The Attic

by Rachel Xu

  He stopped talking and stared at the door.

  “What happened after that?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

  Ian went to the door and looked through the peephole, likely checking to be sure Varkis was still standing guard. He crossed his arms over his chest. “He took her away and killed her. I never saw her again.”

  Lily's hands went cold, a lump in her throat.

  “I unrolled the map she'd given me,” Ian went on in a toneless voice, sitting back down on the wingback. “It was directions to the portal. I made a run for it the next morning and father sent a hell hound after me. It chased me all the way there—and straight into Auguste's attic. Seconds later Auguste came bursting in with his gun and shot it dead.” A shrug. He didn't make eye contact. “And there you have it. You know the rest.”

  The cloaked man reached down into the drain he'd opened up next to the morgue table, and howled with glee. “There's a lever.”

  They had searched the vat room high and low for any sign of a hidden door or button; figuring the specialized vat was likely in the nearby vicinity—underground, that is—and possibly adjacent. They had nearly given up when the puppeteer suggested they check inside the drain hole. The cloaked man removed the grate and stuffed his hand down into the opening.

  “It's definitely a handle,” he said, glancing up at Mike. He gave it a hard yank and stood up to wait, looking about.

  A creak and a groan sounded.

  A square panel opened up in the center of the wall on the opposite end of the room from the ladder they'd entered with.

  “Push the button.”

  “What button, Master?”

  The cloaked man nudged his hooded head toward it, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword as though he thought he might need it. “The one above the panel. Push it.”

  Mike walked past the cloaked man and the morgue table, and stood in front of the panel, examining it carefully. Mounted above it was a round intercom-like device, with a red button and a speaker.

  The cloaked man moved further back. “Push it,” he said again.

  “What if it shoots me or something?”

  “You can leave the body and find a new one.”

  “I suppose,” the puppeteer said. “Though I kind of like this one. Here goes . . . ”

  Mike watched his hand reach out and was surprised to see it trembling. The puppeteer had never shown fear before. Or was it Mike's fear making its way through? He pressed the button and jerked back his hand.

  The panel opened up like a mini elevator and the smallish square space inside was illuminated with a neon green light—like a scanner.

  “Please place your hand in the box and identify yourself,” a female computer voice instructed.

  Chapter 22

  “What do I do?” Mike hissed, glancing over his shoulder at the cloaked man who was standing twenty feet back at the morgue table.

  “Exactly what it says.”

  “But it won't recognize my hand. This is the body of the handyman, remember? I've examined his brain and he's never seen this before.”

  “You're trying my patience, slave-ling, but you do have a point.” He opened a cabinet full of medical tools, and pulled out a pair of forceps. He tossed them to Mike and went back to the table to wait. “Stick those in the box and see what happens.”

  Mike put the forceps halfway into the opening. “This is Auguste Kline,” he heard himself say.

  The green light scanned up and down the forceps and the computer woman spoke again. “Voice . . . not recognized. Fingerprints . . . not recognized. Palm prints . . . not recognized. Pulse . . . not detected. Access denied.”

  Before Mike could withdraw the tool, a laser sliced the forceps in half. He jumped backward and dropped the detached handle.

  The cloaked man chuckled; a low, gritty rumble. “Guess the system was designed to keep out intruders,” he said. “I wonder if this was dear old Zever's idea.”

  Mike's face twisted in a scowl. He sensed the puppeteer was irritated or frazzled. “What do we do now?” it said.

  “We go get Zever. He's the only one left who knows anything about this.”

  “But what if you're wrong?”

  “Then Zever gets his hand cut off.”

  Mike wanted to shrink back farther into the recesses of his mind. “What makes you think he'll cooperate?”

  “Lily, of course.” The cloaked man went to the entry ladder and began to ascend.

  Mike jogged across the room to catch up. “The tree house is surrounded by gargoyles,” he protested.

  Gargoyles?

  The gargoyles lining the trail? What kind of a threat was that?

  “Do you ever stop whining?” The cloaked man stopped his ascent and glared down at Mike through the shadows of his hood. “Your head would be in that scanner right now if I still didn't need you.” He let out a ragged exhale. “Let me spell it out for you, since you're obviously too thick to grasp it. Lily probably trusts you—she thinks you're the handyman. As does Zever. Get it?”

  Mike was horrified. He wanted to cry out in protest but he was powerless to do anything but watch and listen. He cared for Lily and would never do anything to hurt her—or any woman, for that matter.

  “But she's just as dangerous to Zever as she is to us,” the puppeteer said. “He'd be insane to try and rescue her.”

  A cackle of delight. “Yes, but he's in love with her, you see. The fool has fallen in love with his Archenemy.” A snort. “I couldn't have planned it better myself.”

  In the early rays of dawn, Lily sat outside with her back against the carved tree, eating a peanut butter and jam sandwich. Varkis sat beside her and gnawed on a dead squirrel while eying her sidelong.

  “You don't look like you're enjoying that sandwich,” he said. “Would you like some meat?”

  He thrust the carcass toward her and she jerked away from it, swallowing down a rush of nausea. “Thank you, no.”

