Tatters of the King (The Warren Brood Book 3)

by Bartholomew Lander

  The pall over the Hallström home just wouldn’t disperse. It was blow after blow, day after day, and the revelation that Kyle Rogers was now involved in the whole mess was a particularly unnerving one. He recalled Mark and Annika threatening the man during their stay, warning him against releasing any of his notes or research. He wondered if they would next hear about him turning up dead one misty morning, five bullet holes in the back of his skull.

  Worse, Arthr’s initial optimism was fast fading. Even if logic told him nobody could ever find them, even with Kyle’s involvement, the fear just kept chipping away at the walls of his stomach. If they were to be found . . . No, he couldn’t think about it. He was having nightmares as it was.

  One hand drifted to his throat. He could feel the hard chitin limbs wrapped around his neck, squeezing. He could feel the grip of the revolver—slick with sweat—tumbling from his fingers. He could see the yellow robe emerging from the kitchen and hurling Annika across the room as though she were a doll. He could see it carrying Kara off into the grove. He could hear Annika’s harsh rebuke when the Vant’therax all fell down, slain by something he could never hope to understand. He didn’t know which was worse: the gnawing fear or the inescapable shame.

  And now the fear of the future crushed all the hope from him. He focused on breathing, and on convincing himself once more that everyone was fine. Annika had taken great pains to conceal their destination and identities. But as smart and beautiful as she was, Arthr wasn’t sure he believed Kyle had no information that could lead to them. His teeth chattered. His stomach rolled. He felt like he was going to die if he couldn’t find something to take his mind off everything.

  “Good evening, and welcome to You Entertainment. I’m Greg Sanford.”

  “And I’m Julie Loch.”

  “Terrible news for all you fans of spider fever out there. As several news outlets have already reported, Harold Wiser was found dead in his Los Angeles apartment this morning.”

  “Police are calling the death a suicide, though we here have heard few details beyond that. What are your thoughts about this, Greg?”

  “Well, Julie, I think we’re going to need to take a harder look at the things he wrote and consider the possibility he was actually serious about his theories and research. I believe we’ve both drawn the comparison to Francis E. Dec, Esquire, but I think we may actually have been right on the money.”

  “Perhaps he believed so strongly he was right about his conspiracy theory that the criticism killed him. Though now we can never know.”

  “And the big question on our minds tonight is what does this mean for spider fever?”

  “It’s tough to say whether sympathy will prevail over amusement as far as the entire situation is concerned. Though I would like to remind our viewers: regardless of your views on the man, please show his memory respect going forward.”

  “Rough getting off to such a grim start, isn’t it, Julie?”

  “It’s hard to be the bearer of bad news, you know?”

  “It sure is. Stay tuned, we promise the rest of the show won’t be quite so dark. Coming up, we’ve got an exclusive interview with Ronald Wong and the cast of Kung Fu Congressman, with some juicy tidbits you won’t want to miss.”

  Chapter 10

  Bereft

  Tofu salad was perhaps the food least worthy of exchanging money for, Mark thought. It wasn’t that it was in any way offensive; it was simply so ordinary and without flavor that a handful of leaves torn from a random bush would be just as nutritious and at least as flavorful. Well, the price is right, he thought, tapping his plastic fork against the supermarket hors d’oeuvre’s plastic dish.

  Though he was loath to admit it, his supply of gold-bought wealth was rapidly dwindling from his continued motel stays. He likely had only a few weeks left of this vagrant lifestyle before he’d have to return to Arbordale and dig up the last of the cult-gold he’d stashed away that fateful night. It was a thought he didn’t want to acknowledge; once that money ran dry, what was he going to do? If he didn’t find Lily by the time the last dime of the Warren fortune was exhausted, his problems would swell. It wasn’t as though he had any marketable skills with which to find a job.

  A crisp ringing from his pocket announced an inbound call. The sound startled him, but a smile overcame him at once. There was only one person who could be calling him at such a late hour. He put his so-called dinner on the nightstand and dug his phone from his pocket. Sure enough, Spinneretta’s name grinned up at him from the primitive LED on his phone. He hit the call button at once. “Hello?”

