The Shadow Revolution

by Clay Griffith

  He could feel the terrible tension in the room, so he glanced over his shoulder at Kate and winked. Then he wedged his fingers into the cracks in the amber and began to push. His arms quivered with effort. Fissures in the orange grew deeper. He grunted one last time and the giant crystal shattered into tiny pieces. His hand snaked out immediately and seized the werewolf by her leather armor. “Do come in.”

  He dragged the surprised Gretta against him. He clamped his arm around hers, then twisted her neck tight against his inner elbow. He dragged her deeper into the room. She snarled in shock.

  “Go!” Simon shouted. “All of you.”

  “Hold her, Simon.” Malcolm ran toward the grappling pair and leveled his pistol at Gretta’s head. The werewolf, even locked in Simon’s clutch, swung her axe at the Scotsman, spoiling his aim. He got off one shot. The bullet glanced across her skull, creating a deep furrow of silver. Gretta screamed and flailed at him again with her weapon. Her momentum took one of Simon’s feet off the ground and she spun with a roar, lifting the magician into the air. With a massive flex of her shoulders, Gretta shrugged Simon off into the wall, where he crashed down to the floor

  “Why doesn’t anyone listen to me?” Simon muttered dizzily as he struggled to his feet.

  A howl sounded from across the chamber. Charlotte twisted in the final throes of an agonizing transformation. The young werewolf tossed her hairy head and growled.

  Gretta looked surprised. “Charlotte. So here’s where you got to. We’ll talk about your punishment later, but help me kill these wretches.”

  Charlotte growled and leapt on Gretta’s back, her jaws clamping on the giant’s corded neck. The young werewolf was dwarfed by Gretta, who towered nearly nine feet tall. With a furious snarl, Gretta reached around and grasped Charlotte by the scruff of the neck, pulling her off, fur and flesh tearing as she did. She shook the young werewolf angrily.

  “What is wrong with you, Charlotte?”

  The young werewolf’s claws found purchase and gouged deep grooves in Gretta’s forearms.

  Gretta’s eyes narrowed as her lips curled upward into a fearsome snarl. “I should have killed you when you stood up in front of me in Samuel’s hovel.”

  Gretta dredged a growl from deep inside her belly and it turned into a horrific howl of fury that shook the room. She raised Charlotte over her head with one arm and smashed her into the floor. The equipment around the chamber rattled. The massive werewolf raised a foot and brought it down onto Charlotte. There was an audible crunching sound and the girl gave a muffled scream. Gretta pressed her formidable weight down into Charlotte, grunting with the effort to drive the life from the traitor.

  A hand grasped Gretta’s massive hairy arm and yanked her around. A furious Simon looked up at her. He smashed a fist into her snout. She staggered. He backhanded her and she lurched a few more steps away. Gretta wiped a hand across her dripping snout. She still clutched the axe in one hand, staring down at Simon with a strange mix of fury and unaccustomed confusion.

  As he confronted the werewolf, Simon shouted to the others, his voice reverberating with authority and immense power. “When I say run, I don’t mean toward me. Now get out, the lot of you!”

  He heard the sound of feet retreating. Pain from the last blows radiated up his blood-soaked arms, but the bubbling sensation of potent aether still fueled him. However, there was a dreadful numbness collecting in his extremities. He didn’t have much time left.

  “If you’d care to surrender,” Simon gasped to Gretta, “I’d consider it.”

  The werewolf snarled and threw her axe. It whistled past Simon’s ducking head and the blade cleaved deep into the stone floor behind him. He surged forward, smashing another stone fist into her face and knocking her around. Her claws dug into the brick wall to steady herself, but Simon wrapped his arms around her midsection and lifted her into the air. His knees bent but didn’t buckle. Gretta heaved about with enough sheer force that it should’ve shattered Simon’s bones, but he held her, grunting with tremendous effort each time she threw her shoulders or kicked out with her massive legs. It was like trying to cradle an enraged tiger while shuffling back slowly toward the rune he had drawn with his blood on the floor.