  She finished her sandwich and hugged her arms around her midsection, wishing she had a coat. The late October air was crisp and chilly, saturated with the tangy scent of fallen leaves.

  The door to the tree opened and Ian stepped out, shutting it behind him.

  Lily stood to her feet, brushing dirt off the seat of her pants.

  “We should expect him to make a move soon,” Ian said, looking off into the tree-shrouded distance. None of the gargoyles were in sight. They had not returned to marble in the morning.

  “If he was in the forest, we'd have found him by now,” Varkis said in a low voice.

  “And you're sure no one's missing?”

  “I did a head count about an hour ago.”

  Lily peered down the dirt trail ahead. It was murky with shadows, only a dusting of muted sunlight breaking through. Something dark lumbered up the path, its features indiscernible from this distance. Goosebumps rose on her flesh and her pulse quickened. “Who's that?” she whispered, pointing.

  “He's one of us,” Varkis said, showing no sign of concern.

  “How can you tell?”

  He flicked her a glance. “I can see who it is. My eyesight is superior to humans.”

  The dark figure drew closer, revealing two long tusks. It was the beast that had tried to attack her the night before.

  “Hello, Master,” the beast said as it entered the clearing. “I bring word from the mansion.” It sat back on its haunches like an obedient pet.

  “Has my staff moved out?” Ian asked, stepping away from Lily.

  “The quarters of the cook and gardener are empty of personal effects, their cars are gone, and there's been no sign of them all night.”

  “And Hannah?”

  “We couldn't find her anywhere, but her clothes and belongings are still in her room.”

  He frowned, paling slightly. “And Mike?”

  “Same deal—we searched everywhere and he was nowhere to be found.”

  Ian rubbed his jaw, dark eyes brooding. “Hannah wouldn't leave with
out her things,” he said. “Were their cars still there?”

  A nod.

  He straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. “She's still here.”

  “I'll go find her,” Varkis offered, heading for the path.

  “No, you stay with Lily.” Ian took off at a long-legged stroll. “Hannah will be terrified if she sees you.” He paused at the edge of the clearing and looked back at Lily. “Varkis will protect you. He's a very capable fighter, and the others are surrounding the forest. You're much safer here than out in the greensward. I'll be back as soon as I find Hannah.” He disappeared down the trail.

  Mike crossed the greensward and stopped at the edge of the forest where the trail to Ian's workshop began. The ebony gargoyle was missing: only an empty pedestal left in its place and the orb laying in the grass. Had someone taken the statue?

  The sun hadn't risen fully over the mansion yet and a mild fog lingered in the air. He'd seen no one since leaving the mansion through the back exit, but his pulse was pounding in his ears and the puppeteer kept looking over his shoulder. What was he looking for? He sensed the puppeteer was afraid. But afraid of what?

  Mike set off down the trail with slowish steps and tremulous hands; scanning the forest left and right with a darting gaze. Ian had warned him about man-eating wolves time and time again, but why would the puppeteer care about anything like that? The cloaked man seemed much more terrifying than a mere animal—

  His thoughts were cut short as something massive leaped out of the foliage ahead and came hurtling toward him like a rhinoceros.

  The puppeteer cried out in surprise. He veered off the path and into the forest, breaking through branches in a frantic attempt to get away. Spiky twigs and evergreen boughs whipped his face and body as he tore through the bramble, jumping over logs; snorting and thunderous footfalls pursuing him at a decreasing distance. Whatever was chasing him was far too big to be a wolf.

  He screamed as something grabbed from behind and sent him flailing to the ground—flat on his back.

  The puppeteer scrambled to get on his feet again but a disfigured shape loomed above him; its hazel eyes bright and regal. The creature had muscular shoulders and resembled a female lion—or a wolf genetically altered in some kind of Frankenstein lab. Had Ian actually been telling the truth about the wolves?

  The puppeteer continued to scream, shuffling Mike away on his elbows and heels. The beast swung a paw at him and grazed his chest with hooked talons, exposing his flesh through the torn fabric of his shirt. Blood seeped out, plastering his shirt to his skin.

  He felt nothing; only terror.

  “Don't kill me—” the puppeteer begged. “I'm Mike—one of Ian's staff!”

  The beast roared and raised his talons as if to deliver the death blow—but hesitated as Mike began to blubber.

  He was embarrassed in spite of himself. “Please—I'm Ian's friend.”

  A shout sounded close by and a similar beast with the horns of a ram broke through the clustered tree boughs.

  He surveyed Mike like a salmon on a plate.

  “I found him on the path,” the first beast said in a low growl.

  Mike was stunned. The animal could talk?

  “So kill it,” said the other in an equally unearthly voice.

  The lion-wolf licked its bloodied talons. “It claims to be Ian's friend . . . ”

  “A trick, probably.” The second beast slapped out a pinkish tongue and pulled back his whiskered lips, exposing sharp, blackened teeth. “I could use a snack.”

  “He is a human though. . . . so, I'm inclined to believe him.” The lion-wolf reached out and trailed a talon across Mike's jugular without breaking the skin. “Are you telling me the truth?” he growled, narrowing his gold-flecked eyes into slits.

  “I promise you—it's the truth.”

