Solomon's Ring

by Mary Jennifer Payne

  Jade comes and stands over me. I straighten and stare hard at her. She’s my twin, but suddenly I feel like there are things about her that I don’t know at all.

  “You could have saved her,” I say, the words tumbling out of my mouth. “You could’ve commanded the demon to leave the body and her alone. She didn’t need to be fatally wounded.”

  JADE

  “We need to get to the others. I really hope you did the right thing. Because I know what it’s like to have blood on your hands,” Jasmine says as she stands up.

  I get it. My taking the ring must seem like a huge betrayal, like I’ve gone behind her back. And she’s right that I could’ve told the demon to vacate Vivienne’s body. The honest truth was that I didn’t think of that in the midst of all the chaos, but I doubt that Vivienne could’ve survived, considering the amount of blood she’d lost. I know Jasmine is angrier with me than she’s ever been, but there’s no way I can tell her everything right now. The right time to explain everything will come.

  The church is cavernous and silent as we enter. For a moment, I wonder if everyone else made it here safely. After all, they didn’t have the security of the ring.

  Then I hear a low whistle from somewhere at the front, near the altar. We scurry around the perimeter of the building, making our way toward the sound.

  A second whistle. “Over here.” The voice is un­mistak­a­bly Cassandra’s.

  We reach the four of them within a few seconds. Everyone’s huddled behind the altar. There’s a low ­candle burning beside them.

  “Is Vivienne…?” Amara asks, her voice quavering with emotion before she has the chance to finish the question.

  Jasmine nods. “She’s at peace,” she says quietly.

  “A demon attacked us when we first got in here, and Cassandra and I were barely able to fight it off,” Amara says. “I think we’re weakening with each loss and injury or something….” Her voice cracks again as tears spill down her cheek. She stares silently down at her hands.

  “We need to get back. Period,” Cassandra says, her voice thick with urgency. She’s leaning against the altar, cradling Lily in her arms. “I’m not losing her. Not here. Not now. And not like this.”

  Jasmine and I quickly take a seat. “Let’s do this, then,” she says. Her worried eyes slip back to Lily. I know what she’s thinking: Lily was conscious and walking when we left her.

  Uriel holds her hand up, palm forward. “Not so fast. Things aren’t the way they’re supposed to be,” she says, keeping her voice low. Her brows draw together in a frown. “The demon shouldn’t have been able to come in here. All of Hawksmoor’s churches should’ve been places of sanctuary from the demonic forces as soon as the ring was returned back to the wall.”

  Jasmine’s eyes practically burn holes into me. She suspects the ring being taken from the wall has altered things. Maybe — but I don’t believe that the bad guys and good guys are as neatly defined in all of this as she does. And with good reason.

  “I’m not sure what it means,” Uriel continues, “but getting back might not be as simple or straightforward as it should be. The membrane between worlds is very thin right now, which already made everything ­dangerous enough before this eventuality. All of you will need to really focus and stay unified in your vision when you shift through.”

  “I thought you said you were the wise one,” Jasmine mutters.

  “Can we just do this?” Cassandra snaps. “So we have a chance to save my sister.”

  She’s right. We’ve lost enough — too much — on this journey down here.

  We move until we’re sitting in a circle. The cold stone floor of the church chills me to the bone. Cassandra lifts Lily’s head so that it’s resting on her shoulder. Lily’s dark hair spills around her still face like a halo. Cassandra gently takes her hand.

  “If we’re all touching, we’ll all get back together, right?” she says to no one in particular.

  Uriel presses her lips together tightly but offers no answer.

  “Close your eyes and think of Toronto and nothing else,” Jasmine says to all of us as she takes my hand.

  JASMINE

  I hear the demon just as the familiar, funky feeling of transitioning begins to hit me. I’m imagining Toronto, the skyline with the CN Tower jutting out from the ­surrounding buildings, our apartment in Regent Park, the water of Lake Ontario. My body begins to feel like it’s floating. I’m no longer fully in either place….

  Shuffling. A strange shuffling from somewhere in the middle section of the church reaches my ears. Panic floods my body. It could be a lost soul, but chances are … I need to focus on Toronto. We need to get back.

  What happens if we stop shifting midway through?

  Will we all make it together? Or will the molecules in our bodies get scrambled like some science experiment gone horribly wrong?

  Maybe we can make it through.

  Maybe not.

  More shuffling. It’s closer but taking its time getting to us. Why?

  Jade is the first one to break our chain of contact. I think she’s going into the pocket of her dress for the ring. It’s hard for me to tell because her thoughts are muddied … which shouldn’t happen to me as a twin.

  Hopefully she’s still holding on to Amara with her other hand.

  JADE

  The ring. I need to get the ring out.

  It’s buried in a pocket in the skirt of this dress, which means breaking the circle to get to it. But it’s that or ­possibly have a demon attack us while we’re ­transitioning and weak from being down here too long.

