The Iron Bells

by Jeanette Battista

  Chapter Twelve

  It's been days since I told Ryland about Patrick. Ordinarily that wouldn't bother me, but I've been waiting for word of his search turning up anything. I’ve been searching on my own in my spare moments, but I’m coming up with nothing. I’ve staked out our old building in the evenings, just in case Pat—or whatever is inside him—might be drawn back there, but so far I’ve had no luck. My best hope is Ryland. I understand that Ry's busy putting preparations in place for the upcoming gathering of Resistance members, but his avoidance of me is odd. And avoidance it is too; it seems like every time he see me in the corridors and tunnels he remembers some business and walks in the other direction. Dham told me I'm being paranoid, but things with Ryland feel off.

  Something is going on.

  I intend to stay down in the tunnels until I can corner Ryland and find out what's going on. I need to tell Patrick's mother something other than I'm working on it. If Ry is worried about what I'll do if he hasn't found anything out yet, then he's being ridiculous. I don't expect miracles, but an update would certainly be appreciated, even if that update is of the nothing new to report variety.

  I've got my swords on, in case I have to follow him into the Underground proper. I head first to his office, but he's not there. I ask around a bit until finally someone directs me to one of the rooms commonly used for meetings. I stake out the corridor in front of the room and wait for him to emerge. As I wait, I begin to creep closer to the makeshift door, trying to hear what's going on inside.

  I'm not usually so nosey, but I'm bored. I can hear voices discussing the upcoming meeting. There's Ryland's. I try to hear what he's saying but most of it is muffled. But I catch a faint mention of acquiring the final piece. Whatever that means. I head back to my original place so it won't be so obvious I've been snooping.

  Ryland and a few others come out a short time later. Kevin and Peter are among them. I wait to see if Dham follows them out, but there's no sign of him. I'm surprised they'd have a meeting without him. But that's a concern for another day; Ryland is continuing on down the corridor without looking in my direction. He may not have seen me, or he may be avoiding me, but either way, I won't be put off.

  I hustle after him. “Ryland, wait a minute." He turns, a look of surprise on his face. "I need to talk to you."

  "Oh, Amaranth." He looks down the hall almost wistfully. "Look, I'm quite busy. Can you catch me later?"

  Oh no you don't. "This'll just take a second." He keeps walking and I follow along. "I just wanted to see if you'd heard anything from your people about Patrick."

  "No, nothing." His pace quickens and I have to almost jog to keep up.

  "Well, can you at least tell me where they're searching? Maybe I can take a look in some other areas…"

  "Amaranth!" Ryland whirls around, causing me to skid to a stop unless I want to crash into him. "I told you I don't have time for this now!"

  I pull back, embarrassed that he's yelling at me. The group from the meeting watches closely and I can feel a blush climbing up my face like roses on a trellis. I hadn't expected this kind of reaction, no matter how busy he is. I search his face to try and see what's the matter and find he's glaring at me. "Ryland, I just wanted to see if there was anything to tell Mrs. Bowen." I try to sound apologetic even though I'm unsure what I've done that I need to be sorry for. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

  He sighs, also looking back at the men from the meeting. I think for a moment he's going to apologize for snapping at me, but then he says in an even voice, "I'm very busy right now, Amaranth. And I don't have the time to spare looking for your Patrick." He pauses to take a deep breath. "There's a great deal more at stake than just you and your friend."

  I can feel my face growing hotter at the sting of his rebuke. "I won't trouble you again," I mumble before scurrying away like a puppy with her tail between her legs.

  I don't stop until I'm in the locker room, in front of my steamer trunk. I pull my sheathed swords off with shaking hands. I hang them in the trunk then sink to the floor and sit, staring at nothing. I never expected such a reaction to a simple question. I don't know what to make of it. I don't feel like I'm being selfish—I'm trying to help out a friend and his mother after all—but maybe I have been.

  I shake my head. That doesn't seem right. None of this does, especially not Ryland's avoidance over the past few days. And then there was this whole cell meeting thing. I hadn't even known about it beforehand, and I wasn't being included in any of the meetings, even those dealing with the safe passage of the attendees to our doors. That made no sense. It feels even more like I'm being kept away from something, but what? And why?

  I climb back to my feet, closing and locking the trunk. Dham's bells aren't in there which must mean he's out in the tunnels or possibly somewhere practicing. Probably with Cat. I rub my eyes with a tired hand. I should go by Patrick's mother's house and explain to her about my lack of progress.

