by J. D. Horn
Daniel reached down and took Alice’s hands. “Demagnan’s.”
“Demagnan’s?” Nathalie exclaimed in unison with Lucy and Hugo.
“You should’ve let me go,” Hugo said. “There are cops crawling all over that place and the house next door. I could’ve slipped in and out without anyone noticing.” He tried to rise, but fell back into his chair, fascinated by a speck of dust floating before him.
“Then there’s that,” Daniel said. “I’m guessing psilocybin?”
“And peyote.” He held up his hand, rubbing the tip of his index finger against his thumb. “With just a soupçon of the synthetic stuff.”
“LSD.”
“Wanted to make sure we had all the bases covered.”
“You’re high?” Nathalie asked. She turned to Lucy. “He’s high?”
“Oh so very,” Daniel answered for her. “But this time it’s for a good cause.”
“It’s always,” Hugo said, and laughed, “for a good cause.”
“Hallucinogens,” Daniel said, ignoring Hugo, “will help him walk closer to the world where our Alice has been trapped. As I told you earlier, I’ve spent these last months studying my true nature, my true purpose. I can walk between the worlds of the Dreaming Road. I can go to Alice and bring her essence back with me. Inside me. But once she’s within me, I’ll lose control. She’ll be riding me, like a . . .”
“Like a chwal,” Nathalie finished his sentence.
“Well, I was going to say ‘horse,’ but your simile falls closer to the truth. Alice will have to guide me, but she’s had no experience walking between the worlds. Worse, she may be in no condition to guide me. Celestin abandoned his body of his own volition, to become an expert at guiding Babau Jean. He had years to hone his control of his ‘chwal,’ but Alice doesn’t have the luxury of time. With my last moment of control, I’ll fling myself in Hugo’s direction. If Alice is incapacitated, our best hope is that Hugo will be able to reach us.”
“What if he fails?” Any pretense had fallen away from Lucy. She was scared beyond teenage cynicism.
“No need to worry about that,” Daniel said, his voice too bright. “He won’t fail.”
“What if he does?” Lucy pressed.
Daniel and Hugo gazed into each other’s eyes.
“I’m not sure what will become of me. I suppose that I may be able to find my own way back—perhaps borrow a trick or two from Babau Jean—but Hugo and Alice will be lost.”
“They’ll die?” Lucy’s eyes teared up.
“Yes,” Hugo said, but his answer came too quickly. A look passed between him and Daniel. Nathalie shuddered. Whatever would happen to them, she realized, would be much worse than death. Nathalie regarded Alice’s peaceful, no, blank face. Nathalie couldn’t read from the guys’ thoughts what they envisioned as the worst-case scenario, but she knew she’d do all it took to make sure that scenario never materialized.
“How is this going to work?” she said, wrapping an arm over Lucy’s shoulders. To her surprise, Lucy leaned into her. The cat raised its head and gazed at Nathalie.
A smile quivered on Daniel’s lips. “Magic.”
Despite herself, Nathalie smiled. “How, specifically, is this going to work? Exactly and in detail, please.”
Daniel sat next to Alice and ran his fingers through her hair. “As with all magic, it’s best that the conscious mind is kept somewhat in the dark. Suffice it to say it’ll be a bit like mailing a letter. I’m the envelope. The magic channeled by Fleur and the Twins, the postage. And you, dearie, are the address.” He stood and strode to the door. “I’m going to inspect Hugo’s handiwork.” He sighed. “We’d stand a much better chance of success if we could work the spell closer to the gateway.”
Nathalie turned to him in confusion. “Where is the gateway?”
“Well, there are a few spread out around the globe, but the closest one is east of here.”
Pieces came together in her mind. The bizarre stories about pale, red-eyed cannibals, shadow men, and time anomalies. Her own attraction to the abandoned stretch of road. “Grunch,” she said. “Grunch Road.”
Daniel’s eyes widened in surprise. “Yes. Precisely.”
“That’s like a, what, twenty-minute drive? Let’s go.” She advanced on Alice, ready to lift her from the bed and carry her to Grunch Road on foot if need be.
“Whoa,” Hugo said. “Hold on there, cowgirl.”
