by Kim Smejkal
Celia had drawn a hatch under his bed with her ink magic. When she’d managed to do it, he didn’t know, but she’d inscribed SASTIMOS FUTURA on it, like an apology.
He’d gone through the hatch, snuck around the endless house trying to avoid Rian (who’d been remarkably keen of hearing) and find another doorless room, and eventually he’d stumbled upon a wee little cell holding a face he recognized from Asura. They’d caught up after he brought her back to the relative safety of his room—Zuni doing a fair amount of frowning and hissing—and then they’d watched as Halcyon burst into the farmhouse and herded Rian outside.
“He’s the handsome one?” Zuni had asked in a low whisper.
Pffft, handsome. He’d seen better. He hadn’t even justified that with a response.
“I expected . . . horns or something.” Zuni had arched an eyebrow at him. “Maybe an ugly mask.”
The purple-eyed child brought him back to the present. “Fo—”
I know, I know, he thought, cutting Diavala off. Focus, plague doctor, focus. Your mind is too scattered, etcetera, etcetera.
He looked over at Zuni and cleared his throat. “It’s not too late for you to bolt, you know.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted them back.
Damn, but Zuni could throw eye daggers just as expertly as Celia could.
“Forget it,” he mumbled.
The door creaked open, and Celia walked in with Lyric. Her eyes landed on him first, then flitted to Zuni. Zuni’s tenor, splinters of a million shades of reds and silvers, seemed to pierce Celia and pin her in place like a butterfly under glass.
Zuni lifted her dark, wide eyes to Celia.
Xinto took off from Celia’s shoulder and went to investigate the new face, but Zuni didn’t shift her gaze away when the giant bee landed on her shoulder.
“Oh—” Celia choked out, her face exploding in tears all over again.
Zuni bumped Xinto off her shoulder, and after a swirl of movement as she dodged the furniture, she was in front of Celia. She narrowed her eyes. “How dare you leave home without telling me?”
The hard lines of Zuni’s scowl melted one by one, and the two of them collapsed into a hug. “How dare you come after me?” Celia asked in a squeak. They dissolved to whispers, and the plague doctor turned away.
“It took some doing to get here,” Zuni explained. “At first, Dante wouldn’t tell me where you’d gone. He finally spilled when I threatened to break his fingers one by one, which he knew would put a damper on his Marco explorations.”
Amazingly, Celia chuckled.
He definitely didn’t like Zuni. Or he liked her very much indeed.
“Halcyon will be back soon,” Lyric said, thankfully interrupting the reunion.
“And none of us are leaving,” he added. “So don’t even bother.”
He’d said the same thing to Celia earlier, trying to explain devotion—Once you’re in the Rabble Mob, you’re in the Rabble Mob—and it looked like she finally understood it.
She nodded.
The barest whisper of a smile passed her lips, aimed at him, and his heart soared.
Then Celia proceeded to tell everyone what her terrible plan was.
It took only a few minutes. The players included a former inkling, a plague doctor, a skullkeeper, and an executioner who’d never killed. The props included one door, one chest of ink, and the afterlife.
There were a lot of holes in the plan. All of them knew it. Most of it would be improvised. And they would almost certainly fail. “We’re not even going to touch the chest before he catches on,” Lyric said, ever cutting and grim. “But if we run, he’ll catch us. If we fight, he’ll get the town to fight back. I suppose we may as well go down trying.” Lyric was the only one of them who could still back out and continue pretending to be his ally, so even though their delivery sucked, the plague doctor thought it was quite a heartening speech.
“The ink is what helps people make their own heavens or their hells,” Celia explained. “On the other side, everyone is an inkling. They can craft the world they feel they deserve. Or they’re supposed to be able to, at least.” She met the plague doctor’s eyes. “Remember the Rabble Mob’s take on Passion’s tale? Normally, she’d go to heaven or hell, find the angels or live forever with the devils. It was clear-cut. Final. But the Mob’s story was that she got neither. She was suspended in nothingness forever—and then the curtain fell.”
