The Mirrored Shard (21 page)

“Ian always was a flatterer,” she said. “And you’re right, Aoife. I can do it. But I won’t. You don’t have anything that’s worth leading someone into the Catacombs. You don’t have anything that will make me go head-to-head with the Faceless.” She flounced her skirts and looked away. “There’s nothing I can do.”

“That’s crap,” I said loudly, standing up. “You can do it. You just don’t want to.”

“I’m a businesswoman.” Spider stretched out on the cushions, dislodging a cluster of roaches that skittered into the darkness. “And you’re just a sad little scrap with nothing I want.”

I had sworn I wouldn’t reveal what I was to anyone except Ian, but if this was the only way to Dean, I had no choice. “I’m not dead,” I told Spider.

Her black drowning-pool eyes grew by halves. “
What
did you say?” she demanded.

“I’m alive,” I said. “Back in the Iron Land. I’m using a machine to detach my soul from my body and venture here. But I’m alive, so that has to be worth something.”

Spider stared at me, and I knew I had her. The pure hunger in her eyes was unnerving, the expression of a desperately starving girl suddenly within reach of sustenance.

“I suppose,” she said carefully, “that we might work something out.”

“You want memories?” I said. “My soul? What?”

“You’re eager.” Spider regained some of her composure, managed to rein in the starved expression in her eyes. “What’s this Dean boy to you?”

“Everything,” I said honestly. “That’s why I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

“Very well,” Spider said. “Your best memory. Your happiest moment. You want happiness back, I want what you hold most dear.”

I couldn’t remember a time I’d been truly happy or content. The joke was on Spider with this one.

“Done,” I said, and held out my hand. “Take it.”

“In time,” Spider said, rising from the pillows with surprising alacrity for a woman wearing such a heavy dress. “I always deliver on my promises before I take payment.” She came close, so close I could smell the heavy scent of dirt and decay wrapped around her as tightly as her clothing. “But I always get paid, Aoife. Make no mistake, and don’t try to cheat me.”

“I’m honest,” I said. “You give me what I want and you can pry whatever happy moments you like free from my brain.”

Spider gave me a bright smile and a pat on the shoulder. “That’s what I like to hear. Come now, let’s go meet Ian and find your boy before the Faceless chew him up and spit him out.”

Ian was pacing the dirt outside the jitney, and his face pulled tighter than a slamming door when he saw Spider.

“Look at you,” she cooed. “Poor Ian. Those months and years of being a Walker have been so unkind.”

She crossed the space between them and touched his cheek, sparing me a look as I stood by uncomfortably. “He used to have such a handsome face.”

Ian recoiled from her touch. “Don’t start with me, Spider. What’s between you and the girl has nothing to do with me.”

“She’s your blood,” Spider drawled. “And you have nothing to do with her?”

“Don’t listen,” Ian told me. “Spider will twist your ear as long as you let her, and twist your head in the bargain.”

“Oh, Ian,” she laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant laugh. It was the sound a person would make as something sharp jabbed into her flesh. “You always were such a sweet-talker.”

Spider led us down another long tunnel, part of the sewers that were apparently a piece of what was inside my head. I wondered at what memory the Deadlands had drawn on, what kind of darkness inside me that it fed on. I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know.

As we walked deeper, the muddy ground sloping beneath our feet, the sewers gave way to something older.
The walls were studded with alcoves that held skulls, and the eyes lit up with a faint green glow as we passed.

“Just remnants of souls,” said Spider. “What’s left when the Faceless are done with them.”

I felt a plummeting sensation in my gut. “Dean’s not …”

“Oh no, dear,” Spider said. “He’s far too new. And if he was taken before his time, he’s got fight in him. They could use him for centuries before they drain him dry.”

“Thank you for being so reassuring to the girl,” Ian said from behind me.

“I consider it part of the service,” Spider said dryly. She stopped at a fork in the tunnel and took the left-hand path.

