Marking Time (The Immortal Descendants)

by April White

  I didn’t want to consider the implications of any of it, so instead I focused on the date on top of the page. “The ninth of November, 1888. That date sounds familiar somehow.”

  Bishop Cleary spun around in his chair and booted up his computer. “I can Google it and see what comes up.” I flipped backwards through the log book, absently scanning pages for other mentions of the bishop’s name. I inhaled sharply.

  “What is it?” I had Bishop Cleary’s full attention.

  I turned the book around to face him and pointed to a name halfway down the page. He read the name. “C. Elian. A lot of Elians seemed to hang out at Bedlam then, huh? A relation?”

  “My mom.”

  His eyes widened. “Oh.” He found the date. “September 29th?”

  I suddenly felt sick. “The day before I went back the first time.” I rubbed my exhausted eyes in a pointless attempt to see things clearly. But I needed Seer vision into the past to understand what it all meant.

  The sun was going down and Archer would be rising soon. I felt like I hadn’t eaten or slept properly in days. I sat back and closed my eyes for just a moment. If only I could clear my head I would be able to make sense of all the puzzle pieces.

  I had been on a plane to England the day my mom went to Bedlam. I had a sudden thought and sat up, startled.

  “Did we get any logs from earlier than 1888?”

  Bishop Cleary looked up from his computer and shook his head. “Nothing further back than September of that year. Why?”

  “I need to check something from the last time my mom disappeared. Two years ago.”

  “So, you mean 1886?”

  I nodded and got up. “Think I could go back through the tunnel and poke around a little?”

  The bishop stood and leaned over his desk to log off. “By the way, the first five Google hits for November 9, 1888 are all about Jack the Ripper.”

  I gasped. “Of course! It’s the day Mary Kelly died.”

  “Think it’s related?”

  “At this point, I just figure everything’s related and I’ll sort it all out later.” We walked through the sanctuary toward the cupboard under the stairs. Late afternoon sunlight was still shining through the stained glass windows. Shadows crossed the window.

  My guts suddenly clenched in fear. “Mongers,” I whispered.

  Bishop Cleary spun to glance at me. “Saira, what’s wrong?”

  My gut was telling me there was a whole lot of wrong outside the chapel. “We’re surrounded by Mongers. How did they…?” I finally put it together, the thing that had been staring me in the face. “They have a Seer. Tom is still with them, and they made him find me. It’s how he’s always done it. It’s how Slick found me all those times.”

  “Then I can’t hide you here.”

  “Give me the Bedlam logs. I’ll take them back through the tunnel so Slick doesn’t get anything else with Bishop Wilder’s name on it.”

  He nodded and was gone and back in a flash, wearing his black bishop’s robe and carrying a bag full of notebooks. “They’re heavy.” I slung the bag over my shoulder. The bishop opened the secret staircase door in the cupboard and stepped back. “I’ll keep them occupied here for as long as I can. The War Museum should be closed by now, so maybe it’ll work as a hiding place if nothing else.”

  “I’ll find a way out if I have to.” Impulsively I leaned forward and kissed Bishop Cleary on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  I could just see two guys coming up the stairs to join one knocking at the door. The Hunters.

  My voice dropped back to a whisper. “There are two Weres outside; they’re the skinhead-looking guys. Archer needs to know about them.”

  Bishop Cleary looked stunned, and for the first time I noticed a hint of nervousness. “Weres?” I nodded and pulled a pen off the offering stand. I took Bishop Cleary’s hand and drew my spiral question mark on his forearm under his robe. “Show Archer this and tell him where I am. He’ll help you.”

  “He won’t eat me?”

  I rolled my eyes. “He actually studied theology and ethics when he was here. I don’t think killing a bishop fits his moral code.”

  “Well that’s good to know.” I stepped down out of sight just as the knocking on the door turned into a pounding. “Be safe, Saira.”

  “You too, Bishop Cleary.” I turned and slipped out of sight.

