What happened to Alt-me that made her fall so far? What was inside me, that somewhere out there in the multiple versions of the universe a broken me took so readily to evil?
The sword hadn’t given me those memories. All it wanted was for me to know what I was capable of when I held it in my hands.
The scabbard was within my reach—and Ismene’s. We were equally likely to grab it, distance-wise, but even dazed, she was faster.
Ismene’s shiny teeth burned bright. “It’s talking to you, isn’t it? That’s how it started before. Whispers and images. You said it felt as if the signal never really fully locked onto your brain.” She winked. “It gave you a headache.”
Another hellhound ran out of the distortion. It stopped and huffed, and flashed us with its colors.
Ismene nodded toward me. “Go ahead. You tell it what to do.”
I pointed at the distortion. “Go back!” I yelled.
The hound huffed again. It tossed its head and trotted toward Paradise Homes.
Ismene laughed. “It’s just like training dogs. Someone always has an attitude.” She glanced at the sword.
That type of glance meant the person doing the glancing knew something they didn’t want to share. That type of eye shift coupled with a conscious effort to not move one’s neck, or eyes, signaled Stop it, subconscious!
And it made me want the sword all the more. I grabbed for the scabbard.
Ismene lunged. Her hand swept toward my face, but she didn’t connect. She twisted to the side and latched onto a leg I couldn’t see.
Nax bellowed. He aimed the log like a golf club this time, intending to knock Ismene away from me.
He missed. Ismene let go of his leg and rolled out of the way.
Acrid smoke rose from his new wound. He growled and swung the log again.
Ismene kicked my shoulder. The thud rattled my spine and threw my balance, and my elbow hit the pavement. Pain shot up into my shoulder and down into my wrist like fire ants biting at every single nerve in my arm.
I gasped and flopped onto my back before I managed to grab the scabbard.
“The real you wouldn’t have taken a kick, Philadelphia,” Ismene said.
Whatever, I thought. Alt-me would have landed a roundhouse kick to Ismene’s jaw.
But I wasn’t Alt-me, and I still needed the sword.
Ismene squatted and breathed heavily. “The Lesser Emperor is lucky he didn’t make me bleed.” She mimicked an explosion.
She’d blown a hole in the shielding with her blood. I glanced at the “tunnel” the chunk had caused in the distortion.
I looked back at Ismene. What if I blew up the chunk? What if I sent little bits and pieces of it all through the distortion? How could it stay open when peppered with tiny tunnels?
But how? Ismene wasn’t going to stick her arm in there the way she’d stuck her arm though the hole in the dining room.
She’d also pushed through the sword.
I looked at the tunnel again. But could I cut Ismene and not blow off my own arm? Did it matter if I did? The distortion would be closed. No more hounds would come through. Maybe I’d get lucky and take Ismene with me.
“I hope this is why you wanted me to snatch the sword,” I muttered.
I lunged for the scabbard.
When it fell from Ismene’s body, it landed sword up and tip pointing at Ismene. The hilt pointed at me.
“Please don’t shock me with memories again,” I said, and snagged the sword’s grip.
Ismene’s hand wrapped around the point end of the scabbard. “Oh no you don’t!”
I yanked up-out-up on the sword.
The scabbard responded. The arms released along the blade. And I nicked Ismene’s hand as I drew the sword from the scabbard’s arms.
The energy of the sword pulsed outward, then contracted down into a wave of distortion around not only the blade, guard, and hilt, but also my hand and forearm. I saw the wave, even though I didn’t see it any more than I’d seen Maria Romanova, or the velocity around the distortion. But my brain understood what I held.
Ismene shrieked. Her skin brightened and the nick instantly healed—at least she didn’t want to blow herself up.
The blood on the tip of the sword whined like a spinning top. The blade vibrated. I swung around and darted toward the tunnel in the side of the distortion.
“Get Mrs. K out of here!” I yelled, hoping Nax was close enough to hear.
