Broken Souls (The Chronicles of Mara Lantern, Book 2) (37 page)

The front half of the shop was ablaze with light, so bright it washed out all detail in the room. The shelves, the gadgets, the counter and antique register, the front door and the display window were all scoured away into a brilliant white nothingness. It was as if someone had sliced the shop in half, with Mr. Mickleson’s grandfather clock standing at the end of the counter, its back to Mara, being the line of demarcation. The portion of the shop behind it, that part immediately in front of Mara continued to be dark, but full of visible shadows and detail.

Mara took a tentative step forward.

“I’m coming!” The voice came from the grandfather clock.

Giving it a wide berth, Mara walked slowly in a semicircle stepping from the dark into the blinding light as she turned to face the front of the clock. Brilliant light flooded through the glass door of the clock’s tall waist, so intense it radiated warmth. Mara held up her hand to prevent it from blinding her.

“Mar-ree! I’m coming!”

Definitely coming out of the clock.

She reached forward and unlatched the door. A wind gusted outward, throwing the glass door open, sending it reeling from her hand and slamming against the clock’s wooden side. Mara had to lean forward to remain upright. Swiping her flying hair from her face, Mara squinted into the light, which now broke up into bands as something moved inside the clock. A figure, a tiny silhouette, walked toward her from an impossible distance.

“Mar-ree!”

The figure grew, became more distinct and appeared to be a child waving with one arm while holding a box under the other. She skipped and jogged forward, seemingly oblivious to the tumult around her.

Then she stepped from the clock, dropped her cargo on the floor with a thud and walked up to Mara. With light still streaming from the clock, the little girl stood a couple inches in front of Mara, looked up and crooked her finger.

Come down here.

Mara bent forward, and the child placed her hands on each of Mara’s cheeks.

In that tiny voice Mara had come to recognize from the radio, almost drowned out by the wind blowing from the clock, the little girl whispered into Mara’s ear, “Shine, Mar-ree. Shine.”

A light shock, like the static from rubbing your feet on carpet, pinched Mara’s cheek.

The light and the wind from the clock receded. But though it was now dark in the shop, Mara could still see the child.

Straightening, Mara rubbed her face and looked down at her. “Who are you?”

The child giggled and said, “I’m Hannah, silly.”

Behind Mara, the display window that faced the street exploded, sending glass crashing into the shop.

A table that looked like it might have come from the bakery next door flew into the shop carrying with it a cascade of glass from the display window through which it had just plunged. Mara spun around to see at least a dozen shedding victims pushing each other, knocking down the remaining shards of glass jutting out from the window frame, kicking gadgets and signs out of their path to get inside. One woman in a hospital gown had cleared the window ahead of the pack and made a halting beeline to where Mara and the little girl, who said her name was Hannah, stood.

Mara bent down, wrapped an arm around the girl’s waist and swung her onto a hip. As she took a step toward the back of the shop, the girl yelled, “I have to give you that.” She waved her arms, reaching to the floor toward the object she had carried out of the clock.

Without losing her stride, Mara scooped it up, dashed past the grandfather clock and almost bowled over Ping. She shoved the item into Ping’s arms and said, “Get into the back. We need to figure out how to block it off. Hurry!”

In the rear of the shop, she put the girl down, looked at Suter and pointed to a set of shelves against the wall to the left of the entryway. “Get over here and help me slide these shelves.”

Suter followed her and pressed a shoulder to the end of the shelves next to where Mara positioned her back, pushing with her feet. The shelves moved slowly. Ping and Abby grabbed a handhold on one of the planks in the center of the shelves and helped. As they were about to cover the entryway, a gray, fissure-spidered arm reached out and caught a handful of Abby’s hair. Yanking backward, it pulled her head toward the narrow opening between the shelves and the wall, hitting the edge of both. Despite seeing stars, she grabbed a fistful of bicycle spokes from a shelf and stabbed at the arm until it released her. The shelves slid the last four inches to cover the entryway.

Rubbing her forehead, Abby staggered back from the shelves and tossed the spokes across the room. “Hope I’m that strong when I’m decomposing.”

