The Stroke of Eleven

by Kyle Robert Shultz

  I fought to hide my concern, and to prevent the image of the White King from rising in my memory. “And you feel that way now?”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Mostly. Just a little worried. And I keep getting flashes of something like déjà vu. I’m seeing things in my head that never happened.”

  My heart pounded. “What things?”

  “Ah, forget it. It’s stupid.”

  “No, tell me. I really want to know.”

  “Oh, just…me, older and wearing a rabbit mask. Molly—only not Molly. She’s evil, like she’s been taken over by the Unqueen. You and Cordelia dancing in a big ballroom.” He closed his eyes. “And there’s a girl, too—I can almost remember her name…”

  I held my breath and waited, but he soon gave up. “No,” he said, “it’s gone. Like remembering a dream. It’s all slipping away from me. Seems to get foggier every minute.” He blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes. “We’d better go see what state that farmhouse is in. And we’ve got to help Alan fix his clockwork leg. Poor guy; I wonder how that happened.”

  I watched in silence as he walked away. Molly’s face lit up as he approached her. He took her in his arms and kissed her, and she pressed her forehead against his. I was struck with the terrible thought that she might still be Lara, like she’d been in the future. If Crispin had retained his White Rabbit powers, then what if she’d kept the mind of the Unqueen as well?

  Her gaze fell on me as she continued to embrace Crispin, and I tensed, searching her eyes for any sign of malice. But I found nothing. I couldn’t know for certain, but somehow, I felt sure that Molly was, in fact, Molly.

  For now.

  I stopped it, I reasoned. I changed the future. Everything’s going to be different now. Even if magic goes crazy like it did in the other timeline, we’ll be ready for it. Levesque won’t be around to cause any more trouble, and anyone else who tries will have to deal with us.

  It’s over…I hope.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Beauty and the Beast

  “Of course it’s not over,” the Beast scoffed. He reached his left foot up to scratch his ear. “Did you really think it would be that simple?”

  I surveyed the latest dreamscape he’d picked for us to argue in. This one was a replica of the ballroom at the Castle of Basile—only now it was empty and dark.

  I glared at him. “As usual, if you’re so brilliant and all-knowing, why didn’t you offer your advice on what I should do long before all of this happened?”

  “Like I told you before, I couldn’t see it. Predicting the future is difficult enough when time isn’t getting tied in knots.”

  I looked down at my human hands. “I was actually rid of you for a little while, you know.”

  He shuddered. “Don’t remind me. You’ve no idea what I went through. All the while you were having a fine time being human, I was abandoned in some dark, timeless place for what felt like years. Thought I’d never see the light again.”

  “I’m sorry.” I didn’t mean to say it, it just came out. I couldn’t help but feel a little sympathy for him.

  “I suppose you think I made a mistake,” I went on. “Telling the world about magic, I mean.”

  He snorted. “I don’t care tuppence about that.”

  “I thought you would. You are magic, after all. A sentient spell.”

  “The world’s known about magic before. People were bound to get over the phase of insisting it wasn’t real eventually.”

  “So you think I did the right thing?”

  He stalked across the ballroom on all fours. “If you’re looking for me to make you feel better about your decision, don’t bother. It’s your problem.”

  “Then why are we having this conversation?”

  “Because now you’ve seen what I was trying to warn you about. The dark future that’s coming. And apparently, Crispin and Molly are a part of it.”

  I nodded. “Got any helpful suggestions for how I can stop them both from turning evil?”

  He sank back on his haunches with a weary sigh. “All you can do for now is keep an eye on them. Try to figure out exactly what’s going on with each of them. Levesque won’t be able to manipulate them for her own purposes now, but that doesn’t mean their evil selves won’t return someday.”

  “That—person—thing, whatever, that Crispin became in the future. He called himself the White King. Any connection to the White Queen, do you think?”

  “Definitely. There are old stories about someone called the White King, or the Man in White. Some of them involve the Queen as well. They say she’s his emissary, responsible for bringing him into this world.”

  I remembered when Cordelia and I had met the White Queen, in her bizarre mirror realm. “That prophecy. ‘One a hero, one a monster, one fated to destroy the other.’ I used to think the monster was me and the hero was Crispin…but what if I had it wrong? What if it was talking about Crispin becoming the White King?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “But if I’ve stopped Crispin from becoming the White King, then maybe the prophecy doesn’t matter.”

  He grimaced. “Prophecies are tricky things, mate. The trouble with them is, the only thing that matters is the actual, specific words. Those are going to get fulfilled one way or another. Even if you try to change the future to prevent a prophecy, all you might end up doing is changing the way the prophecy comes to pass.”

  “I don’t quite follow you.”

  “Somehow, regardless of anything you do, one of you will be a hero, one will be a monster, and one of you will destroy the other. Either one of you could end up fulfilling any of those roles. Same way with the prophecies about the White King. He will come to exist—and given his weird relationship with time, perhaps he already has come to exist. But even if you’re able to stop Crispin from becoming him, that doesn’t mean somebody else won’t take on the mantle in his stead.”