  Silence answered him.

  Confused by the lack of response, he waited a beat. “Spinny? Are you there?”

  “He’s dead,” Spinneretta said, her voice cracking over the low-quality speaker. “He killed himself yesterday and now he’s gone.”

  Mark was at once alert. The trembling strain of panic in her voice sank into his chest like a hail of knives. “Who’s dead? What’s going on?”

  She sniffed once. “Harold Wiser. He killed himself, and it’s because of the fucking media circus about that damn book!”

  Mark didn’t know what to say. Though he’d understood the panic surrounding the release of The NIDUS Report, he’d taken the media ridicule as a sign of safety. He let his eyes drift to the maroon carpet, thoughts spinning wildly. “So what is the problem?”

  “W-what’s the problem? Are you serious? You don’t see the problem with the fact that someone else has been killed by the goddamn cult? You really don’t see the problem with . . . ”

  He let out a rigid sigh. “Forgive me. I do not mean to be cold. But if the man was a threat to your security, then it is best to consider him another obstacle that’s been dealt with.”

  A stifled sob from the other end. “No. You just don’t understand.”

  Mark was quiet for a moment. He’d heard that defense before. And perhaps she was right. He wiped his free hand on his jeans and licked his lips. “Spinny?”

  “Mm.”

  He took a shaky breath. “Don’t tell me you feel responsible for this?”

  Her voice warbled. “You don’t understand. You can’t understand this, can you? I was the one who let him go free. He only took the research with him because I didn’t think to stop him. If I had just left him there—”

  “If you’d left him there he’d have died anyway. If not by the Vant’therax then by the fire.”

  “If I had just followed him and stopped him from taking anything, or, or made him swear to never tell a soul about . . . ”

  “Spinny, listen to me. These are absurdities. There’s no way you could have known. It’s not your fault that they made a mockery of him. None of this is, in any way, because of you.” For a moment, he just listened to the sound of her sobs. They were like razor blades raking his heart. The digesting salad curdled in his stomach. “You did what anybody else would have done. You made the right decision to let him go. Just like you made the right decision to kill Isa—”

  “Don’t you dare speak her name to me!” It came in a harsh growl that spread a chill in all directions.

  His tongue sat frozen in his mouth. “Spinny.” The sobbing on the other end continued. “Spinny?”

  She sniffed again, seeming to find a semblance of composure. “I could have stopped all of this. If I had . . . I could’ve gone to someone, to anyone, and just thrown off my jacket. They would’ve known he was telling the truth. They’d have to reconsider everything. People might’ve believed him, then.”

  “You cannot be serious,” Mark said, with a little more force than he’d intended. “You cannot seriously believe exposing yourself to anybody would have helped. It would only have put you and your family in further danger. You know that.”

  “I know. But . . . ”

  “Are you really saying you valued his life over your family’s safety?”

  She choked. “No. But I could’ve . . . That option was always there, and if I had done something he w
ouldn’t be dead now.”

  Mark closed his eyes and let out another sigh. Her logic made no sense at all. Why was she trying so hard to make this her fault?

  “Do you know what it’s like?” she asked. “To have no control over anything?” Her voice was replete with a heart-crushing despair.

  At those words, Mark found the air growing heavy in his lungs. “Spinny?”

  “I . . . I don’t know what to do, Mark. I never thought about it at the time, but ever since you came into my life, ever since this whole thing got started, I’ve been a prisoner. Under watch. And I guess that was always true, but it never felt like it until it all came out in the open. And even though NIDUS is gone, nothing has changed. I’m powerless to do anything at all. I’m trapped. Everything seems fine now, but what about in a year? We can’t go to the doctor. We can’t even go to the dentist without being discovered, and if we’re ever found out it’ll be too late for any good to come of it. I thought we’d be able to go home one day, but if this is how things are then what the fuck point is there in even living? We don’t have a future. We just have a goldfish bowl. Even if I tore my fucking legs off I still couldn’t pretend to be normal!”