  On the Run

  The door closed behind me and the tunnel went pitch black again. I didn’t really have a great plan, but I felt like I had a new ally in Bishop Cleary.

  I stumbled and my head swam a little. I was going to pass out from weakness one of these days because I kept forgetting to eat. Not good in someone who needed to stay strong to stay free. That sounded like an ad campaign, but it felt very real. Maybe I had a future in advertising someday. At this point I’d just settle for having a future.

  I jogged through the tunnel to put that War Room basement door between myself and the Mongers as soon as possible. Then a smashing sound, deep in the tunnel behind me, turned the jog to a sprint. The clenching in my gut said Mongers.

  I made it to the Bedlam door before I passed out, and I was only hyperventilating a little bit as I grabbed the key and shoved it in the lock.

  And when the door opened, the key went back in my pocket. Lock myself in the basement, or leave the key for Mongers to find? It was no contest.

  I headed straight for the small storage room where we’d found the file folders, and wrinkled my nose. There was a dank, musty smell in the basement that I put down to wet paper somewhere.

  I dumped the files and made my way back to the main chamber of the cellar to find the stairs. They were old stone, with grooves worn into them from all the feet that passed here for hundreds of years. There was a gate at the top with a door beyond it. The gate was chained shut.

  “Crap.” I headed back down the stairs, thinking furiously. I’d just have to wait it out until the Mongers were gone and then go back through the tunnel to the chapel. Except then I heard a slam into the heavy wooden tunnel door. I froze in horror. The Mongers were coming to get me and I was trapped like a rat. I swung my little Maglite around wildly, hoping a way out would suddenly jump up and bite me.

  And then one did.

  I was looking down the passage where the cave-in had happened and I gasped when I saw what my Maglite illuminated. Part of a time spiral was etched into the wall. I ran to it and pulled at the crumbling wall covering the rest of the design.

  The pounding on the cellar door intensified. It took several minutes of heaving and throwing before I had finally cleared enough debris away to see five spirals, perfectly visible, etched into the plaster that still covered the wall. The fifth spiral had been damaged by the plaster wall and parts were scraped bare.

  I picked up a sharp rock and started filling in the design.

  The pounding outside the wooden door had paused while I’d been clearing rock, but then resumed. It seemed like the Mongers were trying to pick the lock.

  I closed the last spiral with my rock and I felt a jolt of electricity in my fingers, then I started tracing. I could hear voices outside the door, yelling, hammering, and the chink of something sharp biting into the metal lock.

  I knew it had to be full dark now and Archer would have risen. I hoped he had trusted Bishop Cleary, but I was scared for him. He would come after me and run into an ambush of who knew how many Mongers, plus two very nasty Weres.

  The spiral glowed under my fingers and I could feel the pulling and stretching start in my guts. The yelling got louder but the humming in my body was drowning it out as I traced.

  The door splintered. Shouts of triumph.

  Falling. Tumbling.

  Retching.

  I was on my hands and knees, and would have been puking if there was anything in my stomach to throw up.

  Always a pleasure.

  When my stomach was back under control I stood up and took stock. I was alone, as far as I could tell. There wasn
’t a sound to be heard once I’d stopped retching.

  And the smell was the same – the dank odor of something molding in the walls, which meant I must still be in the same cellar. Question was, was it Bethlem Hospital or the Imperial War Museum?

  It seemed like I might be in the same passageway, except it wasn’t full of rubble from a cave-in. Which meant the men’s wing must still be above me.

  “Fabulous. I’m officially in the nuthouse.”

  “Join the club.”

  I practically left my skin in a puddle on the floor. Seriously?! A man’s voice echoed in the cavern and I had no idea where he was. I fought the urge to run screaming around the cellar like a beheaded chicken with vocal cords, then took a deep breath and winced.

  “Hello?” My voice broke and I’m sure whoever was there could tell I was scared out of my wits.

  “Hello.” The man’s tone was actually kind of pleasant in a low, growly kind of way. At least it sounded entirely reasonable.

  Right. Now what.

