Resonance (26 page)

‘You’re to carry her to my room,’ Tina whispered.

‘No!’ exclaimed Raquel, utterly appalled. ‘No! Absolutely not!’

‘Carry her to my room,’ Tina insisted. ‘And … and Harry, too. All of us. In my room. Or I won’t talk to your angel anymore.’

Wolcroft dithered a moment, apparently torn between the two women. Then he dodged past Tina, lifted the rustling bundle from the shadow beneath the sill, and led the way to the second staircase. Tina followed.

Raquel and Vincent stood in silence punctuated by the steady dribbling of water from Harry’s clothing.

‘He cannot mean to,’ she said eventually. ‘In my room. In my
bed
. I can’t … it can’t be allowed.’

‘Raquel,’ sighed Vincent. ‘It will do you no harm. It is only—’

‘It is disgusting!
It is
old
and
vile
!’

‘It is only for a while, Raquel,’ he replied. ‘And only to please the seer. After the extravaganza, everything will be back to normal. In the meantime, can you not muster even a moment of patience? For Cornelius, of all people? He asks so little of us, and does so much. Just keep away from your room for the time being,
meu amor
. I promise that when this is over, I shall dispose of that thing in whatever way you wish.’

The man’s arm tightened around Harry’s chest, and Harry allowed himself to be hauled along the landing and hefted up the second flight of stairs. As far as he could tell, the woman remained behind.

‘P
UT HER IN
the bed.’

Wolcroft sighed. ‘I assure you, girl, this creature is not in any way the person you once—’

‘Put her in the bed.’

‘May I be permitted to remind you of her vile plan for you? Her complete willingness to prostitute you to my whim? There is not an ounce worth saving about this creature. Surely you—’

‘You’ve no right to judge her, mister. Put her in the bed.’

Vincent dragged Harry into the adjoining room, which was pitch-black, the moon having abandoned this side of the house, but Vincent seemed to have no trouble finding his way about. It took all of Harry’s self-control not to protest as the man, holding him up with one strong arm, stripped him of his clothes and scrubbed him dry with some coarse and dusty fabric. He was laid down onto chokingly musty sheets and pillows. A blanket was drawn across him.

He felt surprisingly well – it was as though the house had wrapped a healing cocoon around his body. He kept his breathing steady and his body lax, waiting to be left alone. To his frustration, Vincent instead sat down on the edge of the bed, apparently listening to the conversation in the next room.

Wolcroft said, ‘The Angel spoke to you?’

Tina gave only silence in reply.

Wolcroft said, ‘I should very much like to hear what it had to tell you.’

Suddenly Vincent’s voice spoke in Harry’s head.
Little magician? Are you awake?

Harry couldn’t help but flinch at this, and the man leaned across him, hopeful.

Magician? Are you?

Harry made a feeble stirring on the pillows, as if disturbed in his sleep, and then went still.

In the next room, Wolcroft, his voice hesitant in the wake of Tina’s persistent silence, said, ‘Luke has caught some
game. After you have rested, I could cook you something. I … I used to be quite the cook. We have bergamot in the garden – I could fix a little tea, if you think it might restore you?’

‘For the others, too,’ said Tina softly.

‘Of course.’

Listen to him
, whispered Vincent’s thoughts.
So engaged after so long asleep
.

He shifted his weight on the bed, and Harry barely kept from crying out as Vincent’s hand, blazing hot, absently pushed the damp hair from his forehead.

I knew he would blossom again, once you were restored. I knew you would bring him back to life. It will be so good to have you home, Matthew
.

As if realising his mistake, the man’s hand froze. He surged to his feet. Harry waited through a moment of breathless confusion.

‘Apologies,’ said Vincent. ‘I get confused.’

He left quickly, closing and locking the door behind him. There was a brief rumble of voices before the women’s room fell silent.

Harry forced himself to count to one hundred before creeping from the bed. He spent a moment listening at the door; then he rescued his lock-pick set from the sodden pile of his clothes and coaxed the lock. Carefully, he cracked the door.

