“You took on a responsibility when you created humanity,” Nessa said. “And you left us all on our own out there, while you hid away in here and did nothing.”
“What could I do?” He waved to the darkness above. “That’s my mother’s blood. And it isn’t supposed to look like that. The Kings of Man infected it when they planted their flags and built their kingdoms. They corrupted the heart of magic. They’ve only been getting more powerful since then.”
“Are you telling me that you, the Demiurge himself, can’t stand up to them? Honestly? You created them.”
“And I could uncreate them, one by one, given the chance,” he said, “but I’d never get close enough. The second I leave this place, they’ll sense my presence. And they’ll come in force. You don’t think they’ve been planning for that, working toward it? I’m the only thing holding the kings back from becoming gods themselves. The best thing I can do for humanity is to stay locked up in here, where they can’t steal my power. Because if they took it…you think you know what darkness is? Suffering? You have no idea what they’d do to this universe. All of existence would become an eternal hell, just to keep them fed.”
Nessa fell silent for a moment. Taciturn.
“And what about us?” she asked.
He shook his head. “You?”
“The characters of the first story.”
His gaze dropped to the grass.
“It was a long time ago.”
“I’m very aware of that,” Nessa replied.
“I wanted to give something special to humanity. I wanted to give them the power to make things, like I do. So I started with stories. I moved on to song, and sculpture, and dance, but all art starts with a story. I didn’t really understand what I was doing, what I did. I made it up as I went along. Later, a lot later, I had some glimmer that you’d all come to life and I knew I should fix it, but…”
“But?”
The child turned his back on her, standing at the edge of the lawn.
“I got distracted,” he said.
It took Nessa a moment to find her breath, to find her words. Her hand squeezed the grip of her knife.
“You…got…distracted,” she said. “All this suffering, this death, this pointless misery…because you got distracted.”
She took a step toward him. Her knuckles squeezed the knife tighter, turning white. He didn’t look back.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry—”
“It is worth nothing,” she said.
“Just…too many voices,” he said, his voice distant. “Not long ago, I heard so many of them screaming out at once. I looked. There was a war. An entire world, blanketed by plague bombs. I guess things had been bad there for a while, and then I remembered hearing so many of them praying for help before the bombs started to fall, and I knew I could have stopped it, but…there are so many voices.”
Nessa stood behind him. Slowly, like the blade of a guillotine, the Cutting Knife rose in her hand. She knew she was committing suicide, but she was beyond caring, beyond anything but rage.
“I didn’t mean it,” he said.
And those were the last words of God, as Nessa drove the dagger down into his back, piercing his immortal heart.
Interlude
“You’re lying,” the King of Rust said. The giant, draped in golden mist, leaned forward in his elegant chair. His silken robe shifted around the chiseled muscles of his chest. “I smell the lie on you. That’s not what happened.”
Carolyn lifted one hand, offering a casual shrug. Her other hand cradled her nearly empty glass of water.
“You brought me here to tell you the story of how God was murdered. How else could it have gone? I mean, Nessa—the Witch eternal, dying and trapped by fate, brought to the end of her rope and her sanity. A helpless and imprisoned Demiurge. A knife in the back. Tell me, and be honest: from the moment I first sat down to begin my story, is that not exactly the ending you expected?”
“It is,” the king mused. “And yet, you’re not telling me the truth.”
“I see the problem,” Carolyn said. “It’s the expected ending, but it’s not a very satisfying one, is it? I mean, you saw it coming from page one. What kind of a story is that? I could have just jumped right to the ending and saved us all a lot of time.”
“Which I believe I asked you to do in the first place,” the interrogator said. He looked to the king. “My lord, she’s obviously wasting time, drawing out the last hours of her life. You can let her play Scheherazade all you like, but may I suggest it’s time to prepare…the alternate interrogation room?”
The king’s nostril slits flared. He flicked one three-fingered hand at his human servant.
“See to it.”
As the interrogator rose, wearing a sadistic smile, he leaned in to whisper in Carolyn’s ear.
“Your uncle,” he breathed, “is going to be so happy to see you again.”
Then he was gone and the bulkhead door swung shut, leaving Carolyn alone with the King of Rust.
“So,” Carolyn said. “Torture. How lovely.”
“I can be generous,” the king said, “so I’ll grant you one last chance. Tell me the true story. What really happened when Vanessa Roth faced the Demiurge?”
Carolyn studied her fingernails, taking her time. And counted silently under her breath.
“Like I said,” she told him, “I knew right away that you were my real audience. The interrogator was just a proxy. You were the one I was talking to, not him.”
“And?”
“And I hope you appreciate that I played fair. Just like I told you, I gave you all the clues.”
The king leaned forward in his chair. He loomed over her, glowering. The golden mist turned a dark and violet hue, rippling with his anger.
“Explain yourself.”
“Let’s begin with this: you assumed Nessa died when she cut down the Demiurge, didn’t you?”
“Naturally. And?”
“Now, this wasn’t one of those aforementioned clues. It’s just a literary technique I’m fond of. Foreshadowing.”