  “Spinny, please, take a breath.”

  “So, what, we just have to live here forever? Are these forged documents good enough for any of us to get a job? To get married one day? None of us have made any friends, and that’s not going to change, because friends are a hazard to our secret. And as long as we’re a secret, there’s no future for any of us. And I . . . ” The desperate anger in her voice broke. Another sob racked her. Then she began to speak, barely above a whisper. “I think part of me wanted us to be found.”

  “Nobody can know the future, Spinny,” he said in a kind tone. “We can figure it out when it comes, alright? You’re not alone out there, remember?”

  Only quiet sniffling answered him.

  “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t I come visit you guys?”

  “Uh?”

  “Yeah.” He scratched his scalp. “You know. My search isn’t going so well. So perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to . . . I don’t know, come keep you company for a time?”

  She sniffed again, but it sounded as though her sobs had ceased. “You mean it?”

  He smiled to himself. “I mean it. I’m no good at this phone stuff anyway. And I . . . ” Miss you. A lot.

  Spinneretta was quiet for a few gut-wrenching seconds. “I’d like that.”

  He felt a flutter in his chest. “Great. Listen, bring it up with your parents tomorrow. And if they are not still angry at me for instigating this little upheaval, then we can go from there.”

  “Y-yeah. Okay.”

  “Alright? So just relax. Okay, Spinny?” He paused, debating how deep to wade. “The future isn’t so bad,” he decided upon at last. “Worry not.”

  “Uh-huh.” A dry sniff. “Umm. I think I’m going to take a shower.”

  “Very well. Goodnight, Spinny.”

  “Goodnight, Mark. I love you.”

  Hearing the words spread a dangerous warmth through his core. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling. But when he opened his mouth to reply, he felt the hollow silence of dead air pressing against his ear. He just held the phone there until the signal ended completely. His arm dropped to the side and he flopped back onto the bed.

  Love. It was a dangerous word. Every time he thought about it, he found himself plagued by uncertainty. What he felt and what he thought he felt were at odds. There was no way to reconcile those stray fibers of emotion without confronting the dangerous possibility that he’d been fighting for longer than he wished to admit. Spinny is not Ellie, he told himself. She is no surrogate. She is . . .

  What, exactly? It was a turbid question. He’d never connected with anyone like he had with Spinneretta. She understood him, cared for him in a way that made him feel unworthy. Whenever he thought about her, his heart thudded in his chest, and his thoughts invariably wandered back to the night he’d told her about his past amid the downpour in Grantwood. And, more often now, the night they kissed at Kyle’s.

  He shuddered a little as he recalled the look in her brown eyes as she’d slid closer to him. The way he’d, in that moment, begun to doubt everything. The feel of her lips on his, the taste of her kiss. The fire that spread through his body and set his heart racing at a dangerous pace. He’d battled the implications off and on, but there was no point. Hearing her voice gave him joy, and that was more than could be said about anything else this dull world offered him. Even if he knew it was wrong, even if he recognized that only ruin came to those he was close to, there was no way he could deny what he felt for her.

  He held the phone in his hand for a few minutes, his eyes tracing the number keys. His heart pounding nervously, he typed a message. “Goodnight, Spinny. I love you, too.” With a deep breath, he let it fly into the airwaves before he could second-guess himself. And to his surprise, the doubt that usually strangled him did not rise to challenge his decision. All he felt was a warm comfort that started in his stomach and flowed out in every direction.

  He smiled and shut his eyes. There. It was out in the open now. He’d admitted it, both to himself and to her. And he felt good about it. The confusion had long smothered him, but he now knew beyond any shadow of a doubt.

  “Doubt casts shadows two ways, does it not?”

  Mark bolted upright in a panic. There, sitting in the single chair afforded his modest motel room, was a man in a purple pinstripe suit. A bowler of matching color sat low over his sandy hair. Beneath the rim, a pair of luminous, amber eyes leered at him.