  The pocket is on my right side, which means I need to let go of Jasmine’s hand to get to it. I’m going to make the time we’re not touching as short as possible but still, I have no idea what breaking the circle will do as we shift back to Toronto. Hopefully nothing, or next to ­nothing….

  The demon is getting closer, though it’s taking its time. This strikes me as really weird, as it could’ve easily been on top of us by now and have taken total advantage of the fact that Lily is injured.

  We’re beginning to transition. I think about Toronto as the cavernous space around me suddenly feels like it’s turning upside down, taking me for a ride with it.

  I slip my fingers from Jasmine’s and read her ­immediate surprise and concern.

  Closing my hand around the ring, I begin pulling it out of my pocket when the entire place lurches to one side like a drunken elephant. Amara squeezes my hand tighter.

  The air fills with a loud squealing that pierces my ears like a knife. There’s a sudden stop to our movement and my head snaps forward and then back like I’m some kind of rag doll.

  Then there’s light. And noise. I look up and see the interactive plasma screen showing that we’re on Line 1 between Union and King Station.

  We’re back in Toronto. Or at least Amara and I are. I don’t see the others. Passengers are murmuring all around us. It seems we’ve come to a sudden stop in one of the tunnels, and people seem a bit more freaked out about it than usual.

  “What’s going on?” Amara asks from beside me. I look over at her. She’s wearing the outfit she had on when we left: grey tank, ripped jeans, black high-top sneakers.

  A middle-aged woman with wiry blond hair sitting on the other side of Amara stares intently at us. She leans over in our direction.

  “Likely another security sweep. The police are still looking for the rest of them terrorists from yesterday,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. She stares hard at Amara. “They’ll be coming through this car any minute. Just to let you know.”

  “What terrorists?” Amara asks, confused.

  The woman raises an unkept eyebrow at us ­knowingly. “Them teenaged girls … the ones that poisoned the first batches of water in the city and helped kill all them people.” She pauses. “You know … the ones that looked a
lot like youse and some of your friends,” she says. “Your photos have been all over the news.”

  My heart leaps into my throat as the subway car doors slide open at the other end of train and a group of at least five heavily armed police officers in riot gear storm onboard, guns drawn.

  JASMINE

  When I open my eyes, I’m greeted by an ­unfamiliar landscape. We’re sitting on the edge of an elevated ­subway platform, but not like any I’ve seen in Toronto. For a moment I wonder if it’s just a TTC station I haven’t been to before, though that seems pretty unlikely.

  The area around us is framed by tall buildings, and the platform itself is jammed full of people. All of them seem pretty interested in something happening on the train that’s stopped, doors open, directly in front of us. It’s painted red and blue with the letters DLR on it, not the colours found on any TTC transport or Toronto train. There’s a river below us that is definitely not Lake Ontario, unless it suddenly narrowed while we’ve been away.

  Cassandra is sitting on a bench just off to the side and behind me, still cradling Lily in her arms. Lily’s softly groaning now and moving slightly. She’s clearly coming to and in pain. I need to get her medical help but have no idea how.

  A holographic display appears just above and to the left of the train. A slim woman with long, black hair and dark, almond-shaped eyes that seem almost too large for her delicate face begins to speak. She’s got an English ­accent.

  “Due to an incident at Canary Wharf station, there is congestion on the track, causing significant delays on the Docklands Light Railway trains to Cannon Street Station. We advise travellers to take alternate routes.” She turns to face the other side of the tracks, the flowers on her long dress swirling with her. “A reminder that the current threat level for international terrorism in the UK is SEVERE.” Turning back our way, she smiles, revealing a row of perfectly straight, paper-white teeth. “And as always, please mind the gap between the ­platform and the train.”

  A shared sigh of frustration ripples through the crowd.

  An older man in a blue suit taps me on the ­shoulder. “I’ve already called 999, and I’m sure the transport ­police have as well,” he says, the skin around his ­grey-blue eyes crinkling with concern. “Your friend must’ve hit ­something really sharp when the train stopped.” He ­removes his tie. “You can use this as a tourniquet on her arm to stem the bleeding, if necessary.”

  I don’t know much about men’s ties, but it looks like a pretty expensive piece of cloth. “Thanks,” I say as he passes it to me. “And for calling and stuff, too. Do you know what’s happening?”

  The man shakes his head. “No information’s being given yet. Could be as simple as a jumper or as serious as a bombing or the threat of one.” He cocks his head toward the two heavily armed police officers who are beginning to direct passengers toward the stairs at the end of the platform. “They clearly don’t want us using the lifts, though,” he says, his eyes drawing into a frown. “Guess it could be more serious than someone jumping somewhere along the line.”

  “Well, thanks again,” I say. Taking the tie, I turn to go help Cassandra and Lily.

  I see him at once. He’s bent over Lily, his dark hair falling forward to partially cover his eyes as he ­examines her. There’s something achingly familiar in the curve of his back, the way he nods as he speaks with Cassandra.