She stopped and turned to face them. “What?”
Daniel’s shoulders slumped, and he gave her a pained smile. “I may be able to pass through the worlds of the Dreaming Road, but in the common world, I can’t travel more than a few feet from this house.”
“Edge of the yard, to be precise,” Lucy said, the cat punctuating her precision with a meow.
Nathalie shook her head. “Okay. I’ll bite. Why not?”
“It’s how I was created. The magic binds me to this spot.”
“Okay. How?”
“How what?”
“How does it tie you to the house?”
“It’s just part of how I was created.”
“Let’s step back. How were you created?”
“It’s far too complicated for us to get into right now. You’ll learn more once we begin the ritual.”
“Big picture it for me.”
Daniel seemed annoyed that she was pressing him.
“Dear old Mom and Dad,” Hugo said, “manufactured him like you would any servitor spirit.” Nathalie nodded to show she was familiar with this type of entity. She’d even encountered a rudimentary one once during a visit with her father’s family, though the Boudreaus referred to them simply as ‘domestiques.’” It made sense now why she wasn’t able to read him, but still she’d never suspected. He just seemed so solid. Quirky maybe, but real.
“Well, not quite,” Daniel said. “We’ve always believed so, but Astrid delved into the magic of The Lesser—”
“What steps did they take?” Nathalie pressed.
“Astrid was an artist,” Hugo said. “She painted a portrait of Daniel. Kind of like reverse engineering. Make a focal point that suggests the characteristic you want the—”
“The painting. Where is it?”
“Up in the attic,” Daniel answered.
“The painting that was used to make you is still in this house, and you can’t leave this house. Have you ever tried taking the painting with you?”
Daniel and Hugo turned to each other with the same expression, mouths hanging open, eyebrows arched to heaven.
“Tell me,” Lucy said, “do you ever get bored waiting for the rest of the room to catch up with you?”
EIGHTEEN
“Mother?” Alice said, swallowing the word. “Astrid?”
The beauty swung her legs off the divan and rose, drawing near Alice. She reached out a tentative hand to touch Alice’s cheek. “Yes, Astrid, if that is what I must be to you.” She lowered her hand and stepped back. Her shoulders stiffened. It seemed to Alice that Astrid was bracing herself. “I don’t expect forgiveness. That’s too much to hope for. I was corruptible, and I was corrupted.”
“But how?”
“You’ll have to be more specific, dear,” Astrid said, lowering her hand. “How was I seduced by darkness, or how did I end up a set decoration in our friend Bogey John’s restoration whorehouse?”
Before Alice could answer, the party roared back to life around them. The air rang with the blaring of horns, and shrill, unchaste laughter. The pop of a champagne cork was echoed by a gunshot. A woman in a white lace peignoir clung to a thick-waisted middle-aged man, her apathetic eyes scanning the room as she joined her partner in a swaying motion too languorous to be called dance. A pistol dropped to the floor, and the suicidal poker player slumped down beside it.
Astrid returned to the divan, watching the scene with an indifferent air. “It will work itself out soon. It always does, even if we can no longer afford the illusion of cause and effect. The scenes in our wr
etched passion play have fallen out of sequence, but we’ve been granted one small mercy—the libretto has undergone a heavy abridgment. For one thing, I’ve been spared the dreary crowning of Mahogany Hall’s last king of Mardi Gras,” she said, her focus turning to Babau Jean, who’d returned. The face of the Beautiful Dreamer bubbled up from behind his shiny, bone-white death mask, only to sink back down again. “Though I’ll do it for Jean one last time before the end.” She smiled at the creature. Alice sensed it pleased him that Astrid had dropped the pejorative Babau from his name. “He was such a lovely creature once. Besides, I do owe him.”
“Owe him for what?”
“For bringing us together, my dear daughter.”
My dear daughter. Alice stiffened at these words, angered by the long-ignored ache they brought to the surface. Then again, they were just words. As empty and unreal as the shadow Sabine’s “I love you.” And no doubt just as dangerous.