  I retrace my steps, then duck down one of the lesser used corridors. There's a hatch that opens up closer to Patrick's flat than the exit I usually take, but it is down some of the older tunnels. Most of them aren't used much outside of storage. I pull out my torch, but hesitate before turning it on. It looks like there's a light coming from down one of the other passages, but it's fading, as if someone is moving farther down it.

  Without thinking, I follow the light. I keep my torch off and creep closer, using all of my skills to move silently. I feel ridiculous; whoever it is is probably just going to one of the storage rooms to get some extra supplies or something. There's probably no need for this cloak and dagger nonsense.

  Then we turn down another passageway, and my blood runs frigid in my veins. This is one of the oldest and least used of any of the passages. I've only been down it once, the night of my mother's death. Why would someone be going down here?

  I duck into the last storage room, keeping the door open the merest crack so I can know when whoever it is passes by again on their way out. I know where this tunnel ends up, which room the passage stops at. I can hear my breath coming fast and loud in my ears and I sit down, pulling my knees up so I can rest my head on them and try to calm down. I'm not eleven anymore. I've killed demons, fought off the Inquisition. I'm not a scared child.

  And yet I suddenly am. I'm transported back to the time of that little girl's walk down this same passage. I can feel the fear, smell the musty earthen smell again as eleven year old me walks behind Ryland. He's warned me, tried to prepare me for what waits in the room at the end of the hall, but all I know is that he's found my mother. That I have her back. I'm equal parts afraid and elated, wishing I could run towards the door in equal measure as running away from it. Something about Ryland makes me nervous; I've become very good at reading grown-ups in the weeks since my mother disappeared. Even though Ryland and Mrs. Bowen are watching out for me, I still need to be careful that no other adults find out I'm now on my own. Children have a way of disappearing if not looked after.

  We come to a heavy wooden door that's got a metal bar across it as well as a padlock. I've never seen this before. I watch as Ryland unlocks the padlock, then lifts the heavy bar and sets it to the side. Before he opens the door, he kneels down and looks me in the eyes. This frightens me more than anything else that's happened so far.

  "Do you remember what I said, Amaranth?" His face looks so sad. "Your mother is hurt very badly, so you must be very careful with her. I know you might be scared when you see her but your mother loves you very much. Just remember that." He runs a hand down my cheek. "I love you and your mother too, my girl. I'll be there with you both, okay? Can you be brave?" At my nod he smiles. "Okay."

  He takes my hand, then pushes open the door. At first I don't know where to look: at the two pentacles--one on the floor and one on the ceiling--at the markings and squiggles incised in the walls, or at the heap lying in the middle of the floor inside the pentacle. It wasn't until the heap moved and moaned that I realized it was
my mother.

  I'm shaking when I bolt back to the present. I don't want to remember it, don't want to relive what the Inquisition had done to her. It took a long time for the nightmares to fade, for me to remember my mother as she had been, not what she was when we'd found her. It's why I hate the Inquisition, why I fight demons, why I'd do almost anything to put them back where they belong.

  I wipe the sweat from my forehead and try to ignore the weight on my chest. I manage to get my breathing under control after a few minutes. I put my eye to the crack in the door and watch to see who comes by. Sooner than I expect, the light from a torch illuminates the corridor. I angle myself better so I can get a clear view of the person carrying it.

  It's Ryland. I've got no idea what could possibly bring him down here after all of this time. I think about confronting him, but decide to hold off. I don't know if there is anything to confront him about except his busy schedule. No, if there is something in that room, I need to see what it is before I can plan anything.

  I wait until his light has faded from the passageway, then continue to sit in the darkness of the storage room for several minutes more. When I am sure he's gone and won't be returning, I slide out of the storage room and continue in the dark down the hall. I keep the wall under my right hand, feeling my way as I go. It's absolutely black in the tunnel, but I know there are no further branches in this section of the underground.

  The tunnel ends in a door. I risk a light so I can see what I'm dealing with. My torch illuminates the door. I train it on the handle and see a new lock on it; after seven years, I imagine the old lock must have rusted away. The bar is still there as well. Most everything is how I remember it. I take a closer look at the lock. I'm pretty sure I can pick it, but I'll need my tools which I didn't bring with me.

  I stand back up and shine my light around the rest of the door. As I raise the beam higher, I can see something that hadn't been here the last time. A small door has been embedded in the larger door, almost like a peephole, but much larger. A kind of viewing window. There's no lock or anything on it. I reach up and grab the metal knob, pulling the small door back. I stand up on my tiptoes and take a look inside.