The plague doctor remembered. He’d written it, after all.
“When I bring the ink back, Passion won’t be suspended in nothingness anymore. She’ll be able to make her afterlife exactly as she wants.”
The afterlife.
If Celia’s terrible, wonderful plan worked and they released the ink inside the chest to where it belonged, each soul would be able to write their own ending. They could rewrite the horror of that nothingness with infinite potential.
It was better than a dream.
I know you heard all of that, Diavala. The afterlife. A door. What do you think? He already knew what she thought.
At the lake, as soon as Celia had begun doubting Halcyon, he’d felt the thrill of a new emotion from Diavala, deep in his bones, but until that moment he hadn’t recognized it for what it was.
Somehow you knew, he said to Diavala. That was why you no longer wanted to leave.
For centuries, Diavala had thought that returning to the afterlife was impossible for her, that her curse couldn’t be broken.
“I didn’t know,” Diavala said. “But I hoped.”
That was the emotion he hadn’t been able to place: hope.
Celia had an uncanny way of staring deep into his soul even when he had his mask on. She’d been the only one to ever search for his eyes behind the goggles, as if the mask didn’t matter. Even then, from across the room, with tinted lenses between them, she found his eyes and held his gaze. “How do we know Diavala won’t just bolt for that door and leave us all to suffer Halcyon’s wrath?” she asked.
The purple-eyed child in front of him was actually trembling, so fierce was her excitement, but, absurdly, he trusted Diavala.
They’d become a most ridiculous team.
“We don’t know for sure,” he admitted. “But she’s thrilled at the idea of becoming the thief Halcyon always accused her of being.”
“And what about you?” Celia asked.
“I . . .” He hesitated. Saying it out loud again—I know I won’t survive—felt defeatist and terrible. But this would allow him to face the place that scared him, and to make it better for everyone who came after. He’d be a real plague doctor: giving comfort at the end of days.
It was the role he was meant for.
“It’s a sad-happy sort of thing,” he finally said.
Celia rolled her eyes. “Riddlish.”
“And the truth.”
He cocked his head to the left and clapped his hands together.
Showtime.
Chapter 27
“Three, two, one . . .” Lyric counted down the precise moment to when Halcyon’s “polish the town” time was over, and the four of them stared across Rian’s pumpkin patch, waiting for lightning to strike.
Trying to tame her nerves, Celia turned all the pumpkins bright purple, erected some bat houses with little misti-bats diving in and out, and stretched out Xinto’s wings so he could keep up with them.
Anything to distract herself from the fact that her ink double and Griffin’s ink double were currently passionately kissing in the middle of the field of purple pumpkins while ink-Lyric and ink-Zuni shuffled awkwardly close by.
There were four new ink-people in Wisteria now: Celia’s paranoia had led to inspiration.
The real group stood in a row, hidden behind some shrubs, watching for the moment Halcyon returned. Thankfully, Celia was on the end, so she only had to deal with Lyric’s comments. “If this doesn’t work because those two can’t stop kissing, I swear . . .” Lyric whispered.
“This is awkwar
d for everyone, trust me,” Celia hissed.
The decoys seemed to function well enough, except that they obviously didn’t understand how to appropriately handle impending danger.
“It does look like you’re both having fun,” Lyric noted.
Celia gritted her teeth and knocked one of the bat houses over, sending a stream of cloaked misti-bats flying for the skies and sending the ink doubles into crouch position.
And just in time too, because Halcyon appeared in front of them the next moment. “What’s going on here?” he asked ink-Lyric, gesturing to the fact that no one was locked up. He assessed ink-Zuni with undisclosed irritation, saying, “Celia’s not supposed to know about her yet.”
“Celia’s had time to think about everything, and she’s willing to continue the arrangement you made, but she’d like to renegotiate the terms.”
“I’m very eloquent,” real Lyric whispered.
Celia ignored them, intent on the scene playing out in front of her. They needed Halcyon to buy into this illusion—he wanted Celia to stick around and do his dirty work, after all.
