The Triad of Finity (13 page)

“Do you think he was part of the meeting?” Yasmin wondered aloud.

“Hard to say.”

“I don’t think so. …” Oliver felt a cold chill of recognition even before the next figure walked into the room. Mr. Crevlyn. He pulled off his broad trench coat and folded it over his arm. “But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t here. Let’s take a closer look. …”

He reached up and began calmly digging his clean, fat finger directly into his eye socket. He yanked his eyeball free with a hollow
pop
—it was, in fact, glass—revealing a cerulean blue, reptile-like demon eye with a yellow slit of pupil. It cast a narrow beam of blinding light around the room.

That’s so not good
, said Jenette.

What is it?
Oliver asked.

Demon grafting. He implanted a demon eye in place of his own. Looks like it’s from a Phrenos demon.

So?
Asked Dean.

So,
said Jenette,
the Phrenos can see through worlds. He’s going to be able to—

“Ahh,” said Mr. Crevlyn as the blue beam swung across their hiding place. Its light burst through the foggy window and into the Shoals, falling right on them.

See us!
Jenette finished.

“There you are, Oliver,” said Mr. Crevlyn, “and … well, how interesting. Very clever.” Mr. Crevlyn’s free hand was already in his coat. It emerged holding a short throwing knife. Its blade dripped with molten orange sparks.

Oh no
. … said Jenette.

What—
Oliver began.

“Little nuisance.” Mr. Crevlyn’s face tightened in concentration. His arm cocked back and he hurled the knife. It spun toward them, leaving a smoke trail as it burned the air. Oliver felt frozen, cringing as the blade sliced through the foggy window of reality with a blinding flash. He smelled the heat coming off its ornately carved blade. He couldn’t move—

But the blade sailed by him.

AHH!

Reality rushed at him. Oliver felt Jenette’s arm release, and he and Dean fell back into the world. He landed on the theater floor and spun to see Jenette crumpling to the beach, the blade impaled to the hilt by her heart. Nathan stood behind her, bending over quickly to help her—

Then Oliver was yanked around, Leah hauling him to his feet. “There we are,” she said.

“What did you do to her?!” Oliver shouted at Mr. Crevyln. He craned to see behind them but the window into the Shoals winked shut.

Mr. Crevlyn placed his glass eye just above the socket, then smacked it back in with his palm. He blinked a few times and smiled down at Oliver. “I rid you of another dangerous distraction, Mr. Nocturne, nothing more.” He glanced at Dean. “Really, you are the chosen vessel. Couldn’t you associate with better stock?”

“Shut up!” shouted Oliver.

Mr. Crevlyn turned to Yasmin. “Let everyone know that we’ve found him and he’s safe.” He turned back to Oliver. “Very dangerous, you coming here, Oliver, but Half-Light understands your curiosity. We too want to know what this Forsaken Legion is up to.” The smile widened. “Did you happen to see who was leading them?”

Oliver set his face in stone. Right then, hard as it was to believe, it was clear to him that if Lythia was now an enemy of Half-Light … “We didn’t see anything,” he said. “They were already running off when we arrived.”

Mr. Crevlyn peered at Oliver, the smile faltering. “Really? Well, in all this excitement, it’s possible that certain details are slipping your mind. Hmm …” He turned to Leah. “I believe we should bring Mr. Nocturne back to my office, briefly. It’s possible that his thoughts have been compromised. Not his fault, of course, but I should check his answers with the Menteur’s Heart. For his safety.”

Leah nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”

“No—” Oliver tried to struggle, but Leah held him firm.

“Relax, Oliver.” Mr. Crevlyn smiled as he slipped on his coat. “You’re safe now.”

Yasmin grabbed Dean, but more gingerly, her nose wrinkling.

As they walked back up the hall and into the club, Oliver’s thoughts raced. Jenette. Could she survive that blade? How would he find out? Nathan would know. Oliver could summon him … but, wait … had Mr. Crevlyn seen Nathan? Half-Light would still want to destroy Oliver’s soul if they had the chance. … Maybe the blade had been meant for Nathan. In which case, Jenette had saved Oliver and his soul.

They were rounding the large open pool of magma in the room’s center. As if on cue, one of the screaming wax humans plunged in, incinerating in a puff of smoke. Oliver could relate. Here he was being pushed toward a fate against his choosing, again.