I followed, listening to water drip and things skitter in the darkness beyond the glowing eyes of the skulls. Just as I was beginning to think Spider had betrayed us, she stopped at a figure standing in the shadows.

“Ian,” she snapped, “be a dear and give a lady some light.”

Ian sighed, but drew out his lighter and flicked the lid open. A flame blossomed and illuminated the figure of a girl. Her dress was lush and purple, the sort of thing worn to the type of party a girl like me could only read about in old storybooks. Her hair was immaculate, but dry and weak as a spiderweb, so thin and pale that Ian’s light penetrated it, turning it molten gold.

The waist of her dress had been cut away, and resting where her guts should have been sat the face of a clock, all brass and gear and ticking urgency. The girl’s clockwork eyes rolled open, and camera irises regarded us with the dispassionate glare of a machine.

Spider bent to examine the face of the clock. “Counters,”
she said. “The Faceless use them to keep track of all the souls in any given quadrant of the city. We think they were alive, once—the lost and the forgotten sorts.”

“They look human,” I said.

“A lot of things in this place
look
human,” Spider told me with a wink. “But rest assured, this pretty face was never anything but a predator stalking the red-light district and making herself sick on human souls.”

She jabbed at the clock, causing the gears to seize. “Isn’t that right, dearie?”

The girl’s jaw was clockwork, but it worked a bit, and even though her eyes weren’t human, I saw something in them—pain, and sadness. The same sort of look I saw on caged animals, ones who knew they had no hope of escape.

“Tell her who you’re looking for,” Spider said.

“Dean Harrison,” I told the counter. “I need to find Dean Harrison.”

Something inside her skull whirred, the spiderweb hair vibrating slightly, and then her torso rotated, the clockwork ticking, counting something off. Souls? Seconds? Last breaths?

I didn’t know, but she pointed down one of the many tunnels around us. “Number sixty-three,” she said in an echoey voice piped through some sort of aethervox.

“And there you have it,” Spider said. She looked over her shoulder as a cry echoed through the tunnel. “And we better get moving, if we don’t want to become just another pet for the Faceless to amuse themselves with.”

We hurried down the tunnel. This place was completely different from the skull-lined corridors. Those had been like something out of a bad dream or a horror story. This
place was all iron, like a prison back in the living world, each door marked with a clumsily painted number.

I could hear sounds from behind some doors, and shadows danced beyond the bars of others, small windows set at face level. I saw fangs, twisted features, skulls without skin and shrieking vapors without form.

“This is odd,” Spider said. For the first time, she didn’t sound as if she were two breaths away from mocking me. “This place … this is for the worst souls, murderers and the kinds the king wishes to keep under close observation.” She turned her eyes on me. “You didn’t withhold the fact that your Dean is some kind of bad boy, did you?”

“Dean shouldn’t be here,” I said. I was starting to feel frantic. This was worse than I’d thought. If the king kept souls that he particularly wanted here, why was he keeping Dean? And what price was I going to have to pay to release him?

“And yet, he is here,” Spider said, coming to a stop. Her long, tattered skirt whispered around her feet, across the stone floor. “Right here, in fact.” She raised her hand to point at the ragged 63 painted above the door.

I flew across the space, all of my senses leaving me. I felt my body collide with the iron door, felt bruises blossom, but at the same time didn’t really process any of it. My eyes searched the cell and found only darkness save the tiny cube of light projected from the window.

“Ian!” I shouted, desperate. “I need light!”

“All right, all right,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. He squeezed, and I knew he was trying to calm me. I was trying to calm myself but was having no success.

The light penetrated each corner of the cell, until it
finally lit on Dean. I let out a sob of relief, and banged my fists against the iron. Only Ian grabbing my wrists got me to stop.

Dean looked up, his gray eyes silver in the dim light. “Aoife?” he said softly. “Aoife … are you dead?”

“It’s a long story,” I said. “Sort of, but not really. But that doesn’t matter, Dean. I’m here to get you out.”

