Authors: C.N. Crawford
The smaller guard dragged Mariana sobbing across the planks to the holding cell at the back. Mrs. Ranulf followed close behind, her head bowed in prayer.
“Fiona?” Alan whispered, cramming into the doorway with them.
At least he made it.
“Sanctificamini in flamma!”
A circle of pure, white light erupted around the behemoth as he chanted louder. Fiona’s hand flew up to her mouth, stifling a cry. Before she had the chance to flee, the door slammed shut inches from her face.
Thomas rolled over on the stone floor, shivering in the cold night air. His tattered green outfit granted him even less protection against the chill than the wool sweater he’d worn before.
After choking him unconscious, the guards had left him in the cell last night. For the past twenty-four hours, he’d had nothing to occupy him but a few pewter cups of water and thoughts of his own grisly fate on Mayflower Day. He mostly passed the time sitting against a wall below the window in a stupor, trying to will his mind blank to keep the growing madness at bay.
When his mother had been sane, she would read him stories about the ancient Greek gods and goddesses. He’d loved curling up in bed to listen to the tales. To him, the gods were like superheroes.
But when she’d lost her mind, she would claim to be Prometheus, the light bringer. Zeus was always lurking just around the corner, seeking to chain her to a rock. And when she’d really lost it, she’d turned into “Lucifer.” There was always a set of clues she needed to follow to complete a mission—save the earth from the gatekeepers, destroy the universe in retribution. And above all, stay one step ahead of Zeus.
When he was twelve, she had run into his history class to pull him out, claiming that she’d needed to take him to Brighton straightaway to open the gates of Heaven on the beach. His throat tightened at the memory.
Palace Pier, where children try to win stuffed toys in arcade halls, and men in striped shirts sell doughnuts and ice-cream
.
A likely place for the gates of Heaven.
He’d sat in his classroom chair, avoiding eye contact and pretending not to know her. The humiliation still gnawed at him.
He hugged his arms tighter around his knees. What was it that had made her mad? She’d received instructions through the radio and coded messages from coffee adverts. She’d seen patterns where there were none. She’d point to a flame on a fire extinguisher and see it as a warning from the gods about the pits of Hell. She’d rearrange letters in street signs to form messages that made sense to no one but herself. Everything, every picture and quote in a newspaper, had meaning for her mission.
After a few months, the madness would burn itself out again, and he’d come home to find her trying to piece together the broken shards of their life: cleaning house, looking for another job, buying new clothes for him.
Whatever happened to his body, Thomas did not want to lose his mind. But in the oppressive silence, he could almost hear his own thoughts seeking out patterns, a constant refrain playing in his mind to torment him:
seven points, seven towers, seven gods.
The late afternoon sun warmed Tobias’s face as he sat in a sea of yellow and pink daisies, the warm tones punctuated by pockets of blue-eyed grass. He reached down, running his fingers over the vines that climbed the side of the wooden bench.
He hadn’t been able to do anything but watch as Mariana was dragged away last night. Not with that guard chanting away the evil spirits, which apparently included him, because the spell had made his body twitch and convulse like a traitor in a noose.
Just as he’d done in Maremount, Tobias had chosen to go for Fiona first. She was easily the most likely to put her foot through the ceiling. But maybe he’d miscalculated. Maybe Fiona was his weakness, muddling his ability to think clearly in life-and-death situations.
He clenched his fists. This was why he’d been leaving her out of it. She only seemed to make things worse with her relentless curiosity and suspicion.
And now I have to rescue Mariana instead of finding Jack.
Droplets of sweat beaded on his upper lip and moistened the collar of his white T-shirt.
Footsteps in the gravel turned his head. Munroe strode toward him, smiling shyly. “There you are. I was trying to catch your eye today.”
Rubbing a hand across his forehead, he rose. “Were you?”
She stepped close to him, swinging her pink chiffon skirt as she twisted back and forth. She smelled like a sweet, spiced wine. “I’m going to need an escort. To the fundraiser party.”
A sulfur butterfly flitted through the tall grasses nearby.
Is she really bringing this up now? After my friend was just arrested?
She licked her glossy lips. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear about Mariana. Though I can’t say I’m very surprised. I got an evil vibe from her.”
Tobias’s jaw tightened, but he restrained himself from snapping at her. He needed Munroe on his side. “Your mother said this morning that she was committed for a sickness in her head.”
She sighed. “I think she’s a straight-up terrorist, but Dr. Mellior diagnosed her with circeto…” She shook her head. “I keep forgetting the name. Oh yeah, circetomania. There are new laws since the terrorists attacked. Diagnosed circetomaniacs can be committed against their will. Dr. Mellior helped pioneer a conversion therapy for them. Anyway, her parents have been notified that she’s getting purification treatment.”
Tobias raised his eyebrows, hoping to convey innocence. “Purification? What’s that like?”
She waved her hand, half fanning herself. “It’s all very secretive right now. National security. But soon the whole country will know what people like my father are doing for them. After the attacks, Americans want the government to do something.”
He nodded. “What did you call it—circetomania?”
“A lust for magical power that drives people to madness. They’ll try to cure her in the institution.” She took a step toward him, placing her hand on his shoulder and blinking, her gray eyes nearly as pale as her skin. “You should join the Brotherhood.”
Play along, Tobias.
“You’re obviously very powerful. And I’d like to help with Mariana’s treatment in any way that I can.”
“I think Dr. Mellior will take care of that.” She ran a light finger down his bicep. “But like I said, I need an escort to the party.”
He swallowed. “I would love to be your escort. And maybe you could tell me more about this wonderful institution at some point.”
