by Mia Strange
But of course, Dr. Dark knew better.
The magic was strong here, dark and foreboding. A lot like the magic of Darius, our demon. Dark knew that even demons needed to feed their black souls once in a while. And where better than The King Street Station? The place where with each chime of the clocks and the spells cast upon them, spewed magic out into the atmosphere. Coveting, covering, and tainting everything in its path. The spells seeped into your pours like aloe on dry skin. The magic burned your lungs, blurred your vision, and confused your thoughts.
Urban legend told of people going mad in and around the station. Of folks vanishing, never to return. Of sudden death, or the plague of horrific nightmares that never, ever went away.
None of this was ever proven. The rumors started so long ago, even Dark couldn’t trace the origins.
So, for us, it was the perfect place to set up shop so to speak. The train and our engine, the coveted Dark Horse, would be safe. No one would disturb us here. No one but the station itself. And the clocks. . .
The tower at The King Street Station contained four huge mechanical clocks. With broad, intricate, hand—painted faces, each clock kept its own version of time. Each clock paid homage to the four directions, North, South, East, and West. Just like our country, now divided into the same four geographical areas where state lines melted and meshed into one another, the directions had their own rulers— The four Bishops of the Church of Directional Guidance and Good.
What utter bullshit.
And trust me, there was nothing holy or ‘good’ about these four ‘heads of state.’
They were deadly powerful, magic wielders, an Archmage, a Sorcerer, an Enchanter, a Witch, all trained in the Black Arts. And when steam and death and destruction spewed out from the core of our earth, their magic flared to life, where it burned bright and powerful and deadly.
Bishop West, the mage, kept an eye to the clocks. The only good news here, was that he mostly didn’t bother. King Street Station was old news, and no one cared anymore.
We hoped. But Dark knew as we all did, out time here should be limited. Nothing good would come of overstaying our welcome.
The clocks each had a unique character, a purpose, a mission. Each clock stood loyally watching and ruling the direction they faced. Luckily, the once lethal black magic of the clocks had diminished with time. Diluted and waning, the magic weakened with each passing year, with every tick of the hands. Still, there was no doubt, anyone this close was in danger.
Big ‘time.’ Yeah. I know. A pun. Drugs. Had to be the drugs.
No one knew for sure what kept the clocks going. A magnetic field of some kind? No. Steam? No. Gas? No. Winding clockworks, wound by some unknown sorcerer? No.
Perhaps it was something more sinister. Something along the lines of deep, dark magic. The clocks ran backwards, after all. With each unnatural click, with each odd tick of the second hand, the spells spun out into the atmosphere, keeping everything and everyone out.
Our witch, Drusilla, on a magic hunt of her own down in the swamp lands of New Orleans, was the only one among us that would know how to disable the ancient, complicated spells. And Dru, was three thousand miles away.
In the meantime, Dr. Dark had brewed up his own repellent, a foul tasting, magical concoction for each of us to swallow every twelve hours. If we didn’t? The spells would disable us. Permanently.
Mixed in Dr. Dark’s famous elixir of vanilla and honey and rare, rich dark espresso, we slammed the drink down. He added a drop of thick maple syrup to help the magic along its way. The normally amazing ingredients hardly helped to disguise the taste. The magic hidden inside was just too rank, too nasty to camouflage completely. But it coated our burning throats. It soothed our stinging eyes. It cleared our heads. So as nasty as the magic churning in the drink was, we held our noses and took it.
And we were smart enough not to complain.
But of course, Phil? Loved it.
He not only drank it; he usually ate the glass. Typical.
Only Darius, who thrived on the black magic, refused to drink it. And only Traveler Hale, our newest member didn’t need it. Something we all pondered, but knew better than to put our concerns into questions. If Doctor Elijah Dark didn’t question it, then we wouldn’t either.
“We’re here, Skye.” The Bone Man once again shook me awake. It was such a déjà vu moment, that for a fleeting second, I thought I was back in Hell, being soul—sucked by Shades while fighting spray painted zombies and losing my hair.
