Isaac’s eyebrows pressed together. “What do you mean?”
“When I shot the photo, there was a person sitting in that seat right there.”
“A spirit?”
“Not quite. I didn’t snap a picture of something dead, I snapped a picture of someone living—someone alive who’s crossed into the other realm. The Reflection.”
His eyes darted up and locked with hers. “Are you sure about what you’re saying?”
“I wouldn’t have come here if I wasn’t.”
Isaac handed the picture to Alice. He ran his fingers through his shoulder-length dark hair then walked across the room, around his desk, and to his seat. “How did it happen?” he asked.
She enjoyed the way Isaac had ditched the formalities entirely to focus on the matter at hand. There was no warm-up, no need for how-do-you-do’s. Instead he had gotten right to the point, and seemed genuinely interested.
“I don’t know,” Alice said, “But I think she was taken across.”
“You think?”
“It’s hard to say why or for what, but it definitely wasn’t accidental.”
“The spirits are always hungry for human contact, and they’ll get it where they can.”
“Sure, but the amount of power necessary to drag a full human across, one who was unwilling and resistant at the time...?” She didn’t like what she had just said and almost cringed after having said it. The circumstances surrounding Emily’s disappearance were starting to seem too familiar, and yet she refused to believe it.
Isaac clasped his hands in front of his face and tapped his fingers against his lips. “How long has she been gone.”
“A few days. Maybe as many as three.”
“Three days is a long time, but time flows differently in the Reflection. It could have been three hours for her.”
“We have to get her out, Isaac. However long it’s been, if she’s where I think she is, she’s already been gone too long.”
“And how do you suggest we do that?”
“You tell me; you’re the Necromancer.”
“I don’t subscribe to that title. Gives people the wrong impression.”
“And what impression is that? That you’re an intrusive, pushy Mage with an unhealthy obsession with the past who would dissect his own girlfriend if it meant he could understand the world a little better? Seems to me like the Italian loafer fits.”
The words came out before Alice had a chance to run them through her filter. She hadn’t meant to say them, hadn’t meant to get personal with Isaac in the slightest. In fact, getting personal was the furthest thing from her mind; all she wanted to do was help Emily. But the words came out like a spray of bullets shot from the past. She didn’t have to remind herself she had been the one to end things, but there
had
been things left unsaid, and these things were bubbling to the surface like scalding acid-reflux.
“I wanted to help you,” he said, “I wanted to give you the answers you needed.”
Alice frowned. “Like hell you did. I know your type, how you enjoy taking things apart to see what makes them tick. Knowledge is power, right? That’s what you’ve always said. You would have found a way to turn your knowledge of me into power.”
“I would never disrespect you like that.”
“I have no way of knowing whether that’s true or not.”
Isaac’s deep brown eyes found Alice’s, and his gaze scorched the air between them. He clenched his jaw and looked away. Alice let go of the breath of air in her lungs, took a moment to shake herself loose, and felt the tension wash away from her like sweat after a marathon.
“Can you help Emily or not?” Alice asked, “I don’t want either of us to waste any more time than we have to here.”
“I think I can help her,” he said, “But I would need to do some research.”
“Research? What kind of research?”
“Just because one has the power to tear a hole into the realm of the dead doesn’t mean one does so on a daily basis. I would need to prepare the right kind of ritual and get the incantation right. Opening the door isn’t the difficult part; getting Emily out without hurting her, or letting anything else get out after her, will be.”
“How difficult?”
Isaac stared at Alice again, though his eyes weren’t intense this time. Concern had taken over and caused his face to take on a pleading expression. “I can’t say yet, but I want to be prepared. Of course, this preparation will take time, and I have other responsibil—”
“You’re kidding right? Are you about to blow me off?”
“I wasn’t. I was simply trying to tell you that I will need time—”
“We don’t
have
time, Isaac. I need you to give this your full attention right now. Emily needs you.”
She was asking for a lot—of course she was. But there was a girl lost in the Reflection somewhere, being subjected to all manner of horrors. Maybe she had found a good place to hide, but it was more likely that she hadn’t, that she was being hounded by—
the arm in the picture
—whoever had taken her across into the other realm. She had put her priorities aside to help Emily, and she wasn’t about to leave here without Isaac doing the same.
“Please, Isaac,” she said. “Not for me, but for her.”
Isaac stood, tugged on his shirt, and said “Fine, but then I want something in return.”
“Payment? Really?”
Again, more words which spilled out of Alice’s mouth involuntarily. She had been paid for this job and would, hopefully, be getting paid again, so reason dictated it was only fair Isaac should get paid too. Nate had said he would have trouble scraping a few thousand dollars together, though, and she doubted he would be able to hire Isaac’s services, too. She would have to pay him herself.
“It’s only fair that I be recompensed for putting my life on hold for you.”
“Not for me. For Emily.” She sighed. “How much?”
“I don’t want your money.”
“What’s wrong with my money?”
“Nothing, I just don’t need it.”
“So then what do you want?”
“I’ll make my terms clear after we’re done.”
“That will not work.”
Isaac hesitated, pausing to carefully consider his next words. “You can trust me to only ask for something appropriate for the services I’ve rendered.”
She made a
pschh
sound, but said nothing else.
Ignoring her, he continued. “Have you never worked with someone who didn’t demand a down payment before?”
