It was one of the reasons I could never really imagine myself with someone.
This was… it was about the best I could hope for. True peace.
That peace was shattered by the sound of footsteps.
Mrs. Lewis came to stand on the edge of the unfinished bridge, a few feet to my left, hands clasped behind her.
“I get the feeling,” she murmured, “That my arrival isn’t entirely unexpected.”
“Not entirely,” I said.
“I don’t know whether to admire your stubbornness or condemn it.”
“Why not both?” I asked.
“By invoking our names, you could have cleanly resolved the situation and handled Conquest. Laird Behaim would be weaker for it, your friends could be saved… you’re shaking your head.”
I was.
“Are you that afraid of the slippery slope?”
“It sounds like a generous offer you guys made,” I said. “I call you, and all I have to do is the one errand? Well, that sounds like it might be worth holding on to.”
“Does it? Or do you intend to die without invoking us again?”
“I thought I might save it for a really bad situation.”
“As opposed to being on the brink of death, surrounded by enemies, people you cherish dying?”
“Yeah,” I said. “The way things are going, I’m going to be up against worse. Might need to hold on to that.”
“If we do get the impression you don’t intend to call on us, you might lose our goodwill.”
“What happens then?”
“You and Rose are both aware that when you cease to exist, she takes your place.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“We could, how do I put it, hasten the process?”
I nodded. I looked up as the shadows seemed to grow deeper. The clouds were moving in. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Do.”
Evan flew by, circling around us, then took off.
“Where are we?”
“Right now, you are lying in the same bed you’ve occupied for the last two days and twenty-three hours. They’re taking measures to get you in fighting shape.”
“Fuck,” I said. “I can imagine what some of those measures are.”
“Yes.”
“You know what I meant, though.”
“As for me, I’m occupying a space in your psyche you’ve retreated to. Even the most war-weary soldier needs something to retreat to.”
I looked around.
“Hope?” I asked.
“Yes,” Ms. Lewis said. “Or close enough. I hope you realize that this three day detour of yours has lost you much of the advantage you gained. He’s been reveling in his victory, after a fashion, recouping power.”
“Fuck,” I said.
“Your allies are weakened. His aren’t. This is largely on your shoulders.”
“Fuck,” I muttered.
“This is the last chance. Strike fast, strike hard, and call on help if you need it, Blake Thorburn.”
I clenched by teeth, trying not to let her see.
“Now, I recommend that you wake up.”
I did.
The first thing I saw, as it turned out, was Rose, standing beside a man who had to be J. Corvidae.
7.04
“Welcome back,” Rose said. She closed her book, setting it down across her lap.
My attention was on Corvidae. He was within the full-length mirror, standing in front of and to the right of Rose, a small notebook in one hand, an old-fashioned pen in the other.
He was an Other who had been scary enough he could be mistaken for a demon, much like the Hyena had been. Seventh choir, the abstract, easy to underestimate. They played subtle games, standing at the opposite end of the spectrum from the first choir, which simply took the most direct route, devouring.
Except he wasn’t a demon. He was a less-than-garden-variety Bogeyman.
His eyebrows were thick, his teeth a fraction too wide. He had a hook nose, and his long hair was slicked back, tied into a ponytail that didn’t stick out, but draped down over one shoulder. His skin was a dark brown, like a supple leather, but his eyes were pale. When I wasn’t making eye contact, it looked like his eyes were white from corner to corner. When I was, his narrow pupils bored into me.
He wore a dress shirt with a tie, a vest, and slacks, and threads stuck out here and there, the cuffs of his shirt and backs of his pant legs abraded, the knees threadbare. His fingers were long, the nails in need of a cut, a little chipped and frayed, as if he had been scraping at a hard surface.
Had I passed him in the street, I might not have given him a glance. The more I looked, though, the more I noticed the oddities. His features, cheekbones and the lines of his chin, the shape of his ears, the structure of his neck and shoulders, it all was slightly off, almost as if he’d been drawn by someone who’d never seen a grown man before. It quickly became unsettling.
I looked away.
We were in the furnished apartment from the other day.
“Alexis?” I asked.
“She’s okay,” Rose said. “Well, as okay as you can be after being stabbed. Nothing vital.”
I relaxed some.
“Tiff, Ty?”
“They’re here,” Rose said. “Look.”
I turned over, and found it easier than it should have been.
Tiff and Ty were lying on thin mattresses on the floor, with blankets drawn up over them. Circles had been drawn on the ground, and the design had the same elaborate flair as the concentric circles Rose had suggested we draw for Laird and Pauz. Was Rose developing a signature?
Odd to think about, when she wasn’t the one drawing the circles.
I didn’t miss the use of blood in the diagram, dried to a dark brown in the midst of the white chalk lines.