The Felix Chronicles: Tides of Winter

by R. T. Lowe

  “She stabbed her!” Harper wailed. “In the back. Her hand, it… it wasn’t a hand. It was like a sword or something and she just stabbed her.”

  “Allie?” Felix said, disoriented, flailing in fear, his mind splintering, one part in denial, the other gripped in the dark and fathomless terror of the reality of what he was witnessing. “You’re okay, right?” Why was she crying? Why were her eyes so desperate? He brushed his hand across her cheek, wiping at the blood on her face, mixing it with her tears, smearing it around. If he could just clean it off, she’d be all right, he thought. She would just get up and then they could laugh about how she’d ruined his shirt. She kept ruining her clothes and they always thought that was so funny, and this would be funny too because now she was ruining his clothes. That was funny, right? Everything was going to be fine. If only the stain on Allison’s chest would stop spreading. If only she would stop bleeding. Why won’t it stop? Why won’t she talk?

  She curled her hand around his palm and squeezed, holding on. Her stunned eyes settled on his and the fear and confusion faltered, melting away, as if slipping toward an irresistible sleep. She made a sound deep in her chest, a terrible sound, and her fingers relaxed and peeled away from his hand. Her eyes dimmed and quieted and a single tear fell from her cheek, catching in the folds of a blade of grass.

  Felix cupped her face in his hands, watching her lids slowly settling over her eyes. She was just resting, he told himself. She was tired. That’s all. She’d wake up soon. He heard voices. Footsteps. There were others beside him now, crying and shouting Allison’s name. They didn’t seem real though. Nothing did.

  “Hey Allie, wake up,” Felix pleaded gently, not wanting to startle her. “C’mon, we’ve got… we’ve got so much, so much…” Tears spilled down his face. “C’mon, Allie! Get up. Please, get up!”

  Felix felt hands on his back and he shrugged them off, scooping up Allison in his arms. He stood, cradling her against him, vaguely aware that Caitlin and Lucas were there. Allison’s body was quiet. He looked down at her face. Her mouth was parted, her chest still.

  Caitlin sobbed, stroking Allison’s hair, brushing away the strands that clung to her face. “Don’t leave me,” she begged. “Please, don’t die… please.”

  Lucas stood at Felix’s side, looking around in shock, wiping the tears from his eyes. “How could this have happened? How? I don’t…”

  “She’s gone!” Harper wailed, pressing her face to Allison’s. “Oh my God! Please no! No! No! No!”

  “She’s not gone,” Felix heard himself say and Lofton’s voice echoed in his mind: ‘What is it you can’t live without? Is it an object? An activity? A person perhaps? If you were to lose this person, would you accept your fate or would you seek to redress it? If it’s the latter, where would you turn for help? Who could bring this person back? Whose name would you call upon?’

  Lofton can help. In the alley that night, he’d told me—he knew I’d need his help.

  ‘In your time of need, bring her to me.’ Agatha’s voice rang sweetly in his memory. ‘The choice is yours. The choice is yours…’

  Agatha? Is that why she’d appeared to him? Had she known?

  ‘Who will you turn to?’ Lofton’s voice again. ‘Who can bring her back?’

  Lofton can save her. He’s the Chosen One.

  “Red beret,” Felix rasped softly, almost to himself, turning to Harper. “You said she was wearing a red beret?”

  Harper nodded, her eyes drowning in sorrow. “And her arm was a sword.”

  The woman at the fountain with Lofton—Josephine! She’d worn a red beret that night and her arm had morphed into a spear. Lofton had sent her, Felix realized. Josephine had delivered a message from Lofton: Disobey me and there are consequences.

  Felix felt himself grow strangely calm. The time had come to make a choice. Make a choice. A choice…

  ‘The choice is yours,’ Agatha had told him when he’d lost himself in the tunnels beneath the chapel. ‘The choice is yours.’

  Of course.

  Felix pivoted and bolted from the clearing, flying through the darkening campus, the heart wrenching sounds of a depthless mourning diminishing with each stride.