  Gretta must have caught a glimpse of the faint glow of the rune behind her. She snarled viciously and threw herself with renewed vigor against his grip, clawing at Simon. Luckily, she could barely reach him, so she just clipped him with the tips of her sharp fingers. She roared and grasped his hands clasped across her stomach. She ripped at his flesh, trying to tear his hands away. Simon gritted his teeth, screaming through a clenched mouth, continuing to haul the thrashing beast closer to the circle, step by unsteady step.

  They passed the axe embedded in the stone floor. The werewolf grabbed the long handle and Simon’s progress jerked to a stop. He felt the power of the rune circle wafting up just at his back, but Gretta was still outside it. She used the haft of the steady axe for leverage and his foot slipped as she tugged herself a few inches farther away. Simon braced himself, leaning back, crying out as muscles of stone strained to the edge of cracking. Still the great beast was immovable. His aether was fading and his strength along with it. If he released his hold now, he would be ripped to shreds.

  Suddenly Kate appeared in the door and rushed in, her hair flying. Her hand drew back as she approached the struggling werewolf. Gretta continued to pull herself forward with the axe, paying no attention to Kate. The beast was bent forward at the waist, fighting against Simon, who was red-faced with strain. Kate popped the cork off a small vial and threw it in the werewolf’s face.

  Gretta screamed in pain, and Simon felt the creature jolt, losing her grip on the axe. He tightened her against him with all his remaining strength. They fell back onto the floor and he was smashed against the stone by the massive, crushing weight of the werewolf. He nearly lost consciousness, but he felt the caress of the runic circle all around him.

  “Simon!” Kate’s voice reached him from a great distance. He paused, hesitant to unleash the power with her nearby, but he couldn’t draw enough breath to tell her to get out.

  Then he heard Malcolm’s voice shouting, “I’ve got Kate. Do what you must.”

  “No!” Kate’s desperate protests grew fainter as the hunter made good on his promise and took her away.

  Simon breathed with relief and gave himself to the aether. The power coalesced from the air around the circle, blasting though whatever strange netherworld it existed in, tearing a hole inside him. The eldritch energy stormed through his body and pounded into Gretta. Waves of magic shook the giant creature as if she were nothing, burning hair and shredding muscle. Simon felt the bulk of the figure in his arms shrink as the aether tore her strength from her. The werewolf screamed as she was changed from beast to woman. And then she went from woman to wizened crone, whimpering in fear because she had never been so frail and helpless before. Simon’s arms enveloped the shivering cadaverous form in an almost tender embrace.

  The aether flood slowed to a trickle. There was nothing left in the man to channel it. He was an empty shell. His heart shuddered laboriously in his chest, desperate to maintain a rhythm. Simon wished he’d had a chance to say good-bye.

  To Nick.

  Mostly to Kate.

  They had felt the incredible rush of raw aether where they crouched in the catacomb. Malcolm swore in Gaelic with a dark expression full of astonishment. Kate sensed the tremendous power wash around them. Penny crouched with her ears covered. Hogarth clutched Imogen close to his chest, but she still reached out with her inhuman hand like she was collecting butterflies from the air as if she could see the power the others only felt. Kate held Imogen’s other hand tight against her face, whispering soothing words that she didn’t feel. This was power Kate, or any of them, had never experienced before. She knew that Simon was a scribe, but she had never thought him capable of this.

  When the onslaught slowed, Kate checked on everyone. Her head jerked from side
to side. “Where’s Charlotte?”

  They all looked around, but the girl was gone. No one had seen her slip away. Kate shook her head sadly and started off, but Malcolm stopped her.

  “Wait. Wait until we know it’s over.” His voice was assured even though it was clear he was as anxious as the rest of them.

  So they stood their ground for several aching minutes. They listened for Simon’s approaching footsteps, praying he would come looking for them, but there was no sound. Finally, Kate could wait no longer. She raced into the cellar of Bedlam. She slid to the door of the operating room and saw Simon’s body lying alone on the floor. She shouted and rushed to his side.

  “Simon! Simon!” She struggled to lift him into her arms. His head slipped to the side. His torn limbs were slack. She put a hand on his cold, waxy cheek. “Oh God, no. Simon! Can you hear me? Open your eyes. Please. Open your eyes.”

  With trembling, unwilling fingers, she searched the skin of his neck for a pulse. There was none.