A hellhound stuck its head through the distortion. I kicked it in the snout and shoved it back in as I whipped the whining, glowing sword toward the tunnel—which had moved. Or it looked as if it had moved—and the sword bounced off the distortion’s surface. I tried again, and again, it bounced.
The wave of power exuded by the sword pulsed outward, then back down against my wrist. Static shot up my arm, but I held on, even as the whine of Ismene’s blood slid upward in pitch and the vibration increased. What if it exploded in my hand?
The distortion’s down was its up, and its up was its down. Could its front be its back? Did I originally push the chunk of shielding into the side that was no longer in front of me?
I had to try. I darted around to the other side of the distortion.
I now had my back to the main road, a warped, rippling view of Paradise Homes in front of me, and a mirage of the tunnel flipping along the distortion’s surface.
“We need to do this,” I said to the sword.
It didn’t answer, though I got the sense it understood. Maybe I imagined the connection. Maybe I wanted reassurance that I’d chosen correctly. Or maybe I was just as crazy as Ismene.
“Where’s opposite?” I asked as I estimated the best I could on a flipping, gyrating ball of glowing energy.
I didn’t know. I had to trust my instincts anyway.
I thrust the sword into the distortion.
What was up became down, and what was down became up.
Chapter Fourteen
Smoke swirled in the air above me. Deadly smoke, like the kind from burning buildings and burning lives. Terrible gray-purple smoke that only rose when worlds ended.
I was flat on my back, looking up into nebulous smoke, praying that the mirrors of the distortion had shattered.
Whispers floated on the mist.
… systems still operational… damage…
“What?” I asked. Whoever whispered was too far away to understand. “Speak up,” I said.
Saaaavvvve ooouuurrrr ppppeoppppllle…
“Who’s there?” Ghosts floated in the gray-purple smoke. Death floated out there, and here I was, dazed and confused, wondering about whispers and praying I hadn’t been sucked into hellhound world.
“Del,” the whispers said.
A woman whispered. Was she close enough I could hear her? Or was the channel carrying her whispers now clear enough I could understand? I didn’t know.
But I knew that she looked down at me from far above, this new woman, and she smiled. “This time, we save everyone,” she said. “This time, we do it right.”
“Who are you?” I asked. She was hidden in the smoke, and too far away to see. But she was real.
She touched my midnight blade. A version of her had touched it before, and the blade remembered her. They sang to each other.
She wanted me to complete a task.
“What am I supposed to do?” Was she more of a goddess than the demon Ismene? Was she an angel?
“Angel? No. You need to run from the angels,” she said. “They cannot catch you.”
The smoke thickened. It moved yet it did not, and velocity filled the spaces between the gritty particulates. “This time, be good, Del Parrish. Be the good witch,” she said.
I coughed. “Who are you?”
“I am the fearless and the bold,” she said. “Heed me when I call.”
Tunnels peppered the smoke. Tiny little tunnels that burrowed down to up and back to front. Tunnels that disrupted.
May you and Odin save us all�
�
The distortion burst, and I burst right along with it.
“Del!” Nax shook my shoulders. “Damn it, Del, wake up.”
I gasped, sat up, and pushed him away all in one sharp, jerky movement.
I was on the grass by the drive where I’d spiked the distortion with my midnight blade. Yellow light danced around me. Heat rolled by.
I’d had a vision. Or an auditory hallucination. They were pretty much the same thing, anyway. Either I was crazy, or someone from the other side had tried to give me a message.
“Someone talked to—” I stopped when I noticed that the heat rolling over me came from Paradise Homes.
Building Two crackled.
“Nax!” I screamed. The other side talked to me while Ismene set fire to Paradise Homes? “We have to—”
He grabbed my shoulders again. “Ismene found the open door by the stairwell.”
No, I thought. “Why didn’t you stop her?”
He stiffened. “There was nothing I could do.” He gingerly tapped the burn on his chest. “Irena’s ghost says I need to get you away from here. Irena says Maria is panicking. You are priority.”