“Not now, you’re not,” Spider said, looking over her shoulder. I heard a whisper close by, the sound of a soft foot over stone. “Faceless,” she said. “We have to leave, now.”

“No.”
I grabbed the bars, reaching for Dean. “I’m not leaving without him.”

“You stupid girl, there’s nothing we can do!” Spider snapped. “Unless you plan to seek an audience with the king himself and bargain for the boy’s release, he’s here to stay.”

I turned on her, feeling the slow-burning fury in me turn volcanic. “You said you would help me.”

“And I could, if he were a regular soul!” Spider shouted. “But he’s not! For whatever reason, the king’s taken an interest in him, and there’s nothing I or you or anyone can do about that.”

She grabbed for me, but I wrenched my hand free. “I’m not leaving.”

“We must!” Ian hissed. “Or the Faceless will apprehend us.” His face blanched. “I’m not going back, Aoife. I’m not staying here, not in this rancid city. Do you have any idea what they’ll do to me?”

Dean blinked, as if he’d just been woken from a dream. “Aoife, I never thought I’d see you again.…”

“Don’t worry,” I told Dean. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

“Forget her!” Spider shouted, dragging Ian farther down the tunnel. “She’s done for!”

I heard them, but it was as if they were already far away. I was far too focused on Dean.

“I’m sorry, Aoife …,” Ian started, but the shadows of the Faceless had penetrated the tunnel, and he turned and ran.

I stayed where I was, waiting for the silent hooded figures to approach. They surrounded me, and it took a moment before I could speak.

“I know that your job is to exterminate me,” I said. “It’s what you must do. But before you do, I seek an audience with your king.”

The Faceless tilted their heads, and I knew they were staring at me even though I couldn’t see their eyes.

“Aoife, no …,” Dean said from his cell. “No, don’t do this. You don’t know what he’s like, what you’re getting yourself into.…”

“I do,” I said. “I’m doing what I have to.”

Looking back at the Faceless, I put on my bravest expression. At least, I hoped it was brave. Or merely foolhardy, instead of terrified. “I know you can talk,” I told the closest Faceless. “I know you can understand me.”

“And if we were to take you to the king,” it hissed at me, its voice like steam scalding skin, “what would you have to offer?”

“That’s between me and the king, don’t you think?” I snapped. “I don’t deal with minions.”

The Faceless hissed as one, but then they parted and gestured for me.

“Aoife, no …,” Dean said again, but I held up my hand to stop his arguments.

“It’s all right, Dean.” If this was the way it had to be, I’d do what I had to. I’d talk to the king, and I’d find a way to give him whatever he demanded for Dean’s release.

I walked to the center of the Faceless, and was surrounded by them as they led me to the mouth of the tunnel.

“You must think you’re very brave,” said the Faceless in the lead.

“No,” I said. “Not brave. Just determined.”

“Come, then,” another said. “Come with us, and see the one who waits.”

Across the Bleak Plain

T
HE
F
ACELESS TRAVELED
on foot and kept their circle tight around me, until I felt as if I’d smother.

As we left the city behind, I tried to move out of the tight knot of black robes, but the nearest Faceless hissed, sounding more like a serpent than a thing that was even remotely human, and I shrank back. “I’m sorry,” I said.

As we walked, the sun grew lower in the sky, a violet sunset that cast all of the land in a strange purple glow. I sped up my stride to get closer to the figure in the lead.

“How far are we going?”

“Two day’s walk from here lies the domain of the Yellow King,” said the Faceless.

“I am human,” I reminded him. “I need rest and food and water.”

“We will stop when it reaches full dark,” said the creature. “At the edge of the Moaning Marsh.”

“I can’t tell you how excited I am about that,” I muttered under my breath, but I resigned myself to walking until the Faceless were good and ready to stop.

The land flattened out, the short grass and scrub giving way to dense thickets and underbrush, and the land at the edges of the road growing wetter. The smell of decay and the whine of insects permeated the air around us, and I slapped at every inch of bare skin. I still ended up covered in welts.