“Hold on.” Mr. Crevlyn had stopped, holding up his hand. Oliver could feel the heat wafting from the magma, pressing against him in waves.

“What is it?” Leah asked, scanning the room. The club was full of normal movement and chatter, laughter, the clinking of glassware.

Mr. Crevlyn cocked his head. “I’m not sure. … I think—”

There was a tearing sound, like the world’s largest length of fabric being ripped in two, then a blinding white light as everything exploded.

Chapter 11

Arcana Burns

Oliver was thrown into the air. He could barely understand what was happening, but he knew his body was in flight, high and far. There was a force pressing him from the left, a wall of heat, the biting spray of concrete, hot pricks of magma—an explosion. He could make it out now in his peripheral vision; the wall had blown apart, hurling debris, the force of the blast tossing everyone in its vicinity into the air. Oliver perceived other figures in flight: Mr. Crevlyn, Leah, club attendees, their bodies all righting as they levitated, adult vampires with pinpoint control of themselves in space. Oliver wasn’t as skilled; he was still flailing, tumbling, the arc of his flight now turning downward. Toward more heat, the burning sensation on his side increasing …

Oliver twisted and saw the magma pool below. He was falling right toward it. He struggled to find the forces, but they were like ropes swaying in a breeze, glancing off his fingertips—Still falling, more heat. The surface of the magma not smooth but cracked like an eggshell, a skin of slightly cooled rock in geometric shapes. He was going to burn—

Until something crushed around his midsection and he was jerked upward. Oliver looked down to see an enormous, three-fingered claw around his waist. Its skin was a charred maroon, its fingernails pearl-white.

Oliver felt the heat receding in beating air. He twisted to see that he was in the clutches of a Hermesian demon from Aeonian Parcel Services.

“
Keeeeaaatchhhhhh!”
The creature screamed.

“That was close!” shouted Dean. Oliver saw that he was in the other claw.

The creature banked hard as they approached the far wall, its wing grazing a magma waterfall but flicking it off as if it were nothing. They turned and swooped back over the scattering, shocked crowd.

“
Please don’t be alarmed, Mr. Nocturne, Mr. Aunders
.” Oliver looked up at the copper box on the demon’s chest. “
We have another message for you, marked ‘urgent!’ If you choose to accept, please touch your countersign.
”

They arced back toward the exploded wall. Oliver saw that they were heading for a gaping black hole. A long, narrow fissure, still smoking.

“
Quickly
,” advised the voice.

“Now!” Oliver shouted to Dean.

Oliver touched the leaf tattoo and just as they arced into the blackness of the fissure there was a stretching feeling of travel, a loss of senses …

Then they were back in the Acheron Delta, soaring over the foggy jungle once more.

“She still has a sense for timing!” Dean called.

Oliver nodded. His relief at being saved from Mr. Crevlyn was tempered with worry for Jenette, and over what this next message would be, but for the moment, he just enjoyed the cool misty air that was hitting his face instead of magma.

They crossed the delta and hurtled down the cliff face, beside the thundering waterfall, and stopped at the same walkway, the same door. One of the spider-like greeters simply motioned them toward the door. Oliver pressed his tattoo to the handle. Stone bolts lurched. The door creaked inward.

They crossed the cramped room. In the flickering firelight, Oliver could see another letter waiting on the coffin-shaped table. It was the same faded paper, stained at the edges, its postmark from Arcana, and sealed with the same red wax impression of a scarab beetle. Oliver slipped his finger under the seal, unfolded the paper and saw those first words:

Hello Boys,

The world blurred.

Oliver and Dean found themselves within the enchantment of the letter, back in Arcana, only this time it was night. Ahead was the Orani homestead, smoke curling from the chimney of the farmhouse, and also from the opening in the roof of the large round structure. The lights were off. A three-quarter moon hung low over the distant mountains, setting for the night. The cool, clear black above was painted with uncountable stars and a feathery vein of Milky Way. It was deathly quiet, no humming power lines or distant cars. The only sounds were the occasional stirrings of animals: an owl hoot, the foraging of a raccoon, the distant howl of a coyote.

Then footsteps. Coming up the path from the house. A figure came into view. Emalie. “Guys,” she said. She’d traded her 1800s clothes for jeans, a black sweater, her maroon knit hat and puffy green vest. Her hair in two braids. Bag slung over her shoulder. “Thought you’d like to see how I’ve been spending my nights.” She marched past them, up the road.