  Simon Archer was dead.

  Kate bent over him, knowing it was too late to protect him now. “Why did you do it? There had to be another way.”

  Penny crouched behind her. “Oh, Kate. I’m so sorry.”

  Malcolm watched the women gathered around the body of Simon. He announced with a creaking voice, “I’m going to search the area for Gretta.”

  When he reached the door, he bumped into another figure. His pistol flashed up into the face of Nick Barker. Nick raised a hand of flame. The two men took a breath, and backed up.

  “Where the hell have you been, Barker?” Malcolm snarled.

  “Covering the stairs, like I said.” Then Nick looked past him and he saw Simon draped across the lap of a sobbing Kate. His expression of annoyance shifted swiftly to shock. “What happened?”

  Malcolm shoved the magician against the doorjamb. “You’re a liar. How did Gretta get past you? Why aren’t you dead instead of him?”

  Nick’s face grew dark like a storm cloud. “Take your hands off me, Angus, or I’ll hurt you in ways you can’t imagine.” He shoved Malcolm away and went quickly to Simon.

  Kate looked up at Nick with accusing eyes. “He’s dead.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s just drained.” Nick put a hand on Simon’s forehead. He paused as if listening, then he slumped. “No. This can’t be.”

  “You said you were his friend!” Kate shouted. “If you had been here, he wouldn’t have sacrificed himself. We could have defeated her together.”

  “Shut up! Who are you to talk to me about him? Some doxy he met a few weeks ago. He was meant for better things. He sacrificed himself for you.”

  Kate’s eyes welled at the kernel of truth in his words, but she shook her head. She wanted this to be Nick’s fault, someone’s fault. She wanted to hurt him even though she could see the pain on his face and the way his hand trembled over Simon’s arm. “He would have done no less for any one of us. That’s who he is. But where were you when he needed you? What kind of friend are you?”

  “The kind he needs. Give him to me, damn you, and stand back.” Nick grabbed Simon’s body by the shoulders and seemed shocked by how limp it was. He gave Kate a vicious stare. “Do you want to see him again? Then get back! You can’t help him now. None of you. But I can.”

  Malcolm settled Kate to her feet, and walked the stunned alchemist away from Simon. Penny waited, crouching by the door. Hogarth stood like a statue, still carrying Imogen.

  Nick sat cross-legged on the floor, with Simon’s head resting in his lap. He took several deep breaths and dug his fingers into Simon’s chest. He began to mutter unintelligible words, then repeated them, then again. The sounds grew into a chant. It was more guttural and harsh than the spells whispered by Simon. There was anger and grime in it. Putrid green wisps swirled around both men, living and dead, old eldritch power that made Kate feel ill. It was the same dread power that she had felt Nick use at the Gillingham party so long ago, only more sickening than before.

  Then Kate felt a warm breeze ruffle her hair. It caught her skirt and whipped Malcolm’s greatcoat. The wind grew stronger and hotter like it was blasting off a desert. She put a hand above her eyes as if she sensed blowing sand scraping across her face.

  Small sparks of lightning circled Nick’s body, occasionally shooting out with sharp, cracking arcs. The glow created a halo around him. He slowly bent over and pressed his forehead to Simon’s. He began to shake. The lightning traveled from Nick’s fingers across Simon’s torn chest. Odd, spidery lightning shapes walked their way down Simon’s form.

  Then Nick threw his head back and a wrenching howl tore from his throat. It looked as if his hands plunged deep into Simon’s chest and Simon appeared to be made of nothing more than light. Nick’s scream went silent. His head was still up and his mouth gaped wide.

  The lightning vanished and Nick fell over on his side.

  Kate ran to Nick, but when she touched him, he was white-hot. She shouted and pulled her hand back, confused, watching. Her gaze drifted to Simon. His torn flesh was whole. To her shock, he moved! His name fell from her lips.

  Simon’s eyes cracked open and he saw Kate’s stunned face. He raised a hand and wiped his forehead. “Oh, hello, Kate. Bit warm. Could you open a window, please?”