I opened my eyes to the soft interior lighting of The Madison and sighed. Thank goodness. Just a nightmare. I pushed my hair from my eyes and my fingertips grazed the bald spot on my scalp. Damn. That part of the nightmare? Reality. Great.
I heard Pilot and Jin thumping on top of the railcar. They gathered up weapons, battened down hatches, and hurled insults back and forth. They started to climb down the ladder. Pilot went first. I heard the heavy slam of his boots on the rungs.
A mistake I thought, to turn his back on Jin.
I was right.
“Ow. Jin. Stop already, will ya? That kick hurt.”
“Yeah,” she said with conviction in her voice. “That was the point, Air Boy. Try having the steel hand of death clamped over your mouth. Don’t tell me about hurting.”
“That did not hurt. Plus, I switched hands after, like, two seconds.”
“Have you tried it? Look.” I could tell by the pause she was pointing at something. “I now have rivet mouth. You dented my lips. Moron.”
Pilot stopped on the rung. He must be looking. For all his super—human strength, Pilot would never hurt Jin. And she knew it. Just as well as I did.
“I kind of like it,” he said. “Looks like you’ve been kissed by an Octopus.”
She stomped on something that was most likely a finger or two.
“Damn it. Will you stop?”
I smiled as the two of them tumbled down the ladder with a continuing string of barbs and jabs and shoves and pushes. Plus, a whole bunch of, “Damn it, Jin,” added in.
“Good luck to Pilot,” The Bone Man said shaking his head.
“Well, he did humiliate her.”
“And saved her life most likely.”
I couldn’t argue with that. By disarming Jin, and keeping her in check, Pilot, at the very least had kept her out of harms’ way, and most certainly out of Dr. Dark’s gray hair. Still, he had indeed humiliated her, and for that? He would pay. Lucky for Pilot she wouldn’t be able to break through the wards tonight and paint him up faster than a tagger on an overpass.
“You got her?”
The smooth voice of Elijah Dark filled the cabin. He had been in and out of the railcar for the duration of our trip back. This was the first time he had spoken in hours.
He had reinserted the I V, checked my eyes, changed the bandages, monitored the pain. He even mopped up my little blood trail I left across the floorboards. And wasn’t that embarrassing. Talk about leaving glaring evidence that I had once more broken the rules. But it’s not like he didn’t know. He had seen periscope up, when it should have been, periscope down.
And of course, finding the Cornucopia horn in the cot hidden under my blanket, was kind of a dead give—away. I hadn’t wanted to put it back. The horn was so beautiful. I wanted to look at it just a little while longer. Maddie, after all, had been the artist.
So no, Dark hadn’t spoken. I wanted to think it was his anger with me pure and simple. That would be the easiest, most logical explanation.
But no.
This? Was something else.
And we all knew it.
Dark reached down and slid the needle neatly out of my arm and pressed a clean cloth to my tiny wound. I instinctively bent my arm, just like the good patient I was. Or would be from now on. Yeah. I was home now. I could be good. Right? Really. How hard could it be?
“Got her, Eli.” The Bone Man bent to pick me up. I snuggled deep into his long arms, taking one of the camp blank
ets with me.
“Thanks,” I smiled up at him. The skeleton key that hung low around his neck fell softly against my cheek. I picked it up and ran my fingers over the cool metal.
The complicated clockwork, once again forged by Dark, was made of smooth, highly polished silver. Teeny, tiny gears of pure gold made the clock run. Shaped like an old key that would unlock a spooky haunted mansion, the clockwork portion was housed in the grip. Intricate, jagged teeth made up the stem of the key. A miniscule pattern of hundreds of bones were etched into the silver.
The skeleton key was beautiful. The skeleton key held magic. And this key, just like Jin’s, could also unlock our engine door, and unleash a demon.
“I’m glad to have you home,” The Bone Man said. “This time, your version hide and seek? Too close to the end game.”
He smiled down at me and I thought the pink in his eyes glistened with a sheen of tears.