As they relaxed, something slammed into the back of the shelves, rocking them forward, causing tools and bicycle parts to clatter to the floor. Another slam threatened to tip over the barrier entirely.

“What we need is a brick wall,” Mara said.

“Do it!” Ping shouted over the pounding and crashing tools.

“What? Do what?”

“A brick wall, make one. You can do it.”

“Yeah, Mar-ree. Make a brick wall,” Hannah said, pointing at the swaying set of shelves.

Mara shuddered as she tried to take in a breath and concentrate. She closed her eyes and imagined what it would look like, to have a wall in front of them instead of the rickety set of shelves. In her mind’s eye, she visualized horizontal lines running parallel in front of her, occasionally broken by vertical lines. Soon a pattern emerged that she recognized. Bricks. A brick wall.

The clattering morphed into a muffled, hardly discernible pattering sound. She opened her eyes, and the shelves were gone. She stared at a freshly masoned wall.

The little girl clapped, twirled on a foot, walked up to Ping and said, wide-eyed, “Do you really have a dragon inside you?”

Slightly taken aback, he said, “I’m sorry. I don’t believe we have been introduced. What is your name?”

“My name is Hannah.”

Ping reached out a hand and shook hers. “It’s nice to meet you, Hannah. I’m Mr. Ping.”

“I know,” she said. Turning her gaze down at the floor at his feet, she added, “You need to give that book to Mar-ree. I brought it for her.”

Ping bent down and picked up the small but thick leather-bound book Mara had shoved into his arms as they had run from the front of the store. He turned it over in his hands. It had no type on the front or spine, only an illustration of three concentric circles embossed or branded on the front cover.

“So can you make the dragon come out? I want to see him,” Hannah said.

“Believe me, kid, you don’t want to see the dragon,” Abby said. Turning to Mara she asked, “Where did she come from?”

“I’ve no idea. There was a flood of light that came out of the grandfather clock, and, when I opened it, she stepped out.” Mara turned to the girl. “Where did you come from? Did Prado send you?”

“I brought you that book.” She pointed toward Ping, who was opening the cover.

“I didn’t realize it was a book,” Mara said.

Suter walked up to Ping and looked over his shoulder. “Book? What kind of book?”

Ping flipped through the pages. He fanned the pages, scanning as they flew by. He looked up and said, “It’s blank. All the pages are blank. Except the cover page. It has a handwritten title on it.”

Ping held the book out to the soft light of the electric lantern. Written on the first page in a neat script was The Chronicle of Continuity. He locked eyes with Mara but said nothing.

Suter grabbed the book from Ping and flipped through it himself. “It’s blank! How can it be blank?”

Turning to Hannah, he said, “Are you the Keeper of the Chronicle? The progenitor?”

Hannah rolled her eyes and pointed at Mara. “Mar-ree is, not me.”

“Where did you come from?” Suter demanded.

Hannah tucked herself behind Ping’s leg. “I can’t tell you. I promised not to tell. Leave me alone.”

“Why are all the pages blank?” Suter asked, holding out the book.

“You give that book to Mar-ree! It belongs to her,” Hannah yelled, but stayed behind Ping’s leg.

“Why are there no words in the book?” He shook it at her.

“Because Mar-ree hasn’t written it yet, stupid.” Hannah tugged on Ping’s pants leg and said, “Make him leave me alone.”

Mara turned to Abby and said, “Would you mind taking Hannah into the office for a few minutes so we can figure out some things? I think there are several treats in the upper right-hand drawer. Maybe play some games on your phone or something?”

Abby nodded, and Mara turned to Hannah. “Can you go hang out with Abby for few minutes? We won’t be too long.”

Hannah nodded and let Abby lead her toward the office. As she got to the doorway, she turned around and called back, “You better hurry.”

A loud bang and metallic rattle rang out from the garage door in the back wall, and someone wiggled the doorknob next to it. Mara, Ping and Suter stood still for several minutes, waiting for whatever lurked outside to move along. Their silence allowed the sounds of the night to seep in. The crash of glass followed by a woman’s piercing scream and the repetitious bleating of a car alarm sounded a couple blocks away. A loud ripping sound, metallic screeches and a sudden thunderous crash sounded much closer. They felt rumbles through the floorboards.