  She gasped and fell at his side. The heat pouring off Nick was so enormous that she grabbed Simon and pulled him off his friend’s legs. His head bumped the stone floor and he exclaimed in pain. She pulled him up and embraced him. Simon pressed a comforting hand against her back.

  “This is rather nice,” he murmured.

  “Simon?” came Nick’s whisper. “Is that you, old boy?”

  Simon stiffened at the sight of his crumpled friend with an exclamation of alarm. With Kate still supporting him, he reached for the prone man. Despite the searing heat, he grasped Nick’s hand. “Are you all right, Nick? What have you done?”

  The older magician smiled and lowered his head to rest on the floor. “We’re all square now.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Simon pulled open the door of the Devil’s Loom and welcomed the rush of warmth. His bones ached from the cold English air even though it had been a week since the fight at Bedlam. His strength had returned, but there was a gnawing sense of vulnerability inside him. Voices greeted him happily. He had been conspicuously absent from his regular bench over the last week or so. All was well with the crowd, however, when he entered.

  “Simon!” A hefty barmaid seized his arm with a great smile on her lips. “How are you, love? We were wondering where you’d gotten to.”

  “Busy, Rebecca. Just busy.”

  “I thought as much.” She escorted him to the bar past cheerful waves and claps on the back. “Some felt you had to abandon us lot if you were to keep receiving your invitations from viscounts and such.”

  “Hardly. I’d abandon the viscounts first.”

  “I knew you would, dear.” Rebecca handed him a pint. “Other wags said you were on the run from a jealous husband.”

  Simon relished the common feel of the glass in his hand. “That’s impossible because I’m saving myself for you.”

  “Wait no longer then!” She slapped her hand on the bar and shouted to the barman. “I quit!”

  He rolled his eyes at her and gave Simon a pleasant nod as he headed to the front.

  Simon laughed. “Have you seen Nick?”

  “I have. He’s in the corner. Been there a few hours.”

  Simon patted her plump arm and went toward the hidden booth in the corner. There sat Nick, looking up expectantly. “Mind if I join you?”

  The older magician jerked his chin toward the empty seat.

  Simon settled in and tried to appear comfortable. Nick seemed relaxed enough, as always, but there was a curtain of distance around him that Simon had never felt before the Bedlam affair. Nick’s eyes were furtive. Silence dragged on.

  Finally, Simon said something he rarely said to
Nick, or needed to, “How’ve you been?”

  “Good. Yourself?”

  “Bit melancholy. Just been by Beatrice’s grave. Otherwise, though, I feel rather well, thanks to you.”

  Nick nodded with satisfaction. “Gratified to hear it. I trust Beatrice is pleased now that you’ve stepped from the shadows to become a hero.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I sleep better at night.”

  A moment of silence drifted between them like a thick London fog.

  Simon coughed. “The newspapers have already lost interest in Dr. White’s disappearance and the horrific conditions of the hospital. It’s all been shunted over to a parliamentary committee to clean up.”

  “What about all those deformed atrocities that White created?”

  “From what I hear through sources, the homunculi are all dead and gone. I assume without the doctor to maintain them, they just collapsed eventually. A dead man’s switch of sorts.”

  “And the Anstruther sister?”

  “Imogen still lives. Kate is working day and night, trying to find a way to undo what White did to the poor girl.” Simon tightened his mouth sadly. “We’ve no idea what will become of her. I don’t know how much of her is truly in there. Kate will never abandon her, that much I do know.”

  “Foolish,” Nick muttered. “What good is life to that thing now?”

  “That’s not for us to decide,” Simon replied sharply.

  Nick tilted his head and drank.

  Simon sighed. “Let me ask you something, from a purely scholarly point of view. Student to teacher.”

  Nick eyed him sarcastically.

  Simon continued, “What did you do to me at Bedlam? How did you bring me back? Kate assures me I was quite dead.”

  “Kate may not know everything, contrary to her own opinion. You were salvageable by using the necromancy you hate.”

  Simon paled. “You mean vivimancy?”

  Nick shrugged. “Use the polite euphemism if you wish, but the world is too dangerous to be so naïve.”

  “But I’m relatively certain that I’m not a reanimated corpse. I’m alive. Is it possible you’ve been the most powerful mage on Earth all this time without telling me?”