“I understand the meaning of discreet.” Her lips thin. “Let us hope that all present do as well.”
Intended or not, these sharp words leave the A.D. stiffening. “Are you saying you found something on your witch hunt to implicate me, too? Maybe me old mate Fagin has been pickin’ secrets out of me pockets whilst playing merry tunes?”
“She’s not saying that, you fool.” Mary slaps her hand upon the van’s wall. “We have a common enemy right now—several of them, actually, now that Sweeney Todd, Rosemary Lovett, and F.K. Jenkins are all missing from the Society’s custody. Our focus must remain upon them, not finding blame or fault within each other.” Heat crawls up her neck, blotching her fair skin. “You know what else? I’m glad Marianne uncovered Wendy’s treachery with Peter Pan or whoever the hell he is.” She jabs a finger against the A.D.’s shoulder. “And you should be, too!”
He winces before sighing. “I know. I am. I’m sorry, Marianne. You were just doing your job. It’s just . . .”
“Wendy is your friend.” Marianne spares a small yet sympathetic glance. “For what it’s worth, I believe she was coerced whilst under the guise of a compulsion trance.”
The A.D. grunts quietly. Our focus returns to the screens. Upon them are nothing but empty rooms, just as Finn reported. A sane person would let this go to turn down more fruitful avenues. I am not sane, though. Not fully. As the Cheshire-Cat reminded me all too recently, I believe in the impossible.
The A.D.’s cell phone trills to life. He removes it from his pocket and slides it onto the console next to Marianne. Neither Abraham Van Brunt, the leader of the Collectors’ Society, nor the Librarian was officially briefed on our plan outside of an email sent en route. Van Brunt is in mourning; he, unlike Mary or myself, believes the worst by eschewing hope. Although at first I rashly considered him a coward for doing so, I now do not begrudge him such feelings. It is not the first time he lost family members to villainy. His wife Katrina, Finn and Victor’s adoptive mother, perished when Sweeney Todd destroyed the catalyst for 1820IRV-SGC. Now it is assumed by most that his sons lost their lives in the same manner, only at the hands of Gabriel Lygari/Pfeifer rather than Todd. Van Brunt is entitled to feel as he must.
Once the shock of last night’s deadly events morphed into rage, I left behind the doctors and nurses tending my wounds at the hospital the Librarian sent me to and caught a cab back to the Institute. I obtained some of Victor’s mysterious yet miraculous healing spray he and Mary commandeered in a futuristic Timeline and mended the superficial cuts rendered by broken glass. That these medicines were not proffered after the attack only proves the shock felt by the Society over the tragic events. And that was when I made my way to my flat and was briefed by Grymsdyke.
The Society was besieged last night in more ways than one. Whilst Finn and I were at a gala for the New York Public Library, searching for Lygari and discovering the Queen of Hearts instead, the Institute was infiltrated by villains. Security footage viewed in the wee hours of the morning showed Lygari and a dozen children roaming the halls, pipes to their lips mere minutes after our departure. Nearly everyone, save my assassin spider, was affected by whatever tune echoed from the wooden instruments. Even the Cheshire-Cat was not spared. Each soul stopped what they were doing, swayed, and proceeded to slump to the ground. Some slept where they were, others stared dazedly, focused on nothing in particular. None moved. Worse yet, Lygari went to the medical wing of the Institute and roused Sweeney Todd, freeing him from his straps. The murderous fiend was gifted a pen and two books and then was sent on his way. His amorous partner in crime, Rosemary, and colleague, F.K. Jenkins, were similarly freed, although they departed separately from Todd into a different doorway. Lygari and his musical children lay in wait until Van Brunt and the others also attending the gala returned. It was then they met the same fates as the rest of our colleagues.
The Institute, in chaos, had no sleep as its residents scrambled to make sense of the turn of events. Word spread quickly, and once it did, calls and communiqués from various Timelines poured in, requiring Van Brunt to stamp out fires left and right. As if that weren’t stressful enough, he is also overseeing the cleanup of the Institute whilst figuring out the directions of its agents.