  “Take him to Varkis,” said the other, tossing back his horns and glowering down at Mike. “He'll know what to do.”

  Ian had been gone for thirty minutes. Lily and Varkis remained on lookout at the workshop.

  “How long do you think he'll be?” she asked Varkis.

  He didn't respond and she turned to face him. He was leaning forward, staring intently into the forest with tensed muscles and eyes narrowed. The fur on his back stood up on end.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “I heard someone wailing,” he said without glancing her way. “In the distance.”

  She hadn't heard anything. “Are you sure?”

  A nod. “It has stopped now.” He sniffed the air, one ear rigidly perked.

  “What do we do?”

  “We wait.” He flicked her a glance and brought a clawed finger to his canine lips. “We mustn't talk anymore.” A pointed look. “Just listen.”

  She pressed her back into the carvings of the tree and surveyed the forest. Nothing but shadows and a smattering of bronze and russet here and there where leaves had not yet fallen.

  Varkis moved closer to her side, whispering. “I hear voices again. They've captured someone. He's injured.”

  “Do you think they've caught the assassin?”

  He shook his head. “Not a chance.”

  She could hear something now. The crunch of footsteps breaking twigs and stepping on dead leaves.

  Two upright gargoyles appeared from the trees to their left, dragging Mike between them. His face was pallid and a scarlet stain spread across his chest in a trio of slashes. She gasped.

  “Mike—” She rushed forward. “Let go of him!”

  The two beasts gawked at her and then looked to Varkis for approval. He nodded. “Do as Lily tells you.”

  They let go simultaneously and he fell forward, landing on his chest with an umph. He scrambled to his feet, arms splayed and a wild look in his eyes.

  She reached out to touch his shoulder, heart hammering against her ribs. “It's okay, Mike, it's me—Lily.”

  “Get back.” He shoved her away.

  She spread her hands. “It's okay, Mike, you're safe now. They won't hurt you anymore—”

  He pointed at the beasts. “All of you stay back, or I'll . . . I'll . . . ”

  “You'll what?” Varkis asked, approaching, lips pulled back in a canine grin.

  Mike moved from foot to foot, unable to stand still, gaze darting back and forth in evident hysteria. “Where's Ian?” he demanded. “Did you kill him? Huh? Huh?”

  Lily clasped her hands together at her waist, unsure of how to soothe him. She needed him to calm down so that she could examine his wounds for severity. She took a step forward and he watched her with the wide eyes of a cornered animal. Dirt smudged his face, and his lip was cracked and bleeding.

  “Can you please leave?” she spoke to the two beasts.

  The gargoyles nodded and with a disapproving look toward Varkis, tromped off.

  She took another step toward Mike and reached out for him slowly, touching his hand.

  He seemed to relax a little and didn't pull away this time. “Here,” she said, taking his clammy hand into her own, “come inside and rest. I'll explain everything. This is all new to me as well.”

  Chapter 23

  Mike decided the puppeteer was a clever actor.

  After entering Ian's workshop, Lily had removed his shirt and washed his wounds with water from a bottle. She had then cut a sheet into strips and used them as a makeshift bandage tied around his chest. The dog-man stayed outside.

  While she worked, Lily explained everything that had happened to her from the time she'd left Auguste's study with Ian the evening before. Through everything, the puppeteer reacted with the appropriate level of shock and horror as though all of this were news to him, and Lily had shown no signs of suspicion—only sympathy and concern for his wellbeing.

  Mike was growing increasingly distressed and frustrated—on the verge of losing his mind from not being able to express himself. If only he could communicate with Lily somehow and warn her of the danger she was in. She was so close—so close
that he could kiss her lips—yet she may as well have been all the way across the ocean. And with the puppeteer being such a good actor, how was she ever to notice that something was amiss?

  The puppeteer would have no trouble baiting her.

  He could only hope that Ian would know something was wrong, and might even be able to save him.

  If only he were here now.

  “Did the others tell you about Ian's letter instructing them to pack up and leave?” Lily asked, moving away from him and sitting down on a stack of tomes.

  “His letter?”

  Mike was instantly hopeful. The puppeteer seemed confused. Maybe he would slip up after all.

  “Yes, he left them a letter saying to vacate the mansion immediately. That's why he went back to the mansion this morning—because he suspected Hannah hadn't left, and no one could find you either.”

  Mike was horrified. This would play perfectly into the cloaked man's plan.

  “Oh, the letter,” the puppeteer said, posturing as though his mind had simply gone blank in the excitement of the morning's events. “Of course they told me about it. And you can imagine how devastated Hannah was. I spent a considerable amount of time consoling her.” An appropriate pause for effect. “After she calmed down, I told her I'd help her pack,” he continued. “But when we reached the foot of the stairs leading to our rooms, we saw a hooded man dressed in ancient leather standing on the landing, looking down at us. He had a sword in his hand.”

  Lily's face visibly paled. “How did you get away?” she asked in a choked voice.

  “We ran like crazy to the back door and didn't look back, but Hannah fell on the greensward and hurt her ankle real bad.”

  “Is she . . . all right?” Lily's sea-green eyes were wide and limpid, full of fear.