And it looked like it was working. Ink-Celia looked perfectly humbled (if a little flushed from her kissing session), ink-Zuni and ink-Griffin looked appropriately fearful, and ink-Lyric was a good intermediary: capable and devoted to Halcyon’s cause.
Although Celia was curious as to whether ink-Lyric could in fact broker a truce, she didn’t waste any more time. They’d only needed to know that Halcyon was away from the chest of ink and the ever-important door.
Concentrating hard on both their exact location and Halcyon’s front gate, Celia closed her eyes and used the ink to change the town. Like reordering a jigsaw puzzle, she shifted the four of them to the exact spot she wanted. Celia had folded herself many shortcuts over the past days, but she’d never had to move so many people, and so stealthily.
“Did it work?” she whispered. But when she opened her eyes, they were all there: Lyric and Xinto, unperturbed; Zuni and Griffin, highly perturbed.
“Holy shit, Celia!” Zuni said, staring down at herself. “I thought you were making up stories. Damn—to be so enmeshed in a world so bizarre . . .” Standing on the street she’d never seen, but was now miraculously on, Zuni took stock of the gate, then looked back at Celia.
Celia shook her head. Through Zuni’s eyes, all this must look so strange. It had been introduced to Celia so incrementally, it had felt quite magical. Only very recently had that magic turned a little sour.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Celia said, scaling the fence. She could have probably gotten them all closer, but manipulating Halcyon’s home felt far riskier—if she got something wrong putting it back in order, or if she inadvertently left some trace behind, he was far more likely to notice.
“Only Xinto and I really know this place,” Lyric said as they ran through the tunnel of wisteria. “So whatever you do, don’t lose us.”
Zuni nodded, patting the bulge in the bag she kept at her hip. “Saccharine likes me well enough, but she’s not too keen to have me join her in this bag. Let’s make this quick.”
“I knew you’d bring a skull with you,” Celia said.
“I didn’t,” Zuni whispered. “I brought two.” And her mouth twitched into an almost-smile. “I couldn’t abandon Bruno either.” She patted another bulge.
Despite the knot in her stomach, Celia laughed.
Then they were inside Halcyon’s perfect home, with all its hallways, doors, sconces, and paintings. Zuni oohed at the opulence, and Griffin’s mouth curled up with distaste.
Lyric led the way, but it was a disorganized search. They seemed to be throwing open doors at random. “I don’t know where he moved the chest, but it has to be here,” they muttered.
“Wait,” Griffin said, slowing to a stop in front of the aviary. Xinto had flown in first and was buzzing around Zuni’s head, as if excited to show the space off to someone he knew would appreciate it.
“I feel like it’s this way—” Griffin said, pulling Celia back the way they’d come.
“Why would you feel that?” Celia said. Her insides clenched, bracing for a blow. This was what she’d been afraid of: Diavala trying to sabotage them and using Griffin to do it.
Griffin cocked his head, as if he were listening; then he must have recognized the tight line of Celia’s spine. “I imagined her as she was in the beginning,” he said, stepping closer. “A ten-year-old child like any other ten-year-old, neither Divine nor Diavala. She has striking purple eyes though, much like this.” He reached into his pocket, and a spark of his blue and purple fire erupted in his palm, showing Celia the exact hue of these imagined eyes. “It might help if you tried that too.”
Celia puffed out the flame. “We don’t have time for pretend—”
The ground began shaking, cutting her off.
At the far end of the hall, Lyric stopped throwing doors open. Zuni emerged from the aviary with Xinto on her shoulder and a sparrow in her palm.
Lyric had been right—they hadn’t even touched the chest before being discovered. Halcyon had already caught on to their duplicity, and judging by the way the walls shook and the ground heaved, he wasn’t interested in any further negotiation.
Chapter 28
Four people and one giant bee huddled together in the hallway as the lights went out all at once. Pitched into a darkness so absolute, Celia had to put her fingers to her eyes to make sure they were still open. Beside her, Zuni’s labored breathing competed with the alarmed chirps of the bird in her palm. Griffin had grabbed Celia’s arm, squeezing tight.