Carolyn took her time, dragging it out. Still counting, and praying her timing was perfect.
“You didn’t read the writing on the wall,” she said. “The Owl lives.”
Forty-One
The air above the rooftop crackled. Just a spark. A glint, a ripple of wind, and the scent of roses.
Then a rent of raw darkness tore open, reality wavering around the edges like a ripped sheet of paper, and Nessa stepped through. Marie looked up, still on her knees, cheeks glistening wet. Nessa held out her hands.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Marie threw herself into Nessa’s arms, squeezed her close, smeared her tears on the collar of Nessa’s blouse. Nessa held on tight. When they could both breathe again, Nessa gently pulled away. She turned, slow, taking in the motley crew of allies they’d found along the way. The criminal, the demoness, the agents, the writer, her daughter’s ragged coven.
“Clytemnestra and I have a plan,” she said, the night wind carrying her voice across the rooftop. “A plan to change things. A plan to change history, to change everything, and it begins tonight. But we can’t do it without your help. Are you in?”
“What happened over there?” Hedy asked.
“Nothing less than what you should expect from the Witch,” Nessa said.
Her lips curled in her familiar lopsided smile.
“I made a deal with God.”
Interlude
The king’s fists slammed down on the arms of his chair, and the violet mist flashed around him like a camera bulb.
“What?” he roared.
Carolyn leaned back, casual. “Am I lying?”
“No, but…” He rose from his chair, pacing, taking heavy strides across the vintage office and back again. “It’s not possible. Our intelligence confirmed the Demiurge went dark. They confirmed Roth and Reinhart were involved, that both women went missing—”
“Am I lying?” Carolyn repeated.
He spun, pointing an accusing finger at her.
“Tell me the rest. Now.”
Forty-Two
Preparations were made. Calls went out, from Las Vegas to Quantico to Washington, DC. Favors were cashed in and resources were counted.
Marie went to Inwood Hill Park, alongside the Hudson River.
She had never been there, but Nessa knew a perfect spot. It was the very same one, lush, secluded, a patch of primeval forest in the heart of the world’s greatest metropolis, that she used to haunt in her early pursuit of power. Marie stood in the exact spot where Nessa had made her final offering, conjuring a guide to teach her. Above her head, the branch where she’d seen her vision of the Owl was a jagged black line in the moonlight.
Marie set the beacon down on the grass, hit the activation button, and stepped back. Then she waited, listening to the crickets and the night birds trill.
The minutes dragged on, molasses-slow…and then a rectangle of light shimmered into existence above the beacon, hovering a few inches in the air. The rectangle became a doorway, stable and strong, with the blurry impression of shipboard machinery and generators on the other side.
Tricia stepped through the doorway, clad in her Valkyrie armor, helmet dangling at her side. She saw Marie and a flicker of emotions passed over her—joy, relief, sympathy.
“Marie,” she said, “I’m so sorry for your loss. But I promise, everything is going to be better now. Let’s get you home and—”
Nessa stepped from the shadows. The words died on Tricia’s lips.
“What loss?” Nessa asked. “We’re here to win.”
The blood drained from Tricia’s face.
“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, shit.”
“I think you know who I want a word with,” Nessa said, nodding toward the gateway. “Go get her.”
Tricia swallowed hard. She slapped her gauntleted fist against the shoulder of her armor in salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
Then she slipped back through. She was gone long enough that Marie almost expected the doorway to collapse, shutting tight from the other side before Nessa got impatient and invaded their world. But soon enough, a new arrival pushed through the rectangle of light.
Nadia stood there, imperious, in her military uniform and a wooden wand in the custom holster on her hip. She studied Nessa for a moment, looking her up and down. Then the two women began circling one another with identical strides, mirror-image movements.
“Well, well,” Nessa said. “Look who went all fascist.”
“You know we look good in this outfit,” Nadia replied.
“We do. So, hatch any devious plots lately? Any elaborate schemes I should know about?”
“I won’t apologize.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Nessa said. “It was brilliant. It worked perfectly, and your plan had only a single, fatal flaw.”
“Which was?”
“Me,” Nessa said.
“I suppose you found a way to heal yourself?”
Nessa lifted one corner of her blouse. The black spiderweb of veins seemed to glow in the moonlight.
“Still dying, and time is running out,” Nessa said. “But I have a plan of my own, and you’re going to help.”
“I am?”
“Oh, yes,” Nessa said. “You most certainly are.”
Then she told Nadia what she had in mind and what she needed. Nadia’s eyes grew wide as her fingers rapped against her wand, deep in thought.
“I like it,” she said.
“I naturally assumed you would.”
“I’ll put the wheels in motion,” Nadia said. “You’ll have exactly what you need, when you need it. Consider it…”
“I won’t call it your apology,” Nessa said, “because you won’t apologize.”
Nadia showed her teeth. She turned to go, then paused.
“I hope we meet again,” she said, hesitant.
“But there’s a very good chance I won’t survive this.”