She beamed, swishing her skirt. “Perfect.” In the heat, her neck glistened, and she swished her skirt again. “Anyway, I’ll see you at dinner.” She rubbed her fingers over her chalice pendant for a moment and then turned around to saunter back toward the house.
He exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair. This morning, he’d crept up to the holding room in the attic and knocked on the door, but there’d been no response.
He strode along the path, heading toward the river and squinting into the harsh glare of the sun. Would it be possible to convince the Purgators that Mariana had actually
fought
the terrorists? It didn’t seem likely. They thought all philosophers were unified in a sinister plot against Blodrial. Blodrial was beyond a doubt the most irritating of the earthly gods.
As he neared the murky river, a second set of footsteps came up behind him. He turned to see Fiona’s determined expression. Though her hair was tied up, rogue curls escaped and floated around her blotchy face.
She rubbed her eyes as she got closer. “I shouldn’t have convinced everyone to sneak around. I’m sorry I thought you were with the witch-hunters.” She was trying to stifle her tears.
“I told you I wasn’t working with them. I’m not really sure why you thought that.”
That was a lie—he did know why she thought that. She could tell he was keeping secrets, and she had no idea what they were. Still, this recent catastrophe had only strengthened his resolve to sort out what he could on his own.
“I know. I should have listened. Mariana said I was being paranoid.” She rubbed a hand across her forehead, her eyes shimmering.
“Well, now you know I’m not on their side.” He fought the urge to come right out and say,
I told you so. I told you that you’d only mess everything up.
She squinted at him. “What happened at the end? Why were you shaking? It seemed like the guard’s spell was driving you backward.”
He shook his head. “The Purgator magic was affecting me, I guess.”
She paced, and he awaited her follow-up questions. It was a lame excuse, and she would know it. But she just let it hang in the air.
She still doesn’t trust me. And maybe she shouldn’t.
“I should have just accepted that we were here and got on with the cult.”
Despite his irritation with her, he couldn’t suppress a wave of sympathy. “We’ll find her, Fiona.” He pulled her in for a hug, and she sniffled into his shoulder, her tears dampening his
T-shirt.
“I’m going out to look for her tonight.” His shirt muffled her voice.
“Where? Munroe says she’s in an institution.”
“Is that what you two were talking about?”
He stepped back, holding her at arms length. “That. And she wants me to escort her to the party.”
The dazzling sunlight brought out the gold in her eyes. She narrowed them at him. “You’re not going to, are you?”
“I think she’s starting to trust me. She might tell me where the institution is.”
Fiona flushed, crossing her arms. “I think I know where it is. I think it’s through the crypt door. Why else would Mrs. Ranulf have been going in there? And we already know they’ve locked someone else up there.”
Absentmindedly, he rubbed at the scar on his chest. “You said the crypt door was locked. Any idea where the key is?”
“No, but we don’t have time for Munroe to develop enough of a crush on you that she just hands over a key, unless you’re going to defile her by tonight.”
“If I must,” he said with a brief flicker of a smile.
She smacked his arm. “Tobias!”
She was probably right that they didn’t have a lot of time. He’d seen what happened to Eden when she was imprisoned too long—the shadows under her eyes, her mouth a tight line, the skeletal limbs.
Glancing back up at Fiona, his hand froze for a moment in the air as he was caught by the impulse to brush a curl out of her eyes. No matter what he said, she was going to plunge into some ill-conceived plan. And with Jack coming for her, he needed to stay by her side. “I’ll help you, if we do things cautiously. Let’s start by finding out what’s in the holding cell. Just the two of us.”
She chewed her lip. “That’s a start, at least. We’ll find her, right? I mean, we defeated the bone wardens. We can take on a housewife and her psychiatrist.” She swatted away a mosquito. “I’m going to send Byron to spy on Mrs. Ranulf and find out where she keeps her keys.”
He touched her chin, lifting it a little. “You need to sleep when you can.”
She ignored his comment. “I’ll find you again when I know about the keys.” She rested her hand on his shoulder for a moment, leaning into him, and then turned back to the house.
He watched her walk away and then leaned down, plucking a dandelion puff from the ground. The plant’s jagged leaves gave it its name,
dent de lion—
lion’s tooth
.
But the Tatters called them
clock weeds
. Children said that if you stood in the long afternoon shadows and blew the white fluff, the floating seeds would drag you back in time. It didn’t feel like you needed magic to fall back in time here. The spirits from the past were all around, clamoring for recognition through the overgrown ivy and juneberry bushes.
He puffed on the seeds, scattering them on the thick spring air. He should tell Fiona what he’d done—what he was now. But he didn’t want to. If she knew he’d devoted himself to one of the earthly gods, she would have all the more reason to think that he was just like Jack.
Without Mariana in the bedroom, the ticking of the antique clock rang out even louder. Tobias had suggested she sleep, but she couldn’t will it upon herself. For a few moments, curled up in her sheets, she felt herself drifting off, but her excitement at sleep’s approach jolted her awake again.
She opened her eyes, sighed loudly, and flipped over to her other side, stuffing her face into the cotton pillowcase. Something chafed at her mind, something besides Mariana. Maybe Tobias wasn’t working with the Purgators, but he was still hiding something from her. He moved differently now, with a feral grace, and he could stalk around soundlessly.
Still, whatever powers he was summoning, she needed them on her side to find Mariana. And he was right that she needed to rest. She closed her eyes.
Imagine something beautiful and relaxing
. If all the Harvester madness hadn’t happened, they could have stayed in Boston. They could have spent the summer eating fried fish sandwiches at Sullivan’s on Castle Island, sunbathing on Carson Beach. As she tried to slow her breathing, something tapped on the windowpane.