This small group here in the van wasted no time leaping into action, especially when, shortly after two o’clock in the morning, I also discovered via my cell phone’s search functions that Pfeifer translates to piper. There is much still to research, yet one thing is certain: Lygari is a lying piper.
I suppose there is a benefit to such wretched pieces of machinery after all.
Somehow, Mary and the White King were spared from such treachery when they returned from 1905/06Sōs-IAAC. Their stay at the Institute was brief before Mary edited into my original Timeline, allowing Jace to hunt the Queen of Hearts in familiar territory. She related how they’d found the Five of Diamonds and the Cheshire-Cat sleeping in their flat; when roused, both were disoriented. These states were attributed, at least in her mind, to being awoken in a land strange and far away from one’s own. During the time she was in the Institute, Mary saw no others than the Wonderlanders—and whilst strange, she did not question this too much, as they departed so quickly afterward. I have no idea how or why she and the White King were spared, but that matters little right now.
What does is finding Lygari.
The A.D. returns to the driver’s seat, switching on the ignition. The road leading into Bücherei is rough and unpaved, yet despite the uncomfortable ride, Marianne continues to tend to her computers and monitors.
Mary taps her tranquilizer gun against the van floor. “Victor doesn’t have his medications with him.”
And a flying boy stabbed Finn with a glowing blade, a situation entirely unacceptable to me. It has been nearly sixteen hours since the 1905/06Sōs-IAAC’s catalyst was destroyed, and that is too long already. Every moment, every second counts. If Finn and Victor are alive, as we here in the van hope and pray, they must be found quickly.
Bücherei comes into view, tall and inconsistent about how it wishes to look: frosted glass, rough wood, and burnished metal both appears old fashioned and futuristic all at once. Imposing hedge mazes wrap around the building, and in the gloomy light of a dreary late morning on the verge of snow, the darkened leaves leer sinisterly to any wishing to come too close.
And close we come. The A.D. parks the van directly in front of the small stone path leading to the door. There will be no subterfuge today. If anything, I want Lygari to know I’ve been here. That I can, and will, appear as I wish. If he foolishly believes he has brought me, Wonderland’s Queen of Diamonds, to her knees, I wish for him to feel bitter, frustrating pangs of disappointment.
I do not play by his rules. I play by mine and mine alone.
“Keep the door locked,” I inform Marianne. She will stay in the van, monitoring the security system. As excellent as she is with her technology, she is not prepared to brandish a gun or a blade, nor would I wish her to. Selfishly, I am well aware of my need for her expertise in the coming days.
Another phone rings. It’s mine—and like the A.D.’s, it’s placed on Marianne’s console. It is her choice whether or not to update them as she sees fit. I rather like Marianne Brandon. She is in possession of a quick mind, a large heart, and much-appreciated loyalty. Although I was ready to do what it took to compel her, she did not hesitate in agreeing to accompany us today.
I adjust the earpiece that links the team’s ability to converse with one another during assignments. “I desire as much recorded as possible,” I tell both Marianne and Mary. “If we do not readily uncover anything relevant, it will behoove us to thoroughly examine any footage for subtleties missed.”
“I have already begun doing so.” Marianne points to the second screen on the left. “I packed several cameras in your bag, Mary. There are fresh batteries if needed.”
Mary bites her lip as she stares down at Marianne. The two women haven’t had the eas
iest of times being gracious to one another over the last few weeks for reasons still unclear to me, but temperaments have thawed somewhat in the past few days. For that I am glad, as we cannot have a house divided in this war we fight.
The A.D. clears his throat. “There’s no time like the present, ladies.”
I grab hold of a war hammer I commandeered from the weapons wall in the Institute. It feels good in my hand. Familiar. The only thing better would be my vorpal blade, but the White King of Wonderland now wields it in my stead as he defends our lands.
Outside, a hint of snow tinges the air. The wind picks up, rattling like mournful ghosts through the still-green leaves of Lygari’s hedge maze. It is a dreary day, one best suited to fires, soft blankets, and warm drinks. I have yet to spend such a day with Finn Van Brunt, where we read in companionable, contented silence, my head against his shoulder and his arms around me whilst losing ourselves within such a cocoon. And this loss, as irrational as it may be, only adds fuel to my blazing desire for justice.