“True,” Nadia said. “I was just…well, this is a strange question, but meeting oneself is a rare treat and I was wondering if—”
Nessa’s hand shot out, grabbed hold of Nadia’s collar, and yanked her close. Their lips met, locked in a smoldering kiss that went on and on, until Nessa roughly shoved her away. Nessa grinned, taking a deep breath, and nodded.
“You’re absolutely right,” Nessa said. “It was just something we had to experience.”
Nadia took a stumbling step back. Her eyelashes fluttered.
“Agreed.” Nadia pointed an unsteady finger to the gateway. “I’ll, um, I’ll be—”
“Doing what I tell you.” Nessa wriggled her fingers in a dismissive wave.
Nadia disappeared through the rectangle of light. A moment later, the gateway snapped shut. A faint wisp of white smoke coiled from the burnt-out guts of the beacon.
“Wow,” Marie said.
“Do you object?” Nessa asked.
“Honestly, I’d probably do the same thing in that situation. I think you impressed her.”
Nessa curled her arm around Marie’s.
“Of course I impressed her,” Nessa said. “That wasn’t even my best effort. I save that for you. Now let’s go get Carolyn on board.”
* * *
“You want me to do what?” Carolyn said.
They were back in Marie’s apartment. Just her, Carolyn, Janine, and Nessa. Everyone else had been sent on their tasks, racing against the clock. Carolyn sat on the futon with a mug of tea in her lap, and the others stood, surrounding her.
“This plan doesn’t work without you,” Nessa said. “You’re the key to everything.”
Carolyn held her mug out to Janine. “Do something for me, hon? Throw this out, make some coffee, and Irish the hell out of it.”
“We know it’s a lot to ask,” Marie said.
“A lot to ask.” Carolyn stared at her. “I could die. I could be horribly tortured, then die. I told you, you saw what happened to Carlo: we Scribes are supposed to write about adventures, not go on them. It always ends badly.”
Marie sat down beside her.
“Hey, I know, it’s scary.” She forced a nervous smile. “Believe me, we’re all scared. When I think about all the parts in play, everything that could go wrong…Carolyn, I’m terrified. But that’s not going to stop me. You know why?”
“Because you’re an idiot?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do. We can’t make you help. You can walk out that door and never look back. But what we’ve got here…it’s beyond a once-in-a-lifetime chance. It’s a once-in-all-lifetimes chance. And it will never ever come around again. So yeah, I’m scared, but I’m going to be brave and I’m going to do it anyway. We all are. Will you stand with us?”
Carolyn looked into Marie’s eyes, gazing for a long, quiet moment. Then she let out a bitter sigh.
“You know, what I said to you, when we were in Deep Six—”
“You were in a bad mood. I don’t hold it against you.”
“I was wrong,” Carolyn said. “Marie, do you know why I wrote those books about you, about your past lives?”
Marie shook her head.
“Because deep down, one thing in life is simple: people need stories about heroes.”
“I know,” Marie said. “I know I did, when I was a girl.”
“And you were a hero in those other lives. I think you still are. I think you’ve got a chance here to carve out a legend nobody’s ever going to forget.”
Carolyn’s gaze dropped to her lap.
“You’re a hero. But I’m not.”
Marie touched her arm.
“Wouldn’t you like to be?” Marie asked. “Just once?”
Carolyn took a slow, deep breath.
She looked up again and met Marie’s eyes.
“Fine. Fuck it. Let’s do this.” She looked to the kitchenette and called out to Janine. “Hey, kid. Forget the coffee, just br
ing the bottle. I’m not doing this sober.”
Marie pulled her into a grateful hug. Carolyn squirmed out of it, wincing.
“Ugh, no, no, we are not doing touchy-feely right now. Feelings are another thing I don’t do sober.” She looked up at Nessa. “So let me get this straight. You want me to be…”
“A Trojan horse,” Nessa said. “You’re going to fly home to Bloomington, go about your normal life, and wait for a day or two while we lay the seeds of an irresistible mystery. And then, you’re going to be kidnapped.”
Forty-Three
The King of Rust froze in mid-pace. His nose slits flared like he was hunting for the scent of a lie.
“I’ve been thinking of this entire affair in literary terms,” she told him. “Foreshadowing, laying seeds, following the rules of a trilogy. Sometimes life really does imitate art, especially when you’re dealing with the characters of a story made real. We can’t help it—it’s in our nature. On that note, I’ve been thinking about these little moments—the bits where my story is interrupted or a digression occurs—as interludes, until now.”
The king stared at her, silent.
“The interludes are over,” Carolyn said. “We’re in real time now.”
“What did you people do?” he whispered.
“Now here’s another literary technique. Irony. Actually, I have to confess, I’ve never really grasped irony for one-hundred-percent certain. I know that everything in that Alanis Morissette song is actually not ironic, it’s just a list of things that suck, but beyond that I’m honestly in the weeds—”
“What did you do?” he repeated, looming over her.
“When the Lady in Red’s daughters were ambushed, mutilated, turned into Cutting Knives, do you remember that day?”
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