Someone had lit candles. Tina was standing on the opposite side of the room, her hands clenched, gazing at him as if she’d been waiting for his arrival.

‘Harry,’ she whispered. ‘You need to hurry. They won’t leave us alone for long.’

He kept the door between them, his head just peeping around. ‘I’m not decent.’

She couldn’t seem to understand this; he got the impression she had to focus very fiercely just to keep him in sight. ‘Turn your back,’ he whispered.

It took only moments to unlock her door and let himself into Wolcroft’s room. The man’s clothes were folded neatly in a locker at the end of his bed. Harry took an undershirt, shirt and trousers. He stole a warm woollen jacket. He helped himself to two pairs of socks. He couldn’t bring himself to take underwear. Wolcroft’s boots were too small – he would have to pull on his own wet ones.

He crept across the corridor like a furtive mouse and sat to pull on his boots. Damn, but they were soaked. He had to roll Wolcroft’s sleeves up on his shorter arms.

‘We gotta go, Tina. I’ve got a feeling you only stay alive here for as long as you’re useful or entertaining, and neither of those things seem too good for your health round here. It’s gonna be
darned cold
outside the gardens. You’ll need to wrap up warm. Where is Miss—’

Harry froze, horrified at the creature Tina had just finished tucking into bed like a child. The creature’s oversized eyes followed Tina’s hands as she took something from her travel bag. It was a rosary. Tina wrapped the glittering beads around the creature’s wizened claws, tucking the crucifix into its palm.

‘There now,’ she whispered.

‘Tina,’ warned Harry. ‘Come away from that thing.’

‘This is Miss Ursula, Harry.’

Harry’s heart sank, recalling the horrible
maggot-creature
in Vincent’s laboratory, and how Tina had called it
Joe. ‘Tina,’ he said firmly. ‘You come away from that thing now.’

Tina smoothed the thing’s wispy hair off its wizened face. ‘It’s all right,’ she told it. ‘We’ll come fetch you as soon as we’ve found Joe.’ She bent lower to whisper, ‘Don’t worry about what you expected me to do with that man. I know you were frightened; I know it was the only thing you could think of.’

To Harry’s confusion, a tear rolled down the creature’s cheek. It moved its fingers to touch Tina’s arm. Tina just kept stroking its hair, until gradually it seemed to sleep. Then she straightened.

‘Harry,’ she said, ‘I need you to pick some locks.’

He followed her down the stairs to the first floor, hissing protests all the way. ‘Tina, I’m not leaving without you, so you’ve gotta listen—’

‘This door, please, Harry.’

‘Aw, kid. We’ve already been in here. Please don’t tell me we’re gonna find Joe in there, because—’

‘This door, please, Harry.’

He grimaced, and knelt to once again unlock the laboratory door. ‘Was it the old lady playing the piano?’ he whispered. ‘Where’d she go after that? Let’s find her.’

Tina pushed past him and into the familiar, living quiet of Vincent’s room. To Harry’s dismay, she made straight for the windows and the long, narrow box that held the snake creature. ‘Tina, that’s not Joe.’

‘I know,’ she replied. ‘It’s … it’s the
Angel’s
Joe. It’s …’ She breathed frustration through her nose, her fingers travelling the red wood of the box as she searched for the right words. She looked up to meet Harry’s anxious gaze,
and he saw that her eyes had once again filled with tears.

‘Harry,’ she said. ‘I love Joe.’

This stopped Harry in his tracks. Uncomfortable and moved, he searched for a reply, but Tina pressed her hands flat onto the gleaming lid of the box and said, ‘This is the
Angel’s
Joe. He yearns for this. He pines for it. I can’t … I don’t think he can live without it, Harry.’

He stepped closer. ‘What angel?’ he whispered.

Tina didn’t seem to hear him. ‘But this poor thing is dead. Really dead, forever dead, not like Joe.’