  “Um. Where are you?” At least I wasn’t squeaking in fear anymore. I scanned the cellar but just saw stacks of boxes and discarded broken furniture.

  “If you’re in the cellar, I’m above you.”

  “You are?”

  I looked up. Nothing but stone and bricks.

  “There’s a vent in my cell that has wonderful acoustics to the passages below, as I discovered when they used a storeroom to hold a particularly violent inmate.”

  I must have gasped, because the man above me chuckled softly.

  “I don’t believe there’s anyone else but you there now. You did arrive rather suddenly though. Which means you either came through the tunnel from King’s College, or by another means entirely.”

  Ho boy. Time to change the subject. “Can you see me too, or just hear me?” Too creepy to think I was being spied on.

  “Oh no, it’s only sound that travels up through the vents. It’s become somewhat of a game though, guessing what the noises are in the cellars. One does what one can to pass the time in Bedlam.”

  “So you’re a… patient?”

  “I prefer inmate. ‘Patient’ implies that my health is being cared for.” He chuckled again. I sort of enjoyed the repartee with the Bedlam nutjob. He had a nice voice.

  “Let me guess, shock therapy and prayer groups aren’t your idea of healthcare?”

  He laughed again, properly. “Indeed, Miss, they are not.”

  I got my bearing in the cellar and was very happy to find my mini Maglite still in my pocket. I clicked it on to look around me.

  “What was that sound?”

  This place had seriously good acoustics. I could lie about the flashlight to protect the guy upstairs from knowing things that couldn’t be explained. But frankly, I was sick of all the lies. Everyone around me had either lied by omission, or lied right to my face. And I was done lying.

  “I just turned on a flashlight.”

  There was silence, then, “An electric torch, do you mean?”

  “I guess you’d call it that.”

  “You’re not English.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “No. American.”

  Another silence. “What is your name?”

  What was he going to do, tell on me? And who would believe a nutjob locked up in Bedlam?

  “Saira.”

  His intake of breath was sharp enough I could hear it.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Saira. I’m Will.”

  My turn to gasp. “Will Shaw?”

  His voice was very quiet suddenly. “Yes.”

  Wow. The sound of clanging metal came through the grate.

  “You have to leave now, Saira. It’s not safe for you down there.”

  “Will? What’s happening?”

  His voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t say another word. They’ve come for me.” The clanging sound grew louder and I could hear a deep voice talking to someone else as they approached Will’s room.

  “It was very nice to talk to you, Saira.” His voice was barely audible and I made mine as quiet as I could.

  “You too, Will.”

  The voices grew louder and suddenly they were in Will’s room.

  “It’s a little late for you, isn’t it Bishop?”

  “I could say the same thing to you, Mr. Shaw.”

  There was that voice again, and I recognized it. “Bishop Wilder, you want I should cuff him, sir?” That must have been a guard talking.

  “Yes, I believe Mr. Shaw is looking a little fierce tonight. Restraints are definitely in order.” I could hear sounds of a small scuffle, and then the thud of something hard hitting something not so hard – like flesh. Then a moan. Not good.

  “Take him downstairs to the cellar. I’ll deal with him there.”

  Oh crap. My flashlight shone directly on my spiral portal, but this one hadn’t been carved that long ago and was complete. I had no idea what was going on in the War Museum basement with the Mongers, but I didn’t think there was any chance they were already gone, especially not if Archer followed us through the tunnels. I quickly shone my Maglite around. This version of the Bedlam cellars looked like it was in full use, so I was taking my chances to hide anywhere. But maybe I’d be able to see what Will Shaw looked like and find out what the hell Bishop Wilder was up to.

  I was caught in a childhood nightmare – find the right hiding spot so the bad guy didn’t see me. Being trapped in the basement of an insane asylum could be potentially very bad for my long term prospects. I finally settled on the bottom shelf of an empty cabinet, and felt like I should have a ‘do not fold, spindle or mutilate’ sticker stamped to my forehead as I origamied myself inside.

