. That this creature fed on the souls themselves rather than their energy changed nothing. Even a rampant devourer had to answer for its crimes!
But there was a time and a place for everything, and this plane of existence had neither. Of all the creatures that dwelled here, he and this other were among the few not bound to its desolation.
He hung back and focused instead on the less absolute darkness of his haven. Yielding to a chase while the trail was still warm was not in his nature, but hunting this one required more than dogged perseverance.
He would need a clear mind, too. Here, unwanted memories kept forcing themselves upon him. He was of more use to his purpose without such distractions.
Chapter XI
Her heart hammered in her throat as she ran down, faster and faster. The stairwell extended before her, endlessly. She knew without looking that the body of the student came tumbling after her. If she didn’t keep ahead of it, she would trip and—
Her stomach lurched when she fell, spiralling down like a bird that had lost its wings. A dark pit opened up beneath her, swallowed her, and just when she feared she would fall forever, the ground materialised.
The impact should have hurt, but the darkness had cushioned her, caught her in an embrace that closed overhead. She saw nothing, sensed nothing. No way out. Only the cold that crept up her legs and soaked her dress. The fabric glued itself to her skin, pulling her down with its weight every time she tried to get up. She screamed for help, but a big hand choked her, strangling every noise into silence. She would fight, but how to fight what you cannot see, cannot detect?
A touch on her chin. Every fibre in her sodden body jumped at a memory, then froze at once.
But the touch was warm, a warmth that spread through her and melted the ice encasing her. Ice became water, and water became a river. Across the river surface danced a small girl in a white dress and blonde curls.
‘Come, Maman!’
Startled, she called Danielle’s name, but a gush of water drowned it out. She fought the current, to go where her daughter went. At the first stroke of her arms, the currents changed direction and followed the sound of a child’s laughter instead. She spluttered to stay afloat as the River Seine carried her onwards, towards the tall towers of the Cité. She washed through the narrow streets and past desolate buildings, until the waves deposited her on the steps of Notre Dame.
‘Maman, come!’
She couldn’t see Danielle through the wet hair that stuck to her face in a matted mess. Suddenly the waters of the river retreated and Mercedes felt lighter. Her dress was dry, a sign that the danger had gone. Warm rays kissed her hair and her eyes. She turned her head up to meet them, but their light was too bright to be that of the sun.
The cathedral!
Above her, Notre Dame glowed with an iridescent golden light, as if on every corner of every stone sat one of the many angels she had seen there before.
‘Please, step inside,’ said a disembodied voice. Danielle? No, Danielle’s voice felt different.
She lost that thought when Notre Dame opened its doors. A radiant welcome, brighter still than the outer glow, shone on her face. Wonderful music drifted out, notes streaming by like the most pleasant summer breeze. An unknown peace filled her from within as she climbed the steps and entered the cathedral’s sanctum.
Venturing further, Mercedes relished the clarity of her surroundings, so much more real to her than the nightmares before. Yet she was not awake. Her waking eyes would have seen Notre Dame’s dusky interior, the result of its thick walls, stained-glass windows and centuries of candle smoke. The vision she beheld now was not what the cathedral looked like, but what Notre Dame was. Its true essence. Perhaps that was why she was alone in here. No visitors, no priests or acolytes tending to the massive building and all that resided within.
Again she heard her daughter laughing and in a flash, she saw a little white summer dress flutter behind a pillar. Mercedes wanted to follow, but then the laughter and the patter of little shoes on the flagstones came from another part of the cathedral.
‘Danielle?’
The sound of her own voice startled her. In dreams, conversation was always muted, understood but not heard. Then was she still dreaming?
‘Yes and no,’ the bodiless voice answered. ‘Your mind is awake while your corporal form sleeps, but this place is not inside your head.’
‘Who is there? Show yourself!’
‘As you wish.’
From behind the high lectern on the right, a man sauntered forward. He wore a beige suit and a shirt as white as his hair and beard: the angel she had thrown out of her kitchen.
‘You?’
He spread his hands with a little shrug as if to say “voilà”. ‘Although I should correct you,’ he added. ‘I am not an angel. Merely a soul who wishes to help others. My kind are commonly known as guides, but you can call me... Well, call me Jean.’
He was short, no taller than she, yet he had broad shoulders that looked like they could carry the weight of the world. His kind but sad eyes suggested that perhaps he had. In shame she remembered how furious she had been with him. What on earth had possessed her to turn on one so gentle?
‘There is no need to apologise,’ Jean said. ‘Once upon a time, not even that long ago, I possessed quite a violent nature myself. I know what despair can drive a person to, so I am hardly offended by a mother’s fear of losing her child.’
‘You were doing what I had begged you to. I had no right to interfere.’
‘Why not? We are all at liberty to change our mind if we choose to. It is this that makes us human.’ He glanced over his shoulder at what seemed like an empty corner until Danielle peeped out, giggling. ‘Besides, the girl had no intention of accepting my invitation in the first place.’
Mercedes’ heart leapt. ‘She—she did not go away?’
By the altar, Danielle was absorbed in her game of chasing the coloured rays of light that shone through the cathedral’s stained-glass windows.
‘She did not,’ Jean said, ‘and I could not take the boy with me, either, before you put me out of their reach. No, please, do not try to apologise. What you did was surprisingly helpful. It made me realise there is a much better solution to your predicament than simply taking her with me.’
With great difficulty, Mercedes tore her eyes from her daughter. ‘Is that why I’m here?’
He nodded. ‘Although “here” is not an accurate term. This is less a place than it is a state of mind. I shaped it to appear familiar and trustworthy to you, so you would speak with me without ignoring me or my message.’ He craned his head backwards and frowned. Around them, the brilliant light of the cathedral shifted from a warm golden colour to orange with deep red tones. ‘However, in this state our time is limited. Please, for your daughter’s sake, hear me out.’
‘For her, anything.’
His smile returned, if briefly. ‘That is what I am counting on.’ He motioned her to sit down on the churc
h bench that had appeared behind them. ‘By now, you must have understood that you were right about there being a soul-eating demon, a devourer, on the loose. However, when you asked about its identity, you misinterpreted my answer.’
‘Your answer?’ Mercedes recalled the ominous reading on Anne’s table. ‘You mean you manipulated the cards?’
‘Please, do not mistake inspiration for manipulation. If I could force you to see what I want you to, I would not have allowed you to draw those erroneous conclusions. As it is, I could only try to warn you of them.’
In her mind’s eye she saw the shape of what his words referred to. ‘The Birch Rod card that fell out. A sign of ill omen.’
‘Or of a dire mistake. You see, your assessment of the threat is correct, but your presumption of who is responsible is not.’
Mercedes caught another whiff of his thoughts as they milled about him, the faint images saturated with anxiety, cold and, above all, a sodden wetness.
‘I sensed the one you are thinking of,’ she scoffed. ‘Several times, in fact.’
‘Your disdain is misplaced,’ Jean said solemnly. ‘Your senses are keen, but indeed your expectations blinded you to what was really there. You never noticed there were two dark entities with you in that cellar, did you?’
A shock ripped through her. ‘Two? Never. There was just one.’
Jean was unimpressed by her indignation. ‘Of course it had to be two. What else could have distracted the first but the presence of a rival? I agree that the similarities in their dangerous natures make it hard to distinguish between them, but there is an important difference. That difference will be your key to saving your daughter.’ He glanced up again. The light illuminating the vaulted ceiling was fading. ‘Time is running short. Answer me, do you wish to save her soul?’
Mercedes gazed at Danielle who was attempting to do a handstand against a pillar. ‘More than anything.’
‘Then you must face the devourer and put an end to its appetite.’