A sound like the crash of cymbals drew Alice’s eyes to the bandstand. It stood empty, but the four familiar players remained at the poker table. One of the tuxedoed cardsharps appeared to be in mid-deal, but Alice realized the action was reversed. The cards were flying back up off the table and into the dealer’s hands.
“I sent him for you as soon as I felt Celestin’s grasp over us break,” Astrid said, her words both a challenge to and a defense against what she must have read in Alice’s reaction. She paused, seeming to await a response from Alice, perhaps an expression of gratitude or pardon. Alice was fresh out of both. Astrid’s attempt at reconciliation, if that had been her intent, failed to bridge the gap between her crimes and Alice’s propensity to forgive. “I wanted you to have the chance to . . . well, I’m not sure exactly. To find answers you’ve been wanting? Perhaps to mete out some satisfactory form of punishment? Anything to help fill the hole I’ve left in your life. In these final moments when we can be together, I wanted to give you whatever you needed. I know—too little, too late, but it’s my small attempt at making amends.”
Alice’s reticent, cautious nature counseled silence. Anything she said now, any weakness she might show, could later be used against her.
Astrid gave a slight nod, a recognition, perhaps, of the gulf that would forever lie between them. Tiny lines formed at the sides of her eyes as she shook her head. “I knew something was in the air the first time I saw Daniel traipse through here with his familiar, and I was right.” She fumbled with the tie of her peignoir. “He didn’t recognize me either. He took me for another shadow. Perhaps he was right.” Her expression brightened. An act of will, Alice surmised, rather than a reflection of feeling. “You have quite an ally in Daniel. I designed him to be willing to walk straight into hell to save you children, and it appears he’s done just that,” she said with what Alice took for affection. “Dear, sweet Daniel. He’s my masterpiece. A perfect shepherd for my little lambs.”
“A shepherd. Is that why you put the mark of Damuzi on him?”
Astrid stiffened, her shoulders pulling back, her borrowed eyes sparkling. “The original shepherd.”
“The King of Bones and Ashes.”
Astrid nodded. A thin smile came to her lips. “Yes. That too. Damuzi represents both the watchful shepherd and the lord of the underworld, but duality is part of all our natures. How did you make the connection?”
“Daniel found a copy of The Lesser Key hidden in your belongings.”
“That explains it. He’s changed, our Daniel. Daniel is a creature of The Lesser Key. It appears that he’s been both reinvigorated and tainted by his contact with it.”
“Why do you say that?”
She looked at Alice through widened eyes, like she was surprised that she needed to state the obvious. “How else could he have managed to take Celestin down? I’m sure the old reprobate didn’t go gently into that good night. Daniel must have fought tooth and claw to defeat him. All that matters is that Celestin has been dealt with, and his control over us—you, me, and Jean—is over. That is well worth any price Daniel might have paid.”
Raucous laughter pealed from the bandstand. A tradeswoman led her client past the empty chairs, on the way, Alice deduced, to one of the private rooms. The musicians snapped back into place, one of the trumpet players in the middle of an improvised solo. The party returned to full swing as the dance floor flooded with identical copies of the same languid bacchant, each apparition partnered with an indistinguishable, formally attired admirer.
“Why did you create him?” Alice spoke over the din. “It wasn’t to act as a nanny. Not really.”
“Why do you think?”
“I don’t know. Luc told me it was Nicholas’s idea.”
“Did he?” Astrid lowered her chin and smiled at her. “He was right to some degree. Nicholas wanted someone to care for the house, to watch over the boys. Someone who could be trusted implicitly. That last bit meant the task couldn’t be delegated to a human being. No one is completely trustworthy, so Nicholas asked for my assistance to build the perfect help—a genial, loyal, responsible servitor spirit. I simply saw to it that he got more than he’d asked for.”
“How did you do that?”
The party burst like a bubble, leaving them alone.