Oliver and Dean fell in step behind her.

“Emalie!” Oliver started to shout, wanting to warn her about Illisius, but then remembered that it was useless.

She walked quickly, not speaking, down the hill toward town, but then turned right on a small dirt path, a horse trail through the pines. The path wound back and forth up a gradual incline and emerged at a wide clearing on a hill overlooking town: a cemetery. Emalie passed between wooden crosses and rough-chiseled tombstones, some at cockeyed angles. She stopped in the shadow of a crypt made of marble slabs, the only one of its kind in the place.

“Hello, Jedediah,” Emalie said pleasantly to the crypt, giving its side a friendly pat. She turned to Oliver and Dean and her voice shifted to a cowboy drawl. “This here’s Jedediah Roberts, first prospector to strike gold here in Arcana. News of his strike is pretty much what made this town. The railroad would never have passed through here otherwise. Nobody else has actually found any gold yet, but people keep showing up to pan the rivers and dig in the hills. Jedediah died in a cave-in. People think his sister Marlene orchestrated it, on account of her nefarious new husband Carleton, who made his name in iron sales. The son even briefly hired my mom and Aunt Kathleen to try to read Marlene’s mind, to prove she was behind it. That was a whole big thing.” Emalie paused and laughed to herself. “Sorry, I could go on and on. Really, I was going to write journals of all this, you know, like, send you guys a whole book about these last few months, but … time is short now.”

Emalie sat down in the dry grass in front of the tomb. There was a small circle of stones, a fire pit, with a pile of sticks beside it. “Have a seat,” Emalie said to them. Oliver and Dean did. Emalie busied herself removing items from her bag.

Below, the town of Arcana lay mostly asleep except for the saloon, from which echoed the tinny tones of an upright piano. An occasional bark, a squeal of laughter, a heavy thud and now and then a lonely silhouette staggering home.

“The saloon’s busy all night,” said Emalie, shaking her head. “Sometimes I like to project myself down there mentally, and get inside their heads. Every once in a while I can make somebody throw their drink in someone else’s face, or start a brawl, or whatever. Basic Orani tricks, but it passes the time.”

Emalie scraped a match to life and dropped it in among kindling sticks. A small fire jumped to life. She produced a tiny doll, cloth stuffed with straw, a girl, dressed in white clothes. She placed it in the grass. Beside it she put a tiny silk-coated box, ornately designed with flowers.

Then something whistled far off in the night. A train.

“That’s Illisius,” Emalie said quietly. “I know he’s coming for me.”

“You do?” Oliver asked, uselessly.

“The dead told me,” said Emalie. “That train isn’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow. Two P.M., once a week, that’s when the train always comes, but Illisius killed everyone on board. It’s a corpse train, and it’s here for me.”

“You have to get out of here!” said Dean.

Emalie continued in a calm, dead-serious tone. “This is where I come nights when I can’t sleep, which is most of them.” She motioned with her hand, indicating the tombstones. “Hanging out here is nice; if anyone’s died recently, I can talk to their spirit, or there’s a few wraiths who come by. Sometimes Merchynts or other beings will show up to gather supplies—graveyards are like Costco for a demon—and we chat about things. I’m better at controlling my interactions. You remember how I used to get kind of overwhelmed by spirit energy. … Mom and Aunt Kathleen have helped me to control that. It’s still intense, but I can usually handle it.”

Emalie paused, swallowing before she said, “But earlier today, all those train passengers dying; that was a lot. It knocked me out right in the middle of milking a cow. They were all screaming, men, women, children, and in every one of their last visions, I could see his face. So I got ready. And now …” she pointed out across town. “They’re here.”

A light speared through the darkness. The black train chugged slowly into the station, its wheels and gears whining. A few drunk stumblers in the street turned and looked quizzically toward the platform. There was no movement, the train just sitting there, hissing, breathing small clouds of steam. Then, two figures emerged. They moved quickly down the steps of the platform and up Main Street, almost seeming to float.

As they passed into the glow of the kerosene streetlights, Oliver saw the tall gentleman, Illisius, in his suit and hat. The sight made him shudder involuntarily. It had been years since that night in the auditorium, and back then he’d only caught a glimpse. This was the first time he’d actually seen him, and even though Illisius didn’t look particularly dangerous, Oliver could feel his power, the way that the forces seemed to be attracted to him like a magnet, gathering around him in a swirl.