  Chapter 37

  GIFTS FROM THE PAST

  Felix stared at the wall of coffins where PC’s founders lay forever entombed in the tunnels beneath St. Rose. He’d come here in a mental fog, barely recalling the dim labyrinthine corridors and dank smelling storage rooms. Gingerly, he placed Allison on the floor and waited.

  To his left, the memorial plaques extended beyond his line of sight, following the curving tunnel and disappearing from view. Behind him, an intersecting corridor formed a “T,” and if he took it, and if he didn’t go astray, he would find his way to a closet, room 444 in Astoria Hall. Felix began to pace nervously before the founders, averting his eyes from Allison’s face, refusing to acknowledge that she wasn’t breathing.

  She’s not dead! he told himself. She needs Agatha. Agatha can fix this. But where was she? He turned in a slow circle, searching the corridors, listening for something besides the low humming sound of the bulbs in their metal casings. He felt himself getting angry and tamped it down. Where is she?

  “Agatha?” he called out, her name echoing up and down the tunnels. “Agatha?” He turned to her casket, staring hard at the name inscribed on the plaque beside it, as if reading it could force her to appear. He waited. The echoes faded. Silence.

  Time passed.

  What was he expecting? Why did he think a ghost could save Allison? Why didn’t he bring her to Lofton? A feeling of anger and helplessness crawled up from his belly, burning his throat, stinging his eyes. His hands curled into fists, whitening his knuckles. “Agatha!” he bellowed furiously. “I need you! Goddammit, Agatha! Come out!”

  He twisted around, seeing nothing. Was this a mistake? Had he brought Allison here for nothing? “Agatha!” The corridor rocked, concrete dust spiraling down from the ceiling. “Come out!” he screamed, a terrible rage coming over him, a lust for destruction, the blood roaring in his ears. If the world was going to take Allison from him then he would bring the world to its knees. The world would pay. The floor began to tremor. “Come out! You hear me? Come out! Agatha where the fuck are you? Come out!”

  “Felix,” a voice said sweetly, and he felt a cold breath on his cheek. Snapping his head around, a flutter of blue silk swirled like mist in the ocean winds. He jumped back and a face appeared where none had been before, pale as moonlight with eyes that glittered like emeralds. “Felix,” she said again, kindly, moving to Allison’s side, her feet making no sound.

  “Agatha?” Felix struggled to find his voice, choking on his fury and misery. “I’m sorry. I… I thought you weren’t…”

  “There is no need to apologize dear boy. Never apologize for love.”

  “Is she,” Felix began, fighting the words, “is she… dead?”

  “Dead?” Agatha replied, repeating the word as though it was foreign to her. “Life and death are links in the same chain. They are not opposites, or a continuum. Death is not a step in life’s journey.”

  Felix didn’t understand. “Can you help her?” he cried desperately. “She has to live.”

  Agatha’s smoldering eyes seemed to see right through him, stripping him of his anger and fear, of every emotion but his desire to see Allison alive. She turned her back to him and gazed down on her. “You chose to bring her here, as I hoped you would. Your destiny is unclear to me, though mine was made known on the night the Protectors took my life.” She paused. “My life—but not my heart. The heart of a Pierre-Croix cannot be taken, but only given of one’s free will. My heart”—Agatha crossed her hands over her chest—“I have held in trust for this moment, and with my last spark, I shall give to Allison, to my own blood, the heart that has sustained me for so very long.”

  Agatha glided over the floor, her back to Allison, her eyes on Felix. “Once my destiny is fulfilled, this world will have
no sway over me. This will be the last time we meet, Felix. You made a choice, a wise choice, and though I cannot see beyond my own destiny, your courage and love will serve you well.”

  She fell backward, stiffly, her hands still crossed over her shoulders, descending slowly, and as her body brushed over Allison’s, they merged, her blue dress fading away. Agatha’s face settled over Allison’s as if it were a mask, her lips burning like fire, eyes blazing, and then, gradually, the vibrancy dimmed like spent embers and only Allison’s features remained, washed out and pale in death. Agatha was gone.

  “Allison!” Felix shouted, dropping to her side, hoping for a miracle. “Allie! Wake up! Allie!”

  Allison didn’t stir.