  “What are you doing here?” Mark yelled as he jumped to his feet. A flash of verdant light rippled along his arm, and the Flames of Y’rokkrem burned to life.

  The Cheshire Man’s pearly grin grew wider. “I just wanted to drop by and see how my favorite Chosen was doing. Now, how could you possibly object to something so—”

  Mark lunged at him, a scream erupting from his lungs. He hurled his blazing fist through the air, but the Cheshire Man vanished just before impact. The back of the chair exploded into a spray of splinters, showering the custard wall with ghostly shadows.

  “Why are you humans so given to violence?” the Cheshire Man said from behind in a velvety tone. “You and Dwyre are not the first to greet me with attempted murder. It is really quite discouraging when I come bearing nothing but friendship.”

  Mark clenched his jaw and whipped his head around to where the man now stood. His upper lip quivered, and he hoped his glare conveyed his contempt. “What do you want?”

  The man’s face lit up with a bright smile. “Oh, nothing in particular. Just wanted to drop by for a quick little chat.” His eyes narrowed, and his grin sharpened into a devilish rictus. “We have barely had any chance at all to speak to one another, and that is quite unfortunate, given the way our fates are intertwined.”

  Mark shook his head. The man’s expression sent tendrils of dread crawling through his gut. “What the hell do you mean? What do you and I have to do with each other?”

  The Cheshire Man cackled. “That is the mystery, isn’t it? But let’s take a step back from that line of thinking, shall we?” His smile vanished, and he considered Mark with an eerie silence. Then, his expression softened. “Riddle me this, Mark. You’re walking along a dusty trail in the woods when you happen upon a fork in the road. One path leads to Lake Cormorant, and the other leads to Arbordale. Now, upon a felled cedar stump there stand two brothers—one who speaks only truth, and one who speaks only lies. They allow you to ask a single question.” His eyes grew brighter, hungrier. “In this situation, Mark, would you play along with their little game, or would you simply take the information that you desire, prying it out of their minds without regard for the consequence?”

  The question was somehow chilling. “What does this have to do with anything?”

  The man shrugged. “Just giving you something to think about. You needn’t answer, however, fo
r your thoughts have already betrayed you. Mark Warren does not allow anyone to stand in his way. Isn’t that right?”

  Mark swallowed hard. Sweat was forming on his palms.

  “So,” the Cheshire Man said, “you would rummage about with your mind-invasion spells, then? Extracting knowledge of which path leads to which future. How boring. Too expected, really. But have you considered the problem with this approach?”

  Mark scowled, his stomach swimming with alien horrors. “What problem?”

  The Cheshire Man pulled the rim of his bowler lower. “What is it that makes the liar lie? Is it compulsive? Deliberate deception? Or could it be that truth is relative? Perhaps in the liar’s world, he is the one who tells the truth, and his brother is the knave. Were this the case, which reality will your information gathering reflect? Would the worlds bleed together, into a reality resembling neither?” That grin came again. “After absorbing the liar’s knowledge, would you end up in Arbordale despite your best efforts to escape your sins?”

  A chill raced up Mark’s spine. Azure sparks flashed in his palms. He glowered, shoulders shaking.

  The man sighed and made a sharp gesture, producing a knife in a fluid motion. “Give it a rest. You’re deluding yourself if you think you’ll be breaking my soul with your heathen-magic anytime soon.” A demonic glint came to his eye. “Though you’re more than welcome to keep trying.”

  Mark clenched his teeth and spoke in a hot, vicious growl. “If you’ve just come to dig at me, then you may take your leave. I have nothing to say to the likes of you.”

  The Cheshire Man gave an indignant shrug. “Well. So very rude. I thought your mother taught you better than that, Mark Warren.”

  Mark ground his molars and held his tongue. He wouldn’t give the suited specter the satisfaction.

  Arms slumping to the side, the Cheshire Man exhaled a menacing breath. “Very well. If you will not entertain me, then I suppose I will just have to be on my way.”