‘What do you mean,
not like Joe
?’

She crouched so she was at eye level with the wood, watching as something invisible rose and fell before her eyes.

‘The light led me here – see how it’s all straight lines here? How it all travels through this thing before going back to the Angel? I thought it was bringing me to Joe. I thought …’

She pressed her hand to the side of her head, grappling with her thoughts.

‘Because …’ she whispered. ‘Because our
feelings
are the same: the Angel’s and mine. His feelings for this, my feelings for Joe … the same. We … we got confused. We confused each other.’

She squinted up at him again.

‘I need you to undo this lock now, Harry. I’m taking it back to the Angel, and … and the Angel will give me back my Joe.’

Fair Exchange

I
T CANNOT SEE
me, but it is chasing me: the feel of me, or the smell of me – something like that. I run from it because it frightens me.

Parts of me have been coming back as I run, and I almost completely recall who I am supposed to be now. I am Joe – aren’t I? I am
her
Joe. She loves me.

I stumble through darkness on yielding pathways of sand, head ducked to avoid the low snatch of ceiling. I run from its searing light, the shredding thunder of its voice. At one stage, I am herded back into the cave where I first came to life, and I run without thinking into the shallows of the glowing pool. The water grabs me as if it is hungry; there is a clutching at my heart, a deadening of my legs below the knee, and I fall.

It is dead
, I think.
The water is dead
. And it is killing me.

I flounder to shore, where I fall facedown, my heart slowing to a standstill. Then the creature draws near and my body stutters to animation again, filling with sparks and flashes. The creature’s voice raises, and I push myself up
and run. I must keep my distance. This creature’s touch will unravel me as surely as the water deadened me.

I run. My footsteps ring hollow on wooden flooring. I bump a wall, my hand closes on something metal, cold and ornate, as I round a corner: a wall-mounted candlestick. I slam against an obstacle – it is a door. I push through, and I am in an open space that smells of fresh, planed wood and paint. I trip, tumble down thickly carpeted steps and come to a halt against a velvet cushioned seat.

I listen, panting. There is something familiar about the atmosphere of this place. I grope about, and realise I am crouched between rows of seats. I look up into the
pitch-dark
, half-expecting the glitter of a distant chandelier.

An anemone of light opens in the darkness as the creature follows me through the open door. The space around me comes alive with the subtle winkings of metal fittings, the soft glow of illuminated velvet. Below me, rows of seats lead to the silent maw of an ornately appointed stage. Above me, the creature rises to its full height, swaying and moaning and feeling all about for me.

Far above, through layers of stone, Tina descends steps in darkness, a dead thing in her arms, a boy at her back. She tells me not to be afraid; that she is coming for me. I tell her that I am not afraid. I tell her she must stay away.

Tina tells me this creature is an angel. Immediately, her image of it tries to impose itself on mine – the curved body straightens, heavenly light casts from outspread wings. Its face is tragic with desperation.

Part of me wants to accept this picture, wants Tina’s vision to erase the fluid entity before me: the heavy head and arched back, the arms that act as forelegs, the vast swarm of
eel-like protrusions. But I did not wait all those years outside churches for her simply because I was too stubborn to go inside. I have not been secretly longing for my moment on the road to Damascus. I can no more believe in the existence of angels than I can be persuaded there is a God in heaven weeping for the damaged innocents of this world. This is not an angel, and in the end, I see it for what it is.

I sink between the seats, hoping it will leave. I think it might. It is groping about and seems to neither see nor sense me where I crouch. Dimly layered over this, I see the image of Tina’s angel searching in growing hopelessness, as if about to give up.

When it goes I will be left in utter darkness, but I have noticed a little door by the stage. I have already mapped my route to it.

Nearby, Tina reaches the last step of a deep staircase. It led her from a library, where strewn books guided her to a secret door. The boy with her lifts a latch and raises a candle above their heads.

We’re here, Joe!
Tina whispers.
I’ll be with you soon
.