I could be wrong. We were all exhausted. Still, my own eyes filled with tears because grateful didn’t begin to cover what he had done for me.
With exhaustion and painkilling drugs in my system, I couldn’t be sure what I was seeing. From the paleness of his skin, to the pink of his eyes, to the turquoise glitter adorning his hair, The Bone Man was a kaleidoscope of swirling colors. But all I knew was that for the first time in hours, I felt completely safe.
I could hardly wait to get to my railcar and soak in my beautiful cast iron, claw—footed bathtub. The Regal tub with brass feet had been traded from the Empress Hotel up north, in a country that had once been Canada. Eli had bartered for it from a group of traveling Pickers for my last birthday. I loved it. The thought of sudsy cocoa butter soap, laced with the scent of almonds mixing with hot water and warm, moisturizing steam, had me sighing out loud. I’d snuggle deep into my down comforter, all clean and shiny and naked . . .
My eyelids became heavy, and they drifted closed.
“Take her to my cars. I’ve sent Jin and Pilot on ahead to secure the grounds once more.”
“I hope you sent them in opposite directions,” The Bone Man said.
“Goes without saying.”
Wait. What? I opened my eyes, fast.
“I’ll be there shortly,” Dark was saying.
“What?” I said. “What?”
The Bone Man nodded, and turning toward the door, moved past Dark. I reached out and grabbed Dark’s arm, jerking us around in a spin that once again yanked my ribs awake. I winced. Damn it. This was getting so old. I desperately needed to get back to the version of tough girl Skye.
Eli removed my hand and folded it over my heart. “You need medical attention. Remember? We talked about this.”
“You talked about this,” I said stubbornly, still thinking about cocoa butter and hot, steaming water.
He sighed. “Remember? You are not out of this yet.”
“I feel out of it.”
“On that we agree.”
Wait. That had come out all wrong. “Better,” I said. “I mean as in I feel better.”
Eli gave a half smile. His dimple danced to the surface. “Remember?” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Remember the knife? The tainted one?”
I didn’t. But now? I did. Damn.
I nodded, unable to find my voice. All the worry and guilt slammed back into me evaporating the dreams of almonds and hot water and snuggly down comforters. I did remember. The tracer knife. The one that left a magic signature inside me, a signature that could lead the wrong elements right here, right to the running boards of our train.
“She’ll be okay, though. Right?”
I looked up at The Bone Man. He had practically whispered his question. I didn’t like the worry hanging around his eyes.
Eli nodded but somehow there didn’t seem to be enough conviction behind it. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. Or The Bone Man’s. What was going on?
Come on. I wasn’t going to die. I needed time to live. To find the tombstone. To find Emma. No. That wasn’t right. If Emma was on a grave marker, she was gone.
Right?
Not right? Couldn’t be right.
I wouldn’t let it be right.
I couldn’t think clearly. My brain felt mushy, like cotton balls left out in this non—stop Pacific rain.
Okay. I needed time. Time to clear my head, a head that was starting to throb and ache. Plus, I needed time to at least grow out my hair before I died. That was only fair. How long would that take? Why did I care? Why would any sane person care? I mean how important could a little hair loss be at a time like this.
Confusion didn’t begin to cover what was racing around in my brain.
Well, hell.
I was beginning to hate morphine.
Just when I was beginning to love it.
The Bone Man stepped down on the running boards of The Madison. I was met with a thousand pinpoints of stars that still carpeted a black sky. As quick as a finger—snap, the air greeted me with a crisp, sharp chill. I shivered and pulled my blanket up to my chin. The biting air sharpened my senses and redirected my focus. I felt the fog of the narcotics drifting away like the clouds floating across the moon.
Just when I thought my head might be clearing with the aid of the fresh night air, I saw them.
Both of them.
Together.
The first was a small monkey wearing a ball cap backwards. The little guy was standing on the back of a panther. A panther so dark, so black, he looked like a slice of moving midnight.
Well. Just lock me up and throw away the key.
Yes, I had seen the monkey before.
Yes, I had seen the panther before.