“Why?” Paradise Homes burned. “Please tell me help is coming. Have you seen Marko and Erik? Please say that they’re getting the residents out.”
He shook his head. “I…” He looked over his shoulder. “I don’t know. No one has come out. Ismene took hellhounds in with her. I took Irena to the bus. I need the keys.” He held out his hand. “We need to go, Del, before the Burner comes out.”
I couldn’t leave. “The residents need us!”
He handed me the scabbard. “Do not argue.”
“But…”
He hauled me to my feet. “The ghost is adamant.”
Didn’t running make me as bad and evil as Alt-me?
“I will carry you, if I have to, Philadelphia.” He pointed over my shoulder. “Your sword is there.”
I snatched it off the grass.
No cracks. No damage. My midnight blade survived the explosions that must have blasted the distortion shotgun-style.
“The ghost said the physics of the distortion channeled the explosion away from the blade and into the shielding.” He shook his head. “You closed the damned thing.”
At least no more of those monsters would be coming through. I placed the sword in the scabbard. “Someone talked to me.” I was to heed her call.
He slowly stood as if Ismene’s burn on his leg continued to cause him pain. “The ghost?”
“This was someone else.” Maybe. “I think. She didn’t sound like a Russian princess.”
Nax snorted. He squinted like the burn on his chest hurt worse than his leg.
“We need to help, Nax,” I said. He couldn’t fight hellhounds with the burns.
He limped toward the parking lot. “Irena’s waiting.”
I dug into my pocket for my phone. “Are the phones working? Did you call—”
He growled and sort of half vanished.
The next thing I knew, I was over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “We leave.”
“God damn it, Nax!” I thumped his back. “Put me down!”
He trudged toward the parking lot.
“I mean it!” I hit him again. “You’re burned. I can walk better than you. Put me down.”
He sighed, but swung me off his shoulder.
“Who did you hear? What did they say?” His demeanor indicated that he believed me—and that such whispers were a normal part of life.
“She said the angels are coming. I’m to run. They can’t catch me.” Which, it seems, was exactly what the ghost of Maria Romanova was telling Mrs. K.
He nodded once, then continued to trudge toward the parking lot.
I strapped the scabbard over my shoulder as I staggered after him. Paradise Homes burned, and I was running away. Nax could barely walk.
I moved to his side and put my arm around his waist. I couldn’t help all that much, but he seemed to appreciate me taking some of the weight off his leg.
“I think we need to listen to the ghosts, huh?” he said.
Probably. Most likely.
I was a coward.
Nax looked down at me as we limped past the burning Paradise Homes. “You live to fight another day.”
Was my life worth it? We staggered up the driveway into the parking lot. “Why did Ismene keep calling you Lesser Emperor?”
Nax leaned against the smooth side of the mini-bus and looked up at the sky. “Because that is who I am, Philadelphia.”
I ran up the bus steps. Mrs. K sat in the cushy seat near the front, with her chair neatly stashed next to the chair lift. “Maria says now that you have the sword, she wants her ring. She says the Fates have it.”
I shook my head. A magic sword and a magic ring? “I need details, Mrs. K, like where to look.”
She leaned forward and patted my hand. “It belonged to Tsar Nicholas himself. I remember it, before the end.” She sat back. “Don’t tell Nax. He doesn’t like Maria’s family.” She nodded as if she’d explained all knowledge to me in great detail.
Mrs. K’s clarity seemed to be wearing thin. “All right,” I said. At least we’d had some lucidity while we needed it the most. I ducked back down the steps. “Are you coming?” I asked.
Nax nodded and slowly entered. “I think you’d better drive.”
I helped him to the back. “Rest,” I said.
He nodded and lay down on the back bench.
I went up front and dropped into the driver’s seat. Hellhounds ran in and out of the buildings. A new column of flame erupted through the hole in the roof over the dining hall. And I prayed Marko, Erik, and everyone else would get out safely.