The van door behind us slides shut. A click signals Marianne’s adherence to my wishes, and then we three descend upon the front door, the crunch of dead leaves and twigs beneath our feet cutting through the uneasy silence the gloom sunrise has brought. In a surprising show of gentlemanly manners, the A.D. moves to open the door. When the handle does not depress, a half smile curves his lips. “It’s locked. But no worries. I can have it picked open in no time.”
“There is no need.”
Darkish-blonde brows scrunch together. “But—”
“Stand to the side, please.”
When he fails to move at my thinly veiled order, Mary not so gently yanks our companion away.
The door before us is thick. The handle is ornate. It is a beautiful door, no doubt chosen specifically to adorn a building as fine as Bücherei. It takes me three strong, measured swings of my war hammer against the handle and its surrounding area to break it apart and permanently scar its beauty. Picking a lock is kind, respectful even. A picked lock can be relocked. I do not wish this door to close behind me. I do not wish to be respectful of Bücherei.
The time for genteel manners is gone.
The A.D. is in danger of catching flies with his mouth as he ogles the door’s remnants. For someone who professes to be so clever, he certainly underestimates ladies far too often.
Stale darkness, oppressive and opaque all at once, looms before us. I am unafraid, though. I am not even taken aback. I believe in the impossible, after all. I have seen, lived the impossible.
I step past the wreckage into the house. On the drive here, I poured over Finn’s report. It was hastily written, and I fear I am to blame for his lack of thoroughness. I’d been paralyzed, languishing at the Institute while he was sent under protest on a fruitless mission. Attached to his notes, though, are schematics associated with the building. I memorized the paths he took and the general layout. What I find before me is neither the library-based residence I toured nor the mansion Finn described. Not even the rooms upon Marianne’s screens in the van appear before us.
“Mother of God,” Mary whispers as she crosses the darkened threshold. Her breath is a crystalized cloud in frigid air, illuminated by sunlight streaming in the cave before us.
This is not a house, nor is it a library. There are no man-made walls, no man-made floors. There are no ceilings, no windows, no light fixtures, no pools, no bookshelves. There are no stairs, no kitchen, no bathrooms, no stray, dilapidated couch. There is only rough stone laced with ribbons of quartz and packed, rocky dirt disappearing into a blanketed tunnel of darkness whose end I cannot see. Behind me, when I look upon the door, I see the lip of a rock blocking part of the entrance as a door would.
Well, well. How very curious.
“This . . .” The A.D. shakes his head, eyes wide and filled with alarm I am certain he would deny with his last breath. “What the bloody hell is this?”
I press on my earpiece. “MDB, are our visages shown upon your screens?”
Marianne’s voice fills my ear, as clear as if she stood next to me. “Affirmative, ALR.”
“Describe what you see, MDB.”
There is no hesitation. “You, ML, and JD are standing within a foyer that lays just beyond the entrance.”
Curiouser and curiouser. “Describe the foyer, MDB.”
“I estimate it to be twelve to fifteen feet wide and stretch thirty to fifty feet before emptying into . . .” She pauses. “What appears to be a sitting room. According to the schematics, there ought to be a hallway intersecting the foyer within twenty feet of where you stand.”
For the first time in our acquaintance, true fear cowers in Mary’s eyes. It’s pale and she’s doing her best to hide it here in this dark tunnel of a cave, but it’s there all the same.
“How far am I from the nearest wall, MDB?”
A moment passes. “Perhaps a foot at the most, ALR.”
“Which direction?”
Confusion tinges Marianne’s answer. “It is to your right.”
I thrust the war hammer out in a straight line to my right. It, along with my extended arm, goes well past the estimated distance between self and wall to touch upon rock.
I turn to the right and face the supposed wall, the one I’d once passed by before turning up ahead into another hallway in order to reach the massive, ornately carved doors leading to Lygari’s library. Ribboned quartz through stone reflects back at me.