But I had never seen them together. Not at the exact same time. Not once. Not ever. I looked to The Bone Man, then on to Eli. The guys looked as shocked as I was.
The Bone Man asked the question that was on the tip of all our tongues.
“Now what in all that’s holy, is this fucking magic?”
17
Turk?” Dark’s voice rang out from behind us. “You there?”
Silence.
I watched as Dark ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “What else?” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “What else do I have to deal with tonight?”
I kinda wanted to point out that we were after all in The King Street Station. A place where the clocks ran backward and spewed out spells. A place where magic was black and weird and totally unpredictable.
Kind of like my magic.
Wait. That thought gave me pause.
I thought better of it. Reminding Dark that is. It’s best not to point out the obvious to him. I had already gotten the ‘LOOK’ once tonight. Plus, I had to agree. What else did this never—ending, bottomless night, straight from the bowels of Hell, hold for us?
I shook my head. I was beginning to sound like Jin. Had to be the drugs. Had to be.
I felt the sensation long before I could pinpoint it.
If The Bone Man hadn’t been holding me, I would have stomped my foot in frustration. I would have unleashed a string of old school swear words. I may have even drawn a blade.
Why?
Because I just had to tempt fate by asking, didn’t I?
Because the night, and just when I thought the drama might be over, had delivered someone else to the party. And no, it was not Turk. Although his dislike for me could pretty much ruin any party.
I felt those icy cold, skeleton—like fingers, trailing along my spine. The tiny hairs on the nap of my neck stood up, and an uncontrollable shiver ran through my body. I now knew what Dagger must feel like when his hackles rose in the presence of, of what? Almost two years now and I still didn’t know who, or what, he was. Not exactly. But for now, all I knew for sure, was that our last Academy member, the enigma, Traveler Hale was near.
What was he doing? It was almost daylight. But I knew that answer, didn’t I? He was helping Turk protect the train while the Troupe searched for me. He probably just came to s
ee if I was all right. Curiosity and all. Still, when it came to Hale? Let’s just say his attention was something I would prefer to do without.
I heard Eli take in a deep breath. He shouted out again, trying hard to be patient. “Turk,” he called out. “Tell me you’re there. I would hate to try and corral the beast without you.”
“Which one, Doc?” Turk’s voice floated through the blackness of the night.
I twisted in The Bone Man’s arms for a better view. Turk walked toward us, scowling. There was no sign of Traveler Hale. But he was out there. Watching from the shadows. I was sure of it.
“Think I can at least handle, Kong,” Dark said.
“A monkey? Yeah,” Turk replied. “You would fucking think.” It was impossible to miss the sarcasm. “Hell, Doc. That’s what I thought. Before tonight.”
Turk emerged, cast in long shadows that made him look taller than his five—foot—ten—inch frame. His brown, distressed—leather duster blew open, revealing a strong, bare chest the color of rich mahogany. His jeans, mostly unbuttoned, rode low on his waist. Thick, beat—up work boots, with dull yellow lacings adorned his feet. One leather glove was on. The other he carried, gripped in his left fist. His hand fisted, his knuckles taunt with fury.
Wherever Turk had been, he’d left in a hurry. His boots were unlaced, his belt hung open, and the thick brass buckle forged in the image of a tiger’s head, slapped against his thighs as he walked. Only the Academy members knew his demon key was hidden inside that hollowed out piece of ornate brass.
His shirt was missing. He looked cold and pissed and well . . . pissed. His dark, unusual eyes narrowed in greeting. He glared at the animals in front of him.
“Try again, Doc,” Turk continued. “Don’t think I haven’t. Kong’s been impossible tonight. Riding the panther around like the cat is his own personal pony. He’s wearing Pilot’s favorite ballcap, he snatched the cards right out of Darius’ hands. And if you don’t think there was hell to pay for that.”
Eli cocked his head in question. Darius did have a connection down there after all.
“Well, I don’t mean, literally.” Looking down at his boots, Turk sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked back up shaking his head. “And . . .” Turk stopped.