  “But,” I broke in, “so long as it’s not him—”

  “You’re doing exactly what Malcolm told you not to,” the Beast snapped. “Putting Crispin’s welfare above everything else.” He stood up on two legs. “Bad things are coming, Nick. Just because you’re here now instead of being locked up in a castle doesn’t mean that you’ve guaranteed everyone a happy ending.”

  “You’re saying that all those magical crises Crispin mentioned might still happen,” I reasoned.

  “I’m saying they probably will happen. Maybe they’re portents of the White King’s arrival, or maybe he’s never going to show up so long as Crispin is removed from the equation. But you can’t be sure. And you can’t let innocent people suffer while you focus on protecting your brother.”

  “I don’t want anyone to suffer. Not even you.” I felt a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry you were hurt when I changed back.”

  He shrugged. “I may as well get used to it. You’re going to find a cure for me sooner or later.”

  “I don’t know. That doesn’t seem too likely, at this point.”

  He didn’t respond to this. “Just don’t get rid of me while there’s still something I can do to help you. Right now, with everything that’s happening—you might need me.”

  “Yeah,” I conceded. “I might.”

  “But when it’s all over, and you find a way to become human again…I’ll understand. When that day comes, don’t hold back on my account. Let me go, and live your life.”

  I stared at him in amazement. “That’s…very generous of you.”

  “I know.” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare try to hug me.”

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  “Good.”

  Normally, dreams like this end in some horrible portent of doom, and I wake up with a start and fall on my head. This time, after the amicable conclusion of my talk with the Beast, I awoke peacefully, swinging back and forth from the rafters. It was still the middle of the night, however. I released my grip on the ceiling and somersaulted to the floor. I’d chosen the dilapidated
barn outside the farmhouse as my sleeping quarters. It was fairly cramped in the main house, and I’d wanted some privacy to think things over.

  My mind was still racing. So much had happened, and I couldn’t quite come to terms with it all. I trudged through the abandoned barn and stepped outside into the night. I was met by a cool breeze and a starlight sky. I closed my eyes and basked in the stillness.

  It was an illusion, I knew. The world out there was probably in chaos right now, after what I’d done in Talesend. Either that, or Levesque had found some way to wriggle out of her predicament, and she’d soon track us down for revenge.

  “Nick?”

  Cordelia approached, hugging herself against the midnight chill. She’d borrowed the big jacket I’d left in the house and put it on over her nightgown. It was so large on her slender frame that it seemed to be swallowing her up.

  “You look ridiculous in that,” I told her.

  She pulled it tighter around her. “It’s warm.”

  “Too warm, if you’ve got fur underneath it, but I like how I look in it. Or at least, I think it makes me look slightly better than usual.”

  “Can we talk?” she said.

  “We are talking.”

  “I mean, about difficult subjects.”

  I tensed. “Which ones?”

  “All of them.”

  “Ah.”

  “You can pick which one we start with.”

  I wanted to delay one of them in particular for as long as I could, so I went with a less awkward choice. “Did you have a look at Crispin?”

  “Yes. I tried illuminating the spells he’s currently under to see what state they’re in.”

  “What did you find?”

  She bit her lip. “Not what I expected. Nick, I couldn’t even begin to make sense of his magical aura. I didn’t expect to see the Undine enchantment from the dagger anymore. That one was absorbed by the spell that made him a pooka. But even the pooka spell seemed to be mostly gone. I only found a faint trace of it. There weren’t any runes to latch onto, just some kind of…vague, unfocused energy. Like the spells that were cast on him before…melted into something else.” She paused. “That sounded ridiculous, but it’s the best explanation I can come up with.”

  I frowned. “Can magic ‘melt?’”

  “Not in my experience.” She brushed her hair back from her face. “Crispin is changing, Nick. Into what, I don’t know.”

  The fur on the back of my neck stood on end. “The White King?”

  “I don’t even know what the White King was. Is. Will be. I have heard legends of a figure by that name, though.”

  “So have I.” It wasn’t entirely true, but it was easier for me to put it that way than to broach the topic of my dreams. I’d never talked to Cordelia about them before, for some reason. Maybe because I was still trying to figure them out myself. Or maybe it was because I didn’t want to tell her what the Beast had said about her role in starting the upcoming magical crisis.

  “Someone with power over time,” she said. “Maybe future Crispin borrowed the name, or maybe…”

  “It doesn’t matter. That timeline’s gone. Never going to happen.”

  “Nick, you know it’s not completely gone. The only reason why Crispin’s hair went white and his powers changed all of a sudden is because that timeline existed. Whatever Levesque did to the other Crispin, this Crispin is experiencing the effects.”

  I slumped my shoulders. “I know.”

  “And then there’s Molly. I’m pretty sure Lara’s not controlling her now, but what if something happens that brings the Unqueen to the surface? We have to find a way to get rid of that creature once and for all.”

  “That could require us to take away Molly’s voice again. Permanently, this time.”

  Cordelia grimaced. “We’ll try to avoid that. We’ll look for another way.”