  Despite the cool damp of the cellar, it was stuffy inside the cabinet and very hard to breathe. I took a risk and cracked the door just enough to get some air. It gave me the sliver of a view into a dark room across the way.

  Grunts and shuffled footsteps. Someone was dragging something heavy down the stairs. Then an oil lamp came into view, painting a circle of yellow light around the man who led the way. Bishop Wilder. My fight or flight instinct kicked in so hard I almost bolted right in front of him, and gripped knees were the only thing that kept me hidden in the stifling cabinet.

  Right behind the bishop was a big, goonish guy, dressed in a uniform. Goon was walking backwards down the corridor, dragging an even bigger man.

  Bishop Wilder was going to pass my cabinet, and I instinctively pulled all the heat from the tiny space into myself and wrapped my body in a warding cocoon. It was such an automatic response to the bishop that I suddenly realized he had to be a Monger. He passed by me without seeming aware of my presence at all. And when I let out a breath, I released the ward in the same moment.

  “Strange temperatures down ‘ere, ain’t they?” Goon was hauling the big man past my cabinet. The man was wearing something vaguely like modern-day scrubs, but in a homespun variety, and he was possibly the hairiest person I’d ever seen. Longish, light brown hair shot with gray and a beard that hadn’t seen a razor in a long time. Was this Will Shaw, famous scientist and the pride of his family?

  Suddenly, the man’s eyes flashed open and locked on mine. He absolutely, positively knew I was there. I couldn’t blink or look away and I felt like he was consuming me with his eyes. In that moment I knew for certain this was Will; the inspiration for Jekyll and Hyde and the split Shifter who had murdered the council. And then he closed his eyes and his limp body was dragged out of sight.

  “Strap him to the table in here.” The bishop’s voice commanded Goon imperiously. There were more sounds of grunting and heaving, and then the heavy slap of flesh on a hard surface. Will was clearly conscious, why wasn’t he trying to stop them?

  “Lock the straps you imbecile! He will try to kill us both if he returns to consciousness. I can’t have any questions about his physical condition before they take his mind.” The clicks of locks snapping into place brought bile up into my throat and
I was starting to flush in that way that predicts imminent puke.

  I had to get out of there or risk gagging on my own vomit. I didn’t know if I could make it to the tunnel door without being seen, but I needed air like I’d never needed anything before in my life. I pushed the cabinet door open as slowly as I could with a badly shaking hand. The men in the room down the hall seemed to be too focused on their tasks to pay attention to the darkness outside their door.

  My body slithered to the floor and I felt literally spineless as I tried to get to my feet. My head spun and I had to grip the cabinet to haul myself up. The light caught my eye as I half-stumbled away from my prison-cabinet. And burned into my brain was a glimpse of Will Shaw, strapped to a metal table, with an IV tube in his arm dripping blood into a bag. I ran.

  “Find out what made that noise!” The bishop’s command sent chills up my spine. “You locked the gate upstairs behind us, didn’t you?”

  Light illuminated the corridor I’d just left and the Goon answered gruffly. “’Course I did. I’m not an idiot.” There was just enough to show me the way to the tunnel door.

  “That’s a matter for debate. Go find the rat. You should be familiar enough with its kind.”

  I truly, truly hated that man. The bishop’s smug imperiousness was the worst kind of arrogance and it wasn’t just Monger-ness that made me want to get as far away from him as I could. I made it to the tunnel door and tried the handle. Locked.

  A shock, but definitely not a surprise. Silently praying that the lock hadn’t been changed in the last hundred plus years, I pulled the key from my pocket, fitted it into the lock, and turned. The door opened.

  I slipped through and closed the door quickly, then locked it behind me and pocketed the key again. I gulped the cool air from the tunnel and stumbled toward King’s College. I had to hold myself up against the wall about every ten steps to suck air into my lungs. What was wrong with me? This wasn’t just a lack of food and sleep. I was so weak and hot… and vomitous. And when I’d warded myself before, it hadn’t set my skin on fire like this.