Glaring at Suter, Mara pointed to the door and whispered, “You need to do something about this. Can you do the ceremony here? Will that work?”

He held up the leather-bound book and said, “I need to investigate the significance of this book and understand where that little girl came from before I do anything.”

“We don’t have time for that. You need to do your liturgy and inter Prado before he destroys the entire city. People are dying out there.”

“Mara, if this is the ancient book from the future, then we are experiencing the rampage of the darkling wraith. The implications of that are mind-boggling, and the consequences are profound.”

“Let’s assume that is the book, the Chronicle of Continuity, and that’s the darkling wraith out there. Does any of that prevent you from conducting the ceremony that will draw out Prado’s soul?”

“No, in that case, I would be obliged to conduct the ceremony. But I would need to know that that little girl is the Keeper of the Chronicle, the progenitor from the future, then there would be no doubt, and I could help the darkling wraith conclude the gathering and inter him properly.”

Ping interrupted, “Am I to understand that you think that child traveled here from the future, and you believe she is a progenitor?”

Suter nodded eagerly. “According to our oral histories, a progenitor with the power to rewrite history will send us an ancient book from the future, and that will herald the coming of the Aphotis.” He turned back to Mara. “But I cannot be sure the child is the progenitor until I speak with her.”

Mara shook her head. “She is not the progenitor. Like she told you before, I am.”

“That makes no sense. The child brought the book back. She’s the one who is rewriting history.”

Mara reached out and took the book. She opened it to the title page and held it up. “See this title?”

Suter nodded.

“That’s my handwriting.”

Suter’s eyes widened. “But how?”

More crashes and screams came through the back walls of the shop.

“I’m not sure, but we don’t have a lot of time to figure it out. You wanted a book from the future by a progenitor who could rewrite Time. You’ve got one. It’s time to step up and do your thing.”

“But the book is blank.”

“The kid said I hadn’t written it yet,” Mara said. “Perhaps it’s supposed to be a diary or a journal of some kind. Is there some information you were supposed to get from this book, some guidance or wisdom or something? Is it required to perform this ceremony?”

“Not specifically, no. It was described as one of the signs of the advent of the Aphotis.”

Ping held up a hand. “Pardon me, but I’m a little uncomfortable with this. What is this Aphotis from your oral history? Is that like aphotic life, plants and animals that exist in total darkness? I don’t like the sound of that. What is the nature of this creature that you believe is being heralded?”

“Listen, you two, we don’t have time for a theological or metaphysical symposium. Ping, I’ve watched one of these ceremonies when I was over in the other realm. It’s a little weird, but I believe it will do the trick. Suter, you need to get this through your head. Whether there’s an Aphotis, a darkling wraith or a little girl toting a book from the future or not, you’re going to conduct that liturgy of beguilement. Otherwise, you can hit the road and take your chances with the zombies outside.”

She cocked an ear and listened to the ongoing mayhem outside.

“Very well. I’ll do it, but I’ll need you with me.”

“No problem. What else do you need for the ceremony? I don’t have a flute or a rotating turntable or any of the other things that were used in the ceremony we attended.”

“Most of that is ritual for the benefit of the mourners. The key to doing this is for me to be in the right mind-set to exert influence over the spirit. Wearing a cowl or having my head hooded would help in that regard. I will need to be in the presence of the darkling wraith, but distant enough not to be overcome by it while I attempt to inter it.”

“Hmm. Why don’t you keep track of this?” Mara handed the small thick leather-bound book to Ping and walked out of the range of the electric lantern. Her silhouette crossed to the workbench and ducked down behind it. The sounds of rummaging with an occasion
clank
came from the darkness. “This will work,” she said.

Returning to the light, she held a folded gray tarp and what looked like a neon yellow boat line. “Bruce puts this down on the floor if he’s doing something greasy. I’m not sure where this plastic rope came from, but it’ll work as a belt. Is that all you need?”

“I would like to wash my hands,” Suter said.

Mara handed him the tarp and rope, then put the electric lantern on top of the bundle in his arms. “Take this. The restroom is behind the office, around that little corner over there. I’ll grab the small flashlight out of my desk in the office.”