The bus rumbled to life.
“Does Maria know what happens?” I pointed at the buildings. “Here? At Paradise Homes?”
Mrs. K looked up and to the side. “This time, we save everyone,” she said, then she pointed at me. “Drive, Del Parrish. We have work.”
We save everyone. Was such a thing possible? I wasn’t helping to save Paradise Homes.
But you are, someone whispered. Someone far, far away.
I stared at my hands, and at the wheel. Ismene said it started with whispers and images.
You are the Witch of the Midnight Blade, the voice said. And you will conjure me into this world.
Was the voice a devil? An angel? I glanced at Mrs. K. Maybe the ghost knew.
I pulled out of the driveway and into the circle. I wouldn’t be the alternate version of me. I wouldn’t be evil, or a coward, no matter if the voice was the devil.
I’d save everyone, even if it killed me.
Epilogue
Fourteen hours later….
More hiss than chatter washed from Cordelia Palatini-Sut’s earpiece. The entire world hissed at its end, but she kept moving anyway. She would gather information. She would communicate. And she would fight the fights ahead, because the survivors needed protecting.
This wasn’t her first apocalypse. Humanity had suffered many over the course of its reign. Humanity would come through this one, too.
It had to. The peoples of the world had work to do.
Cordelia absently tipped her head and tapped the misbehaving ear bud. Such instinctual responses to ill-behaved technology rarely resulted in a communications improvement, but some habits were hard to break.
She stood on the still-smoldering rubble of what had once been a place called Paradise Homes. Burner stink hung in the air, though no signs of a living Burner remained. The responsible fiend had either exploded with the buildings, or had managed to get away.
Aurora Fire and Rescue had taken a few people away before they abandoned the location to deal with the other, more pressing issues of the living.
Protocols always went out the window for local jurisdictions when the end of the world overwhelmed their systems. Aurora, Colorado was no different.
Her ear bud’s hissing jiggled with her tap,
and increased in volume. She tapped it again.
This time, the hissing pulled back, and the chatter floated to the top.
Atlanta is gone, one voice said. Jesus Christ, the entire city is gone….
The invaders started over the most populated areas of the Northern Hemisphere, dropping ballistics from high Earth orbit onto Tokyo, Osaka, and Seoul first. Then they moved westward over Beijing, Tianjin, and Shanghai. By the time they’d reached India, most of Eurasia had figured out to turn off the lights, but humanity lost Cairo, Amsterdam, and Berlin. Paris took a direct hit, as did London. Cloud cover over Moscow and Scandinavia might have saved the northern cities, but it wasn’t doing much for the East Coast of the United States.
More chatter: This is Praesagio helicopter one-one-seven-three alpha. Guests are boarded and package is secure.
Copy that, one-one-seven-three alpha.
Cordelia kicked at the rubble under her boot as she listened to the chatter. She’d come to the remains of a Praesagio Industries-run retirement home for Shifters and Fates for two reasons: the shard and the Emperor. The moment The Incursion opened, the missing shard had become blazingly visible to a handful of powerful Fates—including her—and with it, the whereabouts of Emperor Pertinax.
He was a difficult man to find, Pertinax. The world needed all her emperors now, him included. Time for him to stop his hiding and return to the public life.
We are underway, the copter pilot said through her ear bud. I repeat, we are underway.
Cordelia knew the pilot. His name was Connor McJanison, and like her, he was a Fate. He was also one of the best pilots alive.
She looked eastward, over Aurora, Colorado’s trees and mountains, and at the throbbing hell mouth hanging over Eastern North America. Connor was about to deliver the “guests” and the “package” to a patch of ground somewhere in Nebraska, in hopes of closing The Incursion before the invaders did to North America what they had already done to Asia and Europe.
Godspeed, one-one-seven-three alpha, a new voice said.
Godspeed, said a second voice, then a third, then a fourth.
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