Then the breathing and the bird were gone. Griffin’s hand was gone.
When she could see again, only Lyric was beside her.
And Halcyon.
He all but hauled Celia and Lyric into the studio. He went over to his favorite puffy chair and collapsed into it, rubbing his temples, as if dealing with Celia was turning into the biggest inconvenience of his very long life.
But he hadn’t killed her yet, so she focused on that.
She felt like crying, like curling up into a little ball in the corner, but she definitely didn’t focus on that.
With a guttural noise, Halcyon lifted his head. “The expendables have been dealt with for now,” he said, his voice hard. All the earlier molten fire in him had hardened to stone. “And I’ll keep them hostage for as long as it takes for you to understand the situation here.”
Celia’s gaze darted between Halcyon and Lyric. She cleared her throat, wondering how much she would regret the question burning at the tip of her tongue. “And what exactly is the situation here?”
Halcyon made more of those noises and Celia hoped he’d choke on them.
“As free-spirited as you’ve come to be, you are my apprentice. You have natural talent and a vicious streak, both of which I can’t help but admire.” He tapped the armrest of his chair with his slender fingers, counting out time like a metronome. He looked very much like a king on his throne, dealing with irritating peasants when he’d rather be planning for war. “But your old world keeps distracting you. You should be focused on one thing and one thing only, and that’s answering destiny’s call.”
He stopped tapping and leaned forward, lacing his fingers together in front of his lips. “And you—” He looked at Lyric, who looked like they were trying to disappear into the floorboards, before looking back at Celia. “Such a pity. You were so useful.”
After a flick of his fingers, Lyric screamed as they were hauled into the air by an invisible hand. They hit the ceiling hard. Flapping their arms, their hair dangling in their face, they had no power to stop the assault. Over and over again, down and then up, Lyric’s back kept hitting the ceiling.
Celia was enraged on Lyric’s behalf. If she hadn’t had the foresight to think that he might drop them, she would have punched someone for the first time in her life.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Halcyon said. “I will make sure you and every one of y
our friends share Diavala’s same fate.” He grinned. “You will die, I will find you in the afterlife, and I will push you out. Over and over again, you and your friends will have to find a body, steal it, live as an interloper, die with them or kill them, and then do it all over again. For all eternity, you will do nothing but exist.”
The thumps of Lyric’s body hitting the ceiling were like heartbeats. They’d stopped screaming and had gone rigid, taking the blows silently.
“Or,” he said. “You can simply cooperate, Celia. All I want is a caretaker for my paradise. How can you still be fighting me about this? You’re being so infuriatingly dramatic!”
With everything inside her, she tried to overpower Halcyon’s illusion. She didn’t have the skill to stop him, but she added cushions to the ceiling, trying to soften the blows. Halcyon vanished every one.
To him, there was only one clear decision she could make.
“Wait!” Celia said, grasping, desperate for him to stop. “I saw Martina! I’m just confused because I saw Martina!”
The thumping heartbeat stopped. With her eyes still on Halcyon, Celia inked nonsense on her arm and commanded some cushions on the ground in case he decided to drop Lyric, who’d unstiffened, hair dangling, and was cycling their arms again, trying to get down.
“Liar,” Halcyon said.
“It’s true.” Celia swallowed, unsure what his ultimate reaction would be. But at least he’d stopped tossing Lyric around like a rag doll. At least he was listening. “She was with a friend of mine. She found me.”
Halcyon finally let go of the invisible hand, and with a shriek, Lyric tumbled to the cushions, knocking their hip on a workbench on the way. They stumbled to their feet and stood immobile but in a ready position, waiting for the sign that would tell them which way to run.
Halcyon’s stillness was eerie. His eyes swirled, and tension had brought him to his feet. He was the picture of a volcano set to erupt. “You would say anything right now . . .”
Did he want to believe Celia, or did he hope she was lying? She had no idea what he wanted to hear.