The Lost Codex Page 20

  He does not approve, but I am grateful when he does not argue.

  “That said, I cannot allow the Piper to move further away from me.” Or the Queen of Hearts. “I will begin my journey tomorrow, just before dawn.”

  I am given directions to his encampment, which is not too far from Nobbytown, as he wishes to monitor the situation and offer shelter to those who may still be able to flee. Afterward, before the White King of Wonderland places a fist over his heart in farewell, I offer one more request.

  “Send jubjub birds to the other monarchs, save the Queen of Hearts. I may be exiled, and many desire my head, but it is time for us to convene once more.”

  FINN IS NOT WITHIN his flat, nor mine. When I check the infirmary, neither he nor Victor is present. I barrel toward Van Brunt’s makeshift office in the conference room, ready to tear Hearts apart with my bare hands.

  Instead of my archenemy, I find my breath and my sanity, for Finn, Van Brunt, and the Librarian are hunched over the table, peering at the screen of an open laptop

  As the door’s groan announces my arrival, Finn glances up. “I was about to call you. We found a solution.”

  While Finn uses a plural connotation, neither his father nor the Librarian appears pleased by such a statement.

  News from Wonderland is momentarily placed to the side. “A solution for. . .?”

  “Victor.” Shadows cast across his handsome face. “And me.”

  I cannot bear that Finn feels this way about himself, that his confidence has been shaken thusly. “There is nothing the matter with you.”

  “There is. I’m compromised, Alice. I know I am. And I’ll be damned if I ever let the fucking Queen of Hearts use me against you again, let alone anyone else.” He says this plainly, as if these are facts from a book or a lab, facts that cannot be disputed. “I’m nobody’s puppet, and I sure as hell refuse to let anybody turn me into something I’m not.”

  No, he is no puppet. Huckleberry Finn Van Brunt has always embraced who he is, and refused to kowtow to others. His sense of self has long been attractive to me.

  Allowing no room for counterargument, he continues, “I saw something in the Codex, even if just momentarily. Like Sara and Wendy, I’m unable to remember certain things without side effects. Everyone needs to set aside their emotions and realize I’m a liability to the Society. Victor isn’t the only Van Brunt who the Chosen messed with.”

  He is right. Rationally, when laid out relentlessly thus, Finn crafts a clear case as to how the Chosen have manipulated him. Why, then, is it so difficult to accept? Why the persistent instinct to deny?

  I search for the logic I fought so hard over the past year to maintain. “Nevertheless, I hardly see how the two of your situations are similar.”

  “The only reason my eyes aren’t yet black,” he says flatly, “is because of you and our blood magic.”

  The twelfth Wise Woman claimed as much, too. “Blood magic is what protects him. Yours and the other’s, given freely out of love. Love is the most powerful magic of all.”

  Not only my blood flows amongst Finn’s, but so does the White King’s. His love for me carries over to protect Finn.

  “As there is no probability of my love toward you fading, let alone disappearing,” I say coolly, “rapture is an impossibility.”

  He is equally dispassionate when he counters me. “You, yourself, believe in the impossible.”

  “Not this possibility.”

  He crosses his arms, his legs spread just enough to match his shoulders. “Magic is unpredictable.”

  I match his stance, refusing to give any ground. “Concerning love?”

  “Concerning whatever they did to me.”

  I look to his father for some semblance of support, but silence and anguish have cut away pieces of the elder Van Brunt’s tongue.

  “Victor escaped the medical wing again when we went to the Piper’s apartment,” Finn says. “He’s burning through sedatives as if they are nothing but water. He attacked Holgrave and Jo Bhaer before making his way to Mary’s lab, where he bashed away at the door with one of the emergency axes, like Nicholson in the goddamn Shining movie. Like he didn’t conceptualize that it’s made of metal, not wood. Luckily, Blake and a few others were able to tackle him before he did any further damage. Who knows how long it will take before I attack someone, too?”

  I have no idea whom Nicholson is, let alone a movie about shining, but I can easily imagine the dread our colleagues experienced during such a tirade. “Mary said nothing earlier.”

  “Mary,” says the Librarian, “was in the Museum with me during Victor’s mania. Perhaps it is best we do not inform her of such an incident.”

  Too much is spinning away from me. From us. “Are Bhaer and Holgrave all right?”

  Van Brunt reaches for his large cup of coffee. “Physically, yes.”

  The Librarian throws her hands up. “Alice, you disappoint me. You have yet to even ask Finn about what these solutions entail.”

  She is not disappointed, though, not in me at least. Frustration blotches her cheeks as she rounds on Van Brunt. “These treatments are experimental.” Deep ridges erupt across her delicate brow. “There is no guarantee of success.”