  Felix shouted her name over and over, each time more desperate than the last, caressing her face, begging her to wake up, to come back to life, to come back to him. Finally, his voice weakened, his hope died in his chest, and he crumpled to the floor in black despair, his back to the wall, resting Allison’s head in his lap. He sat like that for a long while, talking to her, telling her things he thought she already knew, things that had been left unsaid because it was awkward. There was always time for that later, right? And she knew how he felt, didn’t she? That she was his best friend? The person he trusted more than anyone? The one he couldn’t live without? She knew all that. So why hadn’t he told her? He held her in his arms and cried, rocking her back and forth, telling her things that came to his lips without fear or filters. Time meant nothing, and perhaps never would again, and eventually he began to nod off, dreaming of a day on the beach he’d spent with Allison, of throwing sticks of driftwood into the tide, watching them rise and fall in the gentle swells, beholden to forces they could never comprehend.

  ***

  In Felix’s dream, Allison was talking to him. “What happened?” she asked.

  To what? he wondered. To the driftwood? No. Not the driftwood—to her. What happened to Allison?

  “Felix?” Allison’s voice again, clearer now. “Where are we? Hey—where are we?”

  Felix’s eyes popped open.

  Green eyes stared back at him. Familiar green eyes. Allison’s green eyes. Was he still dreaming? Was Allison really—?

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Allison sat up sharply. She glanced around anxiously and her gaze fell on the wall. “Constance, Lucinda, Agatha. Agatha? Shit! This is where they’re buried.”

  An avalanche of emotions rushed over Felix, joy, wonder, love, gratitude. He took Allison in his arms and pulled her to him, savoring her warmth, her scent, the feel of her body in his arms. “You’re alive!” he shouted, squeezing her, feeling her against him, holding her until he was convinced she was really there—and really alive. “You’re alive! You’re alive!”

  “Why wouldn’t I—?” Allison started then caught herself abruptly. “Grayson and Jimmy. I was chasing them. I saw them. Then I… something happened to me, didn’t it? I…” She put a hand to her chest and gasped. Her eyes narrowed on Felix. “You said ‘you’re alive’. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Felix started to answer and Allison stripped out of his sweatshirt as if the fabric was burning her skin. “Oh my God!” she exhaled softly, brushing her fingers over the blood that had crusted over and peeled like paint in the summer sun.

  “It was Josephine,” Felix told her, smiling so broadly it hurt his face. “The girl with Lofton. She”—he held up his arm—“stabbed you with that hand-sword thing she does. When I found you, you were… you weren’t doing very good.”

  Allison lowered her eyes to the floor. “I… I remember you. I was on the ground and you were looking at me. But, but that’s it. What happened after?”

  “I think you might’ve died,” Felix said simply.

  “Died?” Her mouth dropped and she gaped at him, eyes bulging with shock. “I died?”

  “Uh-huh. So I brought you here—to Agatha.”

  “The… the ghost?”

  “Yeah. She saved you. I don’t know how. She said she’d give you her heart, and then, well, I guess she did.” He shrugged at her as if to say you’re alive and breathing so what more proof do you need?

  Allison rubbed her chest. “She gave me her heart? A… a ghost gave me her heart?”

  Felix grinned and touched her cheek. It was warm, coursing with life. His smile grew and when he spoke he sounded giddy, nearly hysterical with happiness. “I never understood why I kept seeing her. It just seemed so random, so weird. I never thought there could be a reason, but I… I guess I made a leap of faith, and well… you’re alive, so maybe it was just, just meant to be.”

  Allison stood and backed away from the wall. “So I died? Josephine, a Drestianite, killed me? And the ghost of Agatha gave me her heart and brought me back to life?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Allison nodded thoughtfully, her eyes on the wall of caskets. “Thank you Agatha,” she said softly. “Thank you for saving me.”

  The bulbs flickered and went out. Lost in absolute darkness, Felix started for Allison then stopped in place, Agatha’s iridescent eyes hovering in the blackness. The lights pulsed and came back to life, illuminating Allison standing in the same spot where she had been before the power had cut out.

  “What?” she said, and from her expression, Felix must have had a strange look on his face. “What is it?” she demanded, putting a hand near her chin. “Do I have something on my face?”