The creature, already turned to go, hesitates and raises its head, sensing her through all the layers of rock between.

I call out to her in panic,
Shhhh. It can hear you
.

The creature whips around. Doubling back on itself like a silverfish, it flows down the steps towards me with a high, bright call of interest. It pauses face-to-face with me, its tentacles arched above, its heavy head swinging back and forth as if scenting for me. The air between us crackles, and my eyes are dazzled by its presence.

I keep my thoughts dim and low, trying not to think of Tina at all. I hope and hope and hope in my heart that she
knows not to think of me. There is only it and me in the world now. Only it and me.

‘Matthew!’

I cut my eyes right, past the upper seats to the door above. A man is in the theatre. Black-skinned, thin and noble-looking. His grip on the doorframe shows his terror for me.

‘Matthew,’ he whispers. ‘Crawl away. It cannot see you. It will not hurt you on purpose, but crawl away from it now before it touches you.’

I start backing slowly between the seats, retreating from the creature as it seeks blindly for my presence. At that moment the door by the stage opens and Tina steps through, a dead thing cradled in her arms.

She looks straight at me.
Joe
, she thinks.

The creature rears high, roaring, and I realise that it sees her. Unlike me, who it can only sense through my connection with her, it sees Tina.

It rushes towards her, all its focus on:
Tell. Warn. Danger. Help.

I leap to my feet, screaming at her to run. She only has eyes for the creature, her face lit up with wonder. The boy behind her freezes, the candle still held high, his eyes brimming with the impossible as it advances towards him down the steps.

I remember who he is: that dark, wild hair; those intense eyes.

‘Harry!’ I scream, scrambling across seats towards Tina. ‘Get her away.’ I launch myself at the creature and am tackled from behind, tumbling head over heels with a hot, iron grip around my chest.

The man presses me to the carpeted steps. He covers my
body with his own as the creature’s shivering veil of tentacles passes overhead, a cathedral of living light.

Tina shrugs free of Harry’s grip and steps into the creature’s path. The dead thing in her arms rustles as she raises it high.

Here
, she thinks.

The creature stops in its tracks. Only feet from Tina, it surges to its full height, rising up on those multi-jointed back legs, lifting those leg-type arms in a gesture unreadable to me. Its vast comet-tail of tentacles curl, then spread wide, rigid and shivering as if galvanised. They seem to fill the theatre, and the man holds me down as their tips hover just above our heads. Each tentacle is segmented like an iridescent worm. Each ends in a sucker that opens and closes like a searching mouth.

The creature bends forward. Its blind, heavy face reflects in Tina’s shining eyes as it nuzzles the dead thing in her arms. She offers it tenderly, her face eloquent with shared grief. A bouquet of papery snakes trails to the ground; a grotesque maggot body spirals the length of her arm.

Here
, she thinks.
Here
.

She sees a shining angel, his swan-like wings quivering with sorrow, his delicate hands poised, not daring to touch the fragile corpse. She sees his eyes overflow, and knows he is consumed with despair. The black-skinned man tugs at me, urging me to leave. I shove him aside and begin to crawl to her.

The real creature is poised above us all, rigid as a glass star. Transfixed by emotion beyond human expression, it regards the dead thing in Tina’s arms. Without warning, it releases a long, piercing wail of rage.

Tina sees the Angel bare its teeth, and the creature surges forward. It snatches the thing from her, and there is howling and screaming; a violent thrashing of light that fills the theatre.

The man snatches me by the ankles and drags me between the seats. Harry grabs Tina around her waist, hauling her in the opposite direction. She stares up into frenzy, into centuries of grief. The creature’s voice is fire, it is chaos. It has burned my mind.

I feel the man’s arms around me, the bump of each step as he escapes and drags me with him. I find I cannot move. The creature’s light is fading. Burnt out and hopeless, empty and lost, it has fallen to the floor and curled around the body of the thing it loved.

It is dying
, I think. The thought fills me with terror.