She sighed and rubbed her wrist, thinking of Imogen. "Because that was the other choice, wasn’t it?"
A seagull’s staccato call was the only response she was granted.
Portia picked her way around the cliff’s edge, wading around the leeward peak and coming onto a broader beach of finer sand. Not so far from the shoreline, a blasted rock poked a few yards up from the pounding surf. It looked to have been struck by lightning, so violently was it split apart, with a strange, glass-like formation fused to its jagged peak.
Higher on the beach, where the dunes leveled out into a grassy plateau, a team of workman hauled broken lumber and discarded materials onto a waiting flatbed trailer hitched to a nervous-looking mule.
Portia smoothed what remained of her frayed tunic over her wings as she tucked them as close to her back as possible.
Grunting, the workers heaved a metal arch out of the debris pile. Although the lettering had been badly scorched, Portia could still read the words: Circus Avernus. The gateway to hell.
And well it had been.
A few children played with a large dog in the surf’s edge, ignoring the shouts of their mothers who carried hampers of provisions to the menfolk clearing the grounds. The tide pushed up higher and higher, and the boisterous youngsters were finally successfully herded back toward town, the canine right on their heels, hopping up to sniff at a basket for a handout. One of the women tossed it a tidbit and called out a name. The dog went to her side, obediently following her home.
The men moved off to the remains of Portia’s old pavilion and their conversations dwindled to chewing and murmurs. She continued along the beach, vaguely following the route of the wives toward Capitola-by-the-Sea. From there, she figured, she could make her way up the winding road to Soquel Village and Alaric’s house. Depending on what she found, she would decide her next move. Possibly back to Penemue, or wherever Captain Cadmus was stationed. He would need her, and she did not plan to disappoint him.
But for the moment, she strolled alone with her thoughts and the sea. Somewhere, these very waters mingled with those of the other world, the realm of the dead. Portia crouched down into the waves and ran her fingers through the foam.
"For you who did not need to die for our sins, I can only hope that death is kind. I can offer nothing to you but justice and vengeance." She sighed, thinking of Imogen somewhere beyond the water’s edge on the other side of life. "And hope."
Portia swirled her hands through the water. "May Saint Jude, the patron saint of lost causes, look down on us all with mercy and love. Especially me."
She stood and wrung out what was left of the hem of her wide-legged trousers as sunset gilded the beach. She turned to face the town; already the streetlights were lit, showing her the way back.
Down the strand, the last beachcomber of the day rose from the pampas grass and came toward the same path. Portia hurried on ahead, not wanting to draw attention to herself. She suspected that she still looked as strange as ever with the added disfigurement of a very disturbing, very visible scar just below her left collarbone. Not to mention she carried an enormous golden battleaxe.
It was not a long walk back to town, but long enough to not want to share it with a stranger who might ask too many questions. She wondered if she ought not try to hide out in the dunes or back by the cliff until night fell and she could sneak more easily out to Soquel. So she turned back, hiking up her tunic until she could cover her once-wounded shoulder completely and trusting the bright, slanting rays of the setting sun to disguise her hair and her eyes, for everything looked silver and gold in its light just then. Even the beachcomber looked to have a great halo of brilliant red hair.
I never even got to say goodbye to her, Portia realized, struggling to remember what her last words to Imogen had been. She hoped she had told her that she loved her.
Lost in her thoughts, she nearly forgot about trying to keep a low profile as the stranger approached. She turned away suddenly, looking out over the desolate circus yard where the workmen played a last round of cards before starting their night shift.
Portia.
It stung to remember her voice. At least before there had been something of her remaining, something to share, even if it was only ghostly kisses and the perfume of lilies. This would be a long road alone.
"Portia?"
She skipped a step and stole a glance toward the path.
The beachcomber had stopped, blocking the way back down to the water. The light was too bright for Portia to see a way around, so she waited for the sun to finally sink into the horizon. Already, it had deepened to an egg yolk orange and was well on its way to red.
"Portia?"
Squinting, she could see that the woman had moved closer, to within arms’ reach.
"Speak to me, Portia. This has to be real. Please, say something."
"Imogen?" The eye-watering glare subsided, finally, settling into a reddish glow that shimmered in the sea mist around them. Portia shook her head, but the woman remained on the path. "It can’t possibly be you."
"Can’t possibly be me? I’m not the one who was last seen dashing off into a rift engine in the underworld, never to be heard from again!"