“Considering I don’t normally hire out, no. And I always require a down payment. Nothing comes for free.”
“I know that.”
“I also like knowing what I’m getting into, and you’re putting me in a bind.”
“I’m not asking you to pull your own fingernails off. All I’m asking is for you to let me ask you what I want after we’re finished.”
Alice thought she really
would
rather pull her own fingernails off than give Isaac a blank check, but then realized this was bullshit. She had watched some pretty accurate representations of what it would be like to have your nails peeled off. Nope. She had just told herself a great big lie, but there was some truth to her initial rejection. She didn’t want him having anything he could lord over her.
She considered other ways of getting Emily home safely, tried to think back to those other people who owed her favors and whether they knew anything about the Reflection at all. Truth was, Alice didn’t have many friends, nor people who owed her favors. She worked on commission, not promises. Like it or not, there was no way of removing Isaac from the equation entirely no matter how much she disliked dealing with him.
He was here, he had the tools she needed, and Emily didn’t have much time.
Alice rolled her eyes and said “Fine.”
“Good,” Isaac said, extending his hand, “In that case, consider us partners.”
Alice studied him, deciding what she should do next, what she should say. This was the first time in years they had been in each other’s company, and the first time in a long time that they had spoken without an argument erupting like an angry volcano. But the thought of Emily, the guilt of what she was going through, shone through far more brightly than her apprehension of working with Isaac Moreau.
She chose not to shake his hand, and instead sat down in the armchair in the corner of the room. It was comfortable enough, packed with so much of that lightweight foam stuff that Alice seemed to melt right into it. Isaac watched her with a frown on his face. He looked at the door, and then back at her.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“For you to do what you have to do.”
“Alice… this could take hours. I have a lot of books to go through and a lot of things to collect.”
“Fine. You work, I’ll read.”
“Read? Here?”
“Why not? I’m good to go. You’re the one who needs to prepare his toolbox. Are you telling me there’s something I could do to help move things along?”
“Well, no, but—”
“—then I’ll be right here. Reading.”
She pulled an eReader out of her backpack, raised it to eye level, and let her head slip back, feeling the foam cup her neck like a gentle set of hands. Isaac didn’t get to work for a good few seconds after, and part of her enjoyed making him nervous. The other part of her, however, was already exhausted. Alice had to remind herself more than once of where she was and force herself to stay awake, to keep her eyes on the pages of the Agatha Christie novel she had been getting through over the past couple of days. But her eyes were heavy, her body tight with exhaustion, and her mind was slipping. She knew she would need to feed soon—feed on a soul—only Isaac was in the picture now, and she didn’t want him knowing about her…
vulnerability
.
Sleep came quickly, and whether this was the book’s fault or a result of her tiredness didn’t matter. She was asleep in Isaac Moreau’s office and vulnerable whether she liked it or not.
CHAPTER NINE
The Good Doctor
Isaac had told Alice he would need a couple of hours to get things ready, but the truth was that he only needed a couple of minutes. The magic he needed to use in order to open a door into the Reflection existed within him, within his soul. What he needed to do was find out if there was a way of taking Emily out safely while making sure not to damage the barrier between worlds in any permanent way.
This was tricky, and having Alice sleeping on his armchair made it difficult for Isaac to string two thoughts together.
“Dammit,” he said, and he set his reading glasses down on top of an old leather-bound book he had been reading:
A Grimoire of Souls, by Benedict LaMarque.
In this book, written by a 15
th
century French Mage, a master of traveling between realms, he had hoped to find the answer he needed. But it was late, the new Greek exhibit was being unveiled tomorrow night, and he hadn’t eaten anything since two in the afternoon. He had been hoping to go home after work—probably at around nine—and get something to eat along the way, but had gotten a little sidetracked. Now, things being as they were, he would be lucky to eat anything before breakfast.
Isaac pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He knew he would need help finding the answer to this particular conundrum, and could think of only one person who could help. Someone Isaac trusted with the most essential part of himself—his immortal, magical soul.
Come,
he said in his mind. Droplets of rain—rain which had let up about fifteen minutes ago—began to tap on his window, and light thunder rolled above. In a moment, Isaac could smell cinnamon and honey and mint, accompanied by the stench of rotting human flesh, the miasma of disease. His nose twitched, though it was no use. The smell was only half-real, existing simultaneously in the physical realm and in his mind. He could cover his nose, could pump several gallons of air-freshener into the room, but the stench would prevail.
When he opened his eyes, the cloaked figure standing on the other side of Isaac’s desk, like the smell, was only half there. It had no shadow, its voice made no echo, and when it breathed from behind its long-beaked mask—the beak was stuffed with medicinal herbs—it was not breathing the air from this world, but only mimicking the movements its human counterpart may have made.
“Good Doctor,” Isaac said.
The Good Doctor bowed. “You summoned me,” it said in a hollow voice. “I have come.”
“Thank you. I require your assistance.”
“I am aware of the predicament.”
“Is there a solution?” Isaac asked.
“Any tampering of the barrier between worlds is a risk. Many have attempted it, and the scars they leave upon the veil can still be seen today. With the right vessel, however, one can travel between worlds without consequence.”
“I think we’re fresh out of vessels.”
“Perhaps not.”