  “We’re going to have a lot of work on our hands now, after what I did.”

  Her eyes brightened. “Yes, but I’m looking forward to going into business. It’ll be a nice change from running around the Afterlands one step ahead of the Council all the time.”

  “Assuming the Council is no longer a threat,” I reminded her. “We don’t know for sure that Levesque won’t bounce back from this.”

  “She won’t if we don’t give her a chance to. If we take charge of the situation before she has a chance to regroup—”

  “Take charge? You really think our little ragtag bunch can do that?”

  “You forget, I was once on the path to becoming Lady Whitlock. I’m very good at leadership roles, and I still have useful connections here and there. I’ll handle the administrative side of things. You take care of the detective work, and everyone else can employ their own unique skills. We’ll do fine.”

  “Well, when you put it like that, it does sound a little more feasible.”

  Silence fell. The subject I’d wanted to avoid loomed silently between us.

  I marshaled my courage. “Listen, Cordelia—about what I said in the castle. I—I feel like I should apologize. I mean…it’s not that I exactly regret what I said, it’s just—I never wanted to make things awkward between us.”

  “Nick.” She took my hand and squeezed it. “It’s all right. We were both pretty exhausted and over-wrought by the end of it all. We both said things that—that perhaps we shouldn’t have. So if you’d prefer to go on as if that moment never happened, I understand.”

  “No.” The word sounded almost angry as it escaped me. “I don’t want that. That would make things more awkward.”

  Cordelia appeared relieved. “Yes, I think it probably would.”

  “So…it happened. No point in dwelling on it right now, but we won’t ignore it either.”

  “If we’re going to start investigating magical events, then it stands to reason that we’ll probably run into a lot of interesting magic. Possibly we might even come across something that will help us change you back, in time.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “And once we do…”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she cautioned. “For now, we’re just business partners.”

  “Right. Business partners. Got it.”

  Cordelia stood on her toes and planted a kiss on my hairy cheek. “Sleep well, Mr. Beasley,” she said. “We have a big day tomorrow.”

  I grinned. “Right-ho, Lady Beaumont.”

  She smiled back at me, then started to walk away.

  “Oi. I called you Lady Beaumont. Aren’t you going to correct me?”

  “Why should I?” she replied, without turning around. “There’s nothing to correct.”

  Epilogues

  One

  “Let me out!” Madame Levesque slammed her fists against the bars of her cell. The policemen who had rushed to the scene of the disturbance in Challenger Square hadn’t been able to decide what they should charge her with, but they were quite certain she needed to be put in jail for something. The details, they reasoned, could be sorted out later. So they had placed her in the police station’s tiny jail for the moment.

  “You can’t do this to me!” she shrieked. “I’ll tear you all apart, as soon as I—” She took hold of the collar around her neck and tried yet again to pull it lose. But it burned her fingers so badly that she was finally forced to give up. She slumped down onto her cot, the only piece of furniture in the cell aside from a small chair in the corner.

  “Nick Beasley,” she hissed. “If I ever see you again…”

  “Don’t worry,” said a voice from the shadows. “You won’t.”

  Levesque jumped. She was quite certain there had been no one sitting in the chair before…but now there was. A tall, broad-shouldered man, his face shrouded in darkness.

  “Who are you?” she snapped. “What are you doing here?”

  He laughed as he stepped into the light. “Is that any way to speak to an old friend?”

  She gasped. “Jackson. How…”

  Lord Whitlock had changed a
great deal since the last time she saw him. His clothes were the same, expensive and well-tailored, but his face was horribly altered. The left side looked normal; even youthful. The features there were those of a man much younger than Whitlock’s fifty-odd years. But the skin on the left side was a greenish-purple, and bulged out in toad-like warts. His left eye was huge and reptilian, with an elongated pupil, and there were two tiny additional eyes next to it. Slimy tendrils writhed at the left corner of his mouth. The horrible transformation extended all the way down to what had been his left arm. It was now four tentacles of varying lengths, which dangled all the way to the ground.

  “My God,” Levesque breathed. “What happened to you?”

  Whitlock laughed. “Does it shock you? I’m so sorry. I still need some practice shifting back into my human form. I haven’t quite managed to—jabberwock, jabberwock, jabber—” He lifted his human fist to his mouth and coughed. “—managed to go all the way yet.”

  He’d babbled the bizarre word like a man possessed. Levesque gaped at him. “What did you say?”

  “Oh, ignore that. It’s a garbled version of my name. For a long time after my daughter attacked me, that word was the only sound I could make.”

  “But I’ve heard it before,” said Levesque. “The Jabberwock. A monster of legend. It was seen during the Hollow Wars, thousands of years ago—but that’s impossible.”

  “Do try to set aside your blinkered understanding of reality. There’s no place for it in the new world. Concepts like linear time are so—jabberwock, jabberwock—passé.”

  A chill ran up Levesque’s spine, but instinct told her she should try to turn this situation to her advantage. “Jackson, I’m sorry for what’s happened to you. I can help. Set me free, and we can reverse all the damage that Nick Beasley and your daughter have done. We can still—”