"But you were all covered in glyphs and facing down Adramelech and Nicor…"
Imogen looked away, suddenly shy. "About that…well, I have a terrific new perspective on your life."
"I don’t understand."
"Fereshte, I’d like to introduce you to Iaoth." And the wings she spread gleamed like the dawn.
"Oh, Imogen!"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time. And I would never have been able to convince Adramelech to go on his merry way otherwise. And Nicor left Radinka of his own volition. Or did you help with that?"
"I severed their bindings. All four of them."
"So we were a team, after all!" Imogen threw her arms around Portia and they were as heavy and solid as any living thing’s.
"So, you’re alive? You made it out of the tower?"
"I’m as alive as you are."
"Oh. I see."
"It isn’t so bad. We’re even now, you and me."
"We cannot age gracefully together?"
"Exactly." Imogen grinned. "I had quite gotten used to being dead anyhow, and this is a marked improvement."
"Things will be so different now."
"They already are. Portia, the Grigori as we knew them are gone. The houses are at one another’s throats. Some wish to see the rift closed and others wish to use it."
"And Gyony falls where?"
"On the side of humanity, of course. What else are we to do? The Captain has marshaled the House at Alaric’s estate and is searching for the way to close the tear."
Portia nodded. "The four demons. They helped to summon the power; we need them to put it back to rights." She thought of the sacrifice of souls. "Or we just need to resign ourselves to an eternity of guarding that damned whirlpool if it can’t be closed again."
"That’s exactly what the Captain said. He will be so very glad to see you. Everyone thought you were lost."
"For a while there, I thought so, too." Portia touched Imogen’s cheek, still marveling at the feel of her soft skin. "What are you doing down here, anyway?"
"What am I doing here?" Imogen laughed and hugged her again. "This." She held out her arm, where Portia’s key charm on its silk ribbon hung on her wrist. "I came down a few days afterward, just to get some air and get away and think of you. It washed up on the beach, right at my feet. And I thought… I thought, maybe…" Emotion swallowed her words, and she wiped at the tears on her cheeks. "So I came back," she whispered. "Every day. And I waited. Because you said…you said you’d come back. You promised me we’d find a way to be together, always, no matter what." She broke down, her voice shuddering into sobs, and Portia put her arms around her.
Portia held her tight. "Yeah, I guess I did."
"How did you get here?"
"The same way the key did,
by way of the sea."
"I tried to get to you. I heard you call my name, but then everything went black. I could hardly see out of my own eyes, and I knew yours were lost to me. Kitty came racing back to us with the world afire behind her. She got us home safely. Well, most of us."
"What do you mean?"
"Radinka. She didn’t want to leave you behind. She said she was responsible. She went back for you. Kendrick’s been inconsolable."
"Oh! No!"
Portia wanted to dash back out into the waves, to swim back to that chamber and force her way to that world. But as if reading her thoughts, Imogen squeezed her hand.
"Kitty already took him back there, to whatever’s left there, to find her. He figured if you could do it, he could."
"How long has he been gone?"
"Only a day and a half. I’m not worried yet. He has a courageous heart and he lives only for her."
"I know what that’s like."
"I expect he’ll be successful for that very same reason. I just hope he hurries. The Captain is ready to move and we’ll need all the help we can get."
Purple-blue gloaming fell across the beach, and the workmen lit their lanterns and went back to their business.
"They’re a busy lot, aren’t they?"
"They’ve been here every day save Sundays, rain or shine, since I’ve been back. Someone’s bought this property."
"Do you know who?"
Imogen shook her head. "No. A foreigner, I’m told. Wants to put a hotel here."
"No suspicious layout or extravagant use of copper wiring?"
"None yet."
"Something else to be on the watch for, I suppose."
Imogen touched the starburst scar on Portia’s chest. Her fingertips felt warm. "What happened to you in there?"
"I died," Portia answered, simply. "Two or three times, I think."
Imogen did not press her for more. In time, they would speak of it, she knew. There were no secrets between them, and now, not even the secret of the grave.
"That makes us even, then. We’ve now both died and made our way back to one another."
"Hey, I had to go and get you."
"That’s hardly fair—I was being kept prisoner! And I was blind," Imogen said with mock annoyance.
And they laughed and the fear evaporated.
Holding each other close, they kissed beneath the first star of the evening.
"You didn’t know that I waited for you?" Imogen asked.
"Not here, no. I thought you had died. I thought I would have to wait a little while longer for this. But I was determined to go and find you, no matter what. I have lost a lot of things in my time, but the important ones always end up coming back to me."