“To the uninitiated,” Astrid began, as indifferent to the silence as she was to the sound, “The Lesser Key appears to repeat itself from front to back, back to front, but a witch who opens herself up to its spirit soon realizes the volume is a spiral leading down, a torus twisting itself into a Solomon’s seal knot with as much hidden from view as revealed. We call it ‘the occult’ for a reason.” A smirk punctuated her sarcasm. “Hidden in the book are the instructions for building creatures such as Daniel—in essence a servitor spirit, but so much more than a basic servitor that remains linked to its creator. Lifelike enough to fool many who should be able to spot the difference between him . . . and a real boy. Able to survive being separated from its source, and to tap into any ambient occult energy—light or dark. It was a bit of a game, really, creating Daniel. To see if I were skilled enough, powerful enough. To see if I could still make the magic work.” She grinned. “For many of the same reasons, I suppose Nicholas pushed me to have Hugo. A haughty man needs constant reassurance of his own potency.” The grin faded. “I didn’t intend to use Daniel for the purpose The Lesser Key ordains for him. At least that’s the lie I told myself.”
Her face turned away. “You’ll be free soon now. I can sense them, Daniel and the others, gathering on the other side.” She pointed at a full-length gilt-frame mirror on the wall. “You’ll feel a tug anytime now, and then you’ll be lost to me forever.” The mirror shimmered. First it reflected a door, an arched wooden one with oversize ornate scrollwork hinges that reminded her of the sigil she’d drawn on the window of her imagined loft; then it shimmered once more and became the door it had reflected. Astrid focused on her with wistful mien. “My little Alice, slipping home through the looking glass.”
“What are you going to do?”
“What can I do?” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m going to ride this storm out till the end. Celestin may no longer be holding me here, but my physical body died years ago. There’s nowhere left for me to go. Besides, it’s better for you, better for Hugo, too, that I can’t go back.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because, my dear, here where I’m powerless and soon to fade, I’m not a danger to you, but back in the common world some mama bears eat their young. I came oh so close to bashing in your pretty skull once. It wouldn’t take much to return me to that place.” She smiled and shrugged an apology. “The truth isn’t pretty, my girl, but I may be the only person in your life who’s never lied to you. I have nothing to gain from starting now. So, in the limited time we have left . . . full disclosure. No question too big or too small.” She held up her hand and a serving woman appeared behind her, a flute of champagne on a tray. Astrid accepted the glass, and the servant and her tray disappeared. “I’m getting
pretty good at bending this reality now that Celestin’s out of the picture, but there isn’t much juice left to keep it going. Jean may be able to scare up enough to feed his own existence, but without supplemental magic, he’ll soon be lost again in a dim and empty hall, as broken and pitiable as he was when Laure first found him. I’ve promised him he won’t be left that way again.” She held the glass up in salute to Babau Jean. “We won’t fade away, will we, my friend? You won’t be alone ever again. Together, we’ll go out with a bang.” She lowered her glass and sipped the champagne.
“With a bang,” she repeated, emphasizing each word as she reclined against the back of the divan. She turned her gaze to Alice. “This will be your one chance for answers. You won’t see me again. Do you want to know how your mother came close to a shabby dinner theater performance of Medea, or will ignorance be your bliss? After all, if you don’t know how much I was once like you, you’ll have the comfort of believing you could never follow in my footsteps.”
“I’m not afraid of your past, or of my future.” Alice had faced her worst fears already. Nothing Astrid could spring on her could be more horrifying than listening helplessly as a demon who’d masqueraded as her love clawed the side of her illusory house, than counting the days until she, too, would flicker out and become a part of the very contagion attacking her. Any kind of monster Alice might now become would have to be a step up from there.
“Good for you.” Astrid seemed pleased, perhaps even proud, that Alice hadn’t chosen to turn away. “Let’s revisit your original question of how . . . how I came to find myself here,” she gestured around the room with a wide wave. “And how,” she said, lowering her hand to her heart, “I came to be here.” She tapped her chest. “It’s the same answer. Celestin Marin.
“Celestin trapped me here because I disappointed him. He asked me to do the impossible. I thought I could . . . right up until the moment he said it was time to take your life. We knew we would have to kill all of you eventually. His children and mine. You were ours, so he thought it was fitting that I start with you. But you were so small, so perfect. I couldn’t . . .” Her voice broke. She took another sip of her champagne. “It was, it turned out, a dry run for the real thing. A test of my commitment to our scheme. I failed the test. I failed him, so he punished me.