  “Your eyes just looked a little funny there for a second.” He studied her, thinking they’d returned to normal.

  “Funny?”

  “I could see them in the dark, like they were, um, sort of glowing.”

  “Glowing?”

  “Do you, you know, feel different or anything?”

  Allison’s eyes clouded over as if she was searching inside herself, then they regained their usual burning intensity. “Fucking Lofton,” she muttered angrily. “You didn’t kill Hamlen so he had me killed. You failed his test so he punished you. That’s what happened, right? He sent that bitch to do his dirty work.” She smiled, though there was no humor in her eyes. “Think maybe it’s time to make a choice?”

  “I already did when I brought you here.” He fell quiet, clenching his jaw. “I’m ready to do this. You with me?”

  “Are you being serious? Of course I’m with you.” Her eyes widened as if she’d just recalled something important. She took Felix’s hand and turned it over, checking his watch. “What day is it? How long was I… dead?”

  “Same day,” Felix told her. “It’s a quarter after eleven. And yes—we still have time to meet Malone.”

  “Midnight at the stadium, right?”

  “Midnight at the stadium.” Felix grinned and gave Allison his sweatshirt, leaving his T-shirt on.

  “Thanks.” She pulled it over her head. “I’ll try not to ruin this one.” She smiled cautiously. “Feel like taking a ride?”

  “I’ve got nothing better to do. You?”

  Allison shrugged. “Can’t think of anything off the top of my head.”

  Felix started down the corridor with Allison at his side. Their footsteps echoed as they neared the metal door, but Felix was walking on air. Allison was alive and they had made their decision. Lofton was going to pay for what he had done, and heaven help anyone—or anything—that got in their way.

  Chapter 38

  THE SUBSTATION

  “It’s gonna get bumpy!” Zara shouted from the driver’s seat with a quick glance over her shoulder.

  “We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Malone added, snapping the glove box shut.

  In the back of the commercial van there were no windows—or seats. Felix sat on the floor beside Allison and across from Britt who was bouncing uncomfortably as the van rumbled along the twisting dirt road. Felix got on his knees to look out the windshield, the headlights illuminating the trees looming along the edges, encroaching in places, narrowing their path. The federal government may have owned the substation and the land it was o
n, but the name on the title was merely a technicality. They all knew they were trespassing in Lofton’s forest.

  “Why are you looking at me?” Allison asked Britt as Felix returned to his seat.

  Britt blinked in surprise. She smoothed her cargo pants and uncrossed her feet. Her pants and her hiking boots both looked new, and Felix thought she wore them stiffly.

  “Sorry.” Britt shook her head as if she didn’t realize she’d been staring. “Do you know what I do?”

  “No,” Allison replied.

  “I sense heat signatures—thermal images. Once we get out of this tin can, I’ll be able to tell you if we’re alone or not.” She pointed a finger at Felix. “You run a little hot, don’t you? I noticed that the first time we met at that chapel at your school.” Deep lines creased her wide brow. “Lofton’s the same way. I saw him once downtown and I followed him. He got himself an ice cream and fed the pigeons in Pioneer Square. A few years after that, he sat at the next table over at a restaurant in Seattle. Both times, it was the same. He’s hot, like he’s running a fever that would put the rest of us in our graves. He’s like you—or you’re like him.” She gave him a quizzical smile and shifted her gaze to Allison. “But this is something I’ve never seen before. Do you mind?” Britt scooted and crawled closer to Allison, gesturing for her to uncross her arms.

  She stared at Allison’s chest for a long while, making small clucking noises that Felix could see was putting Allison on edge.

  “What?” Allison said impatiently. “What are you looking at?”

  “That’s a good question,” Britt remarked, nearly falling over as the van swerved around a tight bend in the road.

  “Almost there!” Malone called back from the passenger seat.

  “It appears,” Britt continued, “you have two hearts. One inside the other. The one on the outside is very unusual, it’s bigger than normal, and it’s… different. When it beats, the one inside it contracts like an echo. Like”—she frowned in thought—“like the big one is charging the little one. You know what I’m saying? Like a pacemaker?”