Smiling, Imogen tied the key charm back onto Portia’s wrist. "They say if you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it’s yours forever."
"And we do have forever, now, don’t we?"
"All of eternity, my love, until the end of the world and every moment after."
Arm in arm, they walked back down the beach. High on the cliff, Portia knew there was a ledge where they could be alone, where no one could see them. Imogen drew her cloak around them both, covering their wings and warming their chilled flesh.
"So," she said, "you chose to return to the world without knowing I was here?"
Portia nodded. "I did. I think they wanted me to. I think they wanted me to think I was making a sacrifice, putting off my own happiness."
"We’re at war, my love. Little will be happy about it."
"I know. But what little will be, will be happy indeed." Portia wrapped her arms around Imogen’s body. "There are precious few things in which I have absolute faith. I want you to know that you are one of them."
"And here we are." Imogen laid her head against Portia’s shoulder. "You are my light, Portia, now and forever. You are what I live for, what I died for, and thankfully, why I live again."
Portia smiled and kissed her. "And here we are."
The very last of the sunset caressed the opalescent rock formation in the midst of the surging water far below, bringing it momentarily to life. Portia whispered a prayer for Celestine and her forsaken maidens, for Radinka and Kendrick seeking one another in the underworld, for Nigel’s lost and broken soul, for Lady Hester and for Kitty kept from their own peaceful rest for too long, and finally, for Imogen and herself. When she crossed herself, she left a sparkling trail in the wake of her hands.
"By all the saints and angels, blessed be the souls of those who have passed through the gates of death."
"And blessed be those who have come through the other side," Imogen added.
One by one, the stars came to life, gleaming crisply in the black sky and casting shimmering reflections on the crests of the waves, illuminating the silvery sea foam below them.
Acknowledgments
Here we are at the end of the series begun three years ago, I never thought I’d really ever be here. And I wouldn’t be were it not for the great folks at Apex: Jason Sizemore, the bossman; Deb Taber, editrix extraordinaire; Melissa Gay, the brilliant artist; Rhonda and Monica, the marketing ladies; and all the Apex Minions.’d also like to thank Elizabeth Donald and the Literary Underworld for keeping my book in front of the noses—and pocketbooks—of convention goers across the country.
My thanks to my devoted beta readers—The Ferrett, Mary Spila, Kat Brown, Angelia Sparrow, Ailsa Barrett, Julia Rios, and Elizalis Simon. Y’all have helped shape this story and this world…and kept me from many embarrassing typos.
Jacqueline Carey and Cherie Priest, thank you both for your continued support and enthusiasm for this trilogy.
A big shout-out to my best friend Gretchen Dempewolf—my personal archivist and biggest cheerleader, thank you for being there for me even when you are thousands of miles away in another country!
And of course, thank you to my beloved husband, best friend, and true partner, Matt Schwartz. Last, but by no means least, thank you to my baby daughter, Beatrice, for teaching me the true meanings of both patience and priorities.
Bios
SARA M. HARVEY lives and writes in Nashville, TN with her husband and fellow author, Matt, their three dogs—Guinevere, Eowyn, and Javert, and the newest addition to the household, beautiful baby Beatrice.
She also works as a costume designer, an instructor of costume history and fashion, and a freelance fashionista. She Twitters and blogs at LiveJournal under the username of saraphina_marie, keeps a Facebook page, and her own website: www.saramharvey.com.
And now that this series is done, she’s a little unsure of what she’ll do next…
* * * *
As a longtime avid fan of the speculative fiction genre, MELISSA GAY is at her most relentlessly perky when illustrating science fiction, fantasy, horror, or role-playing games. Her work has been featured on numerous covers and in the interiors of works in these and other genres, including scientific botanical illustration. Her passion is creating poetry in sweeping lines, bold shadows, and intriguing details. She looks to the works of illustrators, painters, and comic book artists such as Arthur Rackham, Alphonse Mucha, Don Maitz, Bernie Wrightson, and Bryan Hitch for inspiration and education. She will noodle with a finished painting until someone forcibly takes it away from her. ("I’ve just got to move this one line over five microns, then I’ll put the brush down, really! Hey, gimme that back!") She received a B.A. in painting from the University of the South at Sewanee, Tennessee, and currently lives in Nashville with her husband and son.
Visit Melissa at her website: www.melissagay.com.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter
Twelve
Acknowledgments
Biographies
The Tower of the Forgotten Page 12