  I’m suddenly shaking with trepidation, nervous to the point of nausea that Raphael will blow me off again. After all, being around me is breaking whatever orders he’s been given. My focus should just be on Lily and why we’re not back in Toronto, and finding out where Jade, Amara, and Uriel have ended up.

  But it’s not. Not fully — not the way it should be.

  “Someone gave me this,” I say to Cassandra, ­clearing my throat and sitting down beside her, all the while trying to avoid looking at directly at Raphael. “To help stem the bleeding.”

  “We need to try to get out of here,” Raphael says. “She’s still losing blood, but I need to help her without ­drawing too much attention. It’s critical that we avoid detection here as much as possible. You don’t have the proper identification.” He glances around at the armed police ­officers, as well as a few drones flying back and forth.

  “Where exactly is here?” I ask. I might as well find out now if Raphael is going to acknowledge that I exist.

  He looks up at me, his eyes shifting from deep brown to a vibrant green. There’s a softness in his gaze. Despite trying to push down my feelings, that familiar desire to touch him rises in me.

  “We’re in London, 2032. You’ve come through to here rather than Toronto,” he replies. He keeps his voice low, I suspect, so that the commuters still left on the platform don’t overhear us.

  “We’re back in our time, but not in Toronto? How could that have happened?” I ask. “And where are Jade, Uriel, and Amara?”

  “In Toronto, I reckon,” Raphael replies flatly. He glances at the officers again. At the moment they seem busy with a couple of drunken guys in their twenties who are refusing to hand over oversized cans of beer.

  Raphael lays his hands gingerly over Lily’s injured arm. She moans as his fingers touch her wound. Through the rip in the sleeve of her dress I can see the bloody ­gashes in her arm where the demon gnawed away at her flesh.

  “I think know how it happened … how we came here,” Cassandra says. “Lily was dreaming about London when she was unconscious. Her thoughts kept ­pouring into mine. They were so strong. Maybe because she thought it was the last place she was going to … to ever remember.” Her voice wavers with emotion. “She kept thinking about Greenwich when we were last here. And I tried to push her thoughts down, but it was hard because I knew she was still with me because of them … I guess I must’ve had London in my mind more than Toronto because of that as well.”

  “It doesn’t matter what happened,” I say. “We’re here now and need to figure out how to get back.” I stop and look at Raphael. “What were you talking about when you said we don’t have proper identification?”

  “Every Londoner needed to get microchipped at some point during the last six months as a means to keep ­climate-change refugees from sneaking into the city.” He nods toward the drones and the police officers. “These guys are equipped with chip-detecting scanners, as are the drones.”

  I look over at the drones buzzing by us like hungry wasps. Lily is beginning to sit up. The colour is back in her cheeks, and her eyes are bright. Glancing down at the rip in her sleeve, I’m not surprised to see the skin underneath is perfectly intact and scarless, as if nothing happened.

  “And if we don’t have microchips?” I ask, not sure I want to hear the answer.

  “You’ll be taken to a Metropolitan police station and then likely to a detention centre on the coast. And those are pretty dreadful places,” Raphael replies. “However…” He pauses, his eyes darkening.

  “However what?” I ask.

  “You were captured on video by the drones as you transitioned from Toronto. At the same time, several attacks took place in the city — including an attack on the water supply Smith distributed that day.”

  My blood turns to ice. “What does that mean?” I ask. “Because we obviously weren’t responsible for any of that.”

  Raphael stares at me solemnly. “The truth can be ­manipulated, Jazz,” he says quietly. “It can be ­manufactured. And Smith’s forces obtained a confession from Eva. Under complete duress, of course.”

  “Duress?” I ask.

  “She was tortured. Badly. But it means all of you are wanted as terrorists and for mass murder. The story has hit the international news. None of you are safe ­anywhere at the moment.”

  I stare at him. Clearly it’s no longer just demons ­hunting us. I’ve witnessed Smith’s plans on how to deal with ­anyone she perceives as a threat to her ­government. If we’ve
been identified as terrorists, it’s open season.

  “Okay,” I say. “What do we do now?”

  Raphael looks around. “Get ready for the Final Battle. Get ready to fight and sacrifice in ways you never imagined possible.”

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to acknowledge the generosity and financial support of the Ontario Arts Council in the ­completion of Solomon’s Ring. I’d also like to thank everyone at Dundurn for helping this book come to life. A huge thank-you to my editor, Allister Thompson, and my agent, Amy Tompkins, for their hard work and ­dedication to this project. I’d be remiss if I didn’t send a massive ­thank-you to my partner and best friend, Robert Stewart, who ­patiently puts up with my mad writing schedule.

  Copyright © Mary Jennifer Payne, 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or ­transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or ­otherwise (except for brief passages for purpose of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. ­Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.

  All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely ­coincidental.

  Cover image: 123RF.com/Karel Miragaya

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Payne, Mary Jennifer, author

  Solomon’s ring / Mary Jennifer Payne.

  (Daughters of light)