  The room is surprisingly well lit and it takes a moment for my eyes to become accustomed to the brightness. On the floor is a Grand Pentacle carved into the stone; another mirrors it on the ceiling. They're unchanged after seven years. In the center of the two pentacles I can see someone sitting in a wooden chair. The person's arms and legs are bound to the chair with heavy rope.

  "Is someone there?" The voice is male. He raises his head, shaking thick dark hair out of his eyes and I reel back from the door, my stomach dropping like I'm on a rollercoaster. I lean back against the wall, feeling my heart trying to pound its way out of my chest. The voice isn't familiar, but the face—I'd recognize that face anywhere.

  It's Patrick.

  I put my face back up to the viewing window to be sure. A feeling of utter betrayal knifes through me and I have to grit my teeth to keep from screaming. Ryland found Patrick. He'd found him, and he had locked him down here. He kept it from me.

  I study the face I know almost as well as my own. We've known each other since we were three, we've watched each other grow up. I can see the familiar face, the eyes and angles of chin, jaw and cheeks. But there's something strange about the cant of his head. And the look in the dark brown eyes is all wrong. Patrick doesn't look like that, ever.

  His mother had been right to be afraid. That isn't Patrick in there. It’s something else. I feel a tightness gathering at the back of my throat; an overwhelming need to shriek out my anger that can't be voiced right now. I try to swallow it down, but it takes a few minutes before I can bring myself to speak without fear of shouting. I blank out the litany of my failures that keep running through my head—I'm going to need all of my focus to deal with this and Ryland's double dealing.

  "Who are you?" I keep my voice calm, solid. I watch as the thing controlling Patrick's body narrows the eyes, turning the mouth down in a frown.

  "I could ask you the same thing." There's a clipped precision to the tone. It speaks of age; it is not the voice of a sixteen year old boy. Yet for all of that there is something of Patrick in it. I can't decide if that makes it worse or not.

  "You could, but you won't get an answer." I take a steadying breath. "I know you're not Patrick."

  He inclines his head in acknowledgement. "But as you can see, I am wearing him like a cheap suit. So, technically I am for the time being."

  I want to pound my fists into the door. I clench my hands so hard that I have nail marks in my palm. I can't let the thing in there get to me. "What are they planning to do with you?"

  "They?" A slight smile plays around his lips. He's enjoying this.

  Hatred fills me—no, it's more than that. Loathing. That's what it is. "The people that brought you here."

  He approximates a shrug, the closest he can come bound as he is. "I have no idea. Probably something vexing and stupid. It usually is with your kind."

  "My kind?"

  "Humans." He sniffs dismissively.

  A wave of burning anger flows through me like magma. "If we're so stupid and vexing, it's a wonder why you demons still bother possessing us at all."

  "Well we could always kill you, but where's the fun in that?" His voice is mocking, sarcastic.

  I lean my head against the door, grinding my teeth in frustration. He knows he’s getting to me. I need to stop reacting to him. It won't do me or Patrick any good. I center myself with a few deep breaths and then look back at the demon possessing my friend. "If I release you, will you get out of Patrick?"

  He blinks, startled. I can tell from the expression that crosses Patrick's face. "Why would you do that? What's in it for you?"

  "I want my friend back. I want you gone from him. That's what's in it for me."

  He cocks his head, looking in my direction with a strange expression on his face. If it were really Patrick, I would have taken it for uncertainty. With a demon running the show, I didn't know what to make of it.

  When he doesn't respond, I ask, "So what would I have to do? Break the pentacles or something?" If the demon agrees to vacate the body of its own accord, I wouldn't need to perform an exorcism. I would just need to make sure I was in a protection circle so it didn't try to possess me.

  "That's where we run into a problem, sweetcheeks." His voice is back to mocking.

  "Don't call me sweetcheeks."

  He flicks his hand up in a whatever sort of gesture. "Look luv, you've got a bigger problem than just the wards in here." His gaze locks with mine. "They've bound me into this body, see. I'm not going anywhere unless you can break that binding."

  I put my hands against the solid wood of the door, leaning against it, suddenly glad for its support. "The people that brought you here did this?" He nods, face serious. I close my eyes for a second, trying to make sense of this information. Why would they bind a demon into Patrick? It makes no sense. Why would they do that to someone?

  I open my eyes once more to find him watching the viewing window curiously. I need time and space to think. "I'll be back."

  Again, the slight shrug. "As you like." He looks away briefly, then back at me. "Although I'd encourage you to hurry. They did mention something about a timetable. I'm not sure how much time I've got." Then he closes his eyes, looking for all the world like he is completely unconcerned with his future.