“MDB, report what you are seeing right now.”
“You now face the door, and are staring up at the security camera mounted above.”
The A.D. swears quietly. A strangled noise emerges from Mary. There is no security camera in this cave, and there is most certainly nothing mounted upon the rock’s lip.
“I must say,” Marianne continues, “your smile is most unpleasant right now. It’s very un-Alice-like.”
Hmm. “And the A.D. and Mary?” I inquire. I face my colleagues, still standing in the shafts of pale light filtering through the entrance. Behind them, pieces of the broken door litter the ground. “What is it they are doing?”
“They are standing directly behind you, hands upon your shoulders, staring up at the camera. ALR, is there a problem?”
The A.D. is the one to answer. “Yes, there’s a bloody problem! This is not the house I was in last week. And you clearly are not seeing us!”
“JD, please clarify?” Marianne asks.
Mary whispers, “I don’t understand what is happening. This is impossible. This is—”
“Take out your camera, Mary.”
Her wide eyes fly to me. Thin beams of dulled sunlight illuminate her face, leaving her appearing as if she was more ghost than vengeful woman.
“It is clear that Marianne’s equipment will not serve us any good in this moment. Bring out your camera, so we might effectively record the truth.”
“But—”
“Your hesitation is of no help to our purposes, Mary.”
Ah. There. Steel fortifies her spine. Determination and anger fill the spaces fear so recently occupied within her eyes.
“What is going on?” Marianne asks, but no one responds. “Whatever do you mean, my equipment is not effective? I checked it thrice prior to departure.”
Mary tugs out the small video camera out of the bag Marianne packed for her.
“Alice, I mean no disrespect, but . . .” The A.D. shuffles his feet. “How in the hell are we going to search for anything when we can’t see? We didn’t bring flashlights, no external lighting. Our cellphones are back in the van, so it’s not like we can even use the flashlight functions on those.” He motions toward the looming inkiness. “I’m good in a fight, but I have no experience going up against things I can’t see.”
“Are you afraid of the dark?”
His eyebrows shoot up at my question. “I’m no child!”
“No one claimed you were. I merely inquired whether or not you feared the dark. Many people do, even though the dar
k is nothing but the absence of light. What lies within, though, is what you ought to consider whether or not to fear.”
He’s offended, but his spine straightens, too. A gun now rests in his hand.
“Fear aids none of us right now. Fear only holds a soldier back.”
The A.D. grunts once more. Thankfully, his overly inflated ego will not allow fear to dominate him, not when I call him out on such matters as I have.
“I must insist you report back and inform me if everything is all right, ALR.” Marianne’s voice fills my ear. “Why are you three simply standing within the foyer, staring up at the camera? Do you see something I cannot?”
Marianne’s fear is of no use, either. “We are merely contemplating our next move, MDB.”
“Is that what we’re doing?” Mary’s camera is held aloft, panning the darkness surrounding us. It’s nearly tangible, this black: cold and sharp and unexpectedly aware.
Before I can answer her question, though, the floor beneath us trembles. Rubble drizzles and then pours like angry water from the ceilings and walls. Gusts of wind shoot at us like arrows from the darkness, meant to knock us off our feet.
I dig my heels in. The urge to laugh maniacally tickles the back of my throat. He thinks to scare me with a show?
In the din, the A.D. does not see these attacks for what they really are. Scrambling to grab hold of Mary, as she is just mere feet away from him, he shouts, “Earthquake!” Together they lurch toward the doorway beyond the mouth of the cave, toward what they view as safety. “Alice! We need to get out of here before the whole bloody place collapses!”
I do not retreat. As rubble turns to rocks, and rocks into boulders that mean to build an imposing wall of defense before me, I widen my stance to stay afoot. Lygari assumes he is clever then, does he? He thinks he can surprise me, terrify me with the impossible. Silly, insipid man. He ought to have tried that on a girl who has spent her life in the safety of the known rather than a woman who grew up amongst the inconceivable.
The Forgotten Mountain (The Collectors' Society Book 3) Page 2