  “What other choices are there?” Brom’s query is the soft echo of thunder rolling in the distance. “You agreed that both Finn and Victor are risks. Victor is not only that, but he poses an immediate physical threat to those tasked with his care. You have offered no solutions or even ideas about how to overcome what has been done to my sons. Ms. Darling was used as a bomb against us after months of unwittingly passing over intelligence. Ms. Carrisford rightly fears the same after being used to spy on the Institute. Who can claim the same cannot be said of Finn or Victor?”

  I bristle at the insinuation, but Finn nods assuredly.

  A guttural snarl tears from the Librarian as she swipes a pile of papers off the table. “It is infuriating that I do not yet understand what has been done.” Fire warms her skin; ice hardens her eyes. “I have underestimated eta ved’ma, which is wholly unacceptable.”

  Rather than be alarmed at her temper tantrum, an odd sheen of hope alights Van Brunt’s eyes. “What if—”

  The temperature in the room lowers significantly. I am genuinely surprised frost does not coat the furniture. “Do not think I have not considered it.”

  The interests grows exponentially as he invades her personal space. “If I were to assume responsibility, if I were to accept a debt—”

  “Never.” The laptop on the table shudders from the strike of her fist. Both Finn and I involuntarily jerk. “I would not allow that for you, or for them.”

  Undeterred, Van Brunt continues, “What if it’s our best shot?”

  “You cannot want that,” the Librarian snaps, “and I refuse to allow you to entertain such ideas. The time will come, and I will be ready, but never for that.”

  Atypical defeat sags Van Brunt’s shoulders. Finn says, “Then we have no other choice than the one we’ve found.”

  The Librarian’s knuckles pop and crackle as her fingers curl in and out of fists.

  The flutter of angry, trapped wings scrape against my sensibilities. “What kind of treatment is under consideration?”

  “There are a consortium of doctors,” Van Brunt says, his face as emotionless as his words as he continues to stare at the Librarian, “who have done much work on mental illnesses.”

  The Librarian throws her hands up and scoffs.

  I glance at the man beside me, but he, in turn, averts his gaze. “While Victor suffers from mental illness, Finn does not.”

  Finn snaps, “They’re in my head,” as Van Brunt, kneading the back of his neck, mutters, “Not in the traditional sense.”

  I might as well be in Wonderland, these answers are so maddening. “Where are these doctors located?”

  Finn clears his throat. “Antarctica.”

  Which might as well be an entirely different Timeline. “If you were to go—
”

  “We are,” Finn says. “It’s decided.”

  My inhalation is sharp. “When?”

  “Tonight. Within the hour.”

  These are more facts he presents—not opinions, but facts that offer no room for debate.

  So soon.

  The lights overhead flare too brightly; my balance is too precarious. I blurt, “The Piper is in Wonderland. Or at least Chosen are. And they all bear the Queen of Hearts’ regalia.”

  Van Brunt swears violently. Finn pulls away, stalking toward the windows. Building, street, and car lights slash through the velvety darkness. He focuses on the now familiar sight, one a year ago I could not have even imagined in my dreams.

  “All the more reason for me to go.” His declaration fogs the glass, and I foolishly wish to doodle a picture in the condensation, if only to feel its realness.

  I cross the room to join him. “I planned on journeying there tomorrow, but I will delay so that I may accompany you to Antarctica.”

  “No.” He does not turn away from the vista before us. “Go to Wonderland as scheduled. This might be the lead the Society needs.”

  The hardness in both tone and muscle tells me he will not be journeying with me, though.

  The Librarian does not trust the treatment. And while I do not trust the Librarian often, I do know that, if she is uneasy about something, it is for good reason.

  “There are others who can go,” I say steadily.

  The twist of his mouth is grim yet oddly gentle. “None know Wonderland as well as you.”

  Stubborn, stubborn man.

  “Look. I can’t be trusted to be near Hearts right now. I’m sorry, Alice. You don’t know how bad of a hit this is against my ego, even though we all know you don’t need my help to take care of business.”

  A roll of unwanted chills sweeps across my skin. “We’re partners. I will always desire your assistance.”

  He must feel the same, doesn’t he?

  “Put together a team, Ms. Reeve.” In the glass, I watch the reflection of Van Brunt close the laptop and tuck it beneath his arm. “If all goes as planned, we will meet up with you in Wonderland within a few days. Finn, I’ll verify travel arrangements and will meet you on the helicopter pad in a half hour.”

  Van Brunt stalks from the room. In the glass, the Librarian appears behind us, her reflection more misty than clear. “You are forbidden to die. Is that clear? You will regret defying me if you do.”

  He chuckles, and she, too, departs.

  Everything is happening all too quickly. “What do these doctors do?”

  Finn leans his face against the glass, angling it toward me. “I don’t know all the particulars. I only heard about them when we got back. They contacted us about gaining some information on the Chosen.”

  The unbearable sensation of a corset being laced about me grows. “If the Librarian claims their procedures are experimental, perhaps it is best to side with caution.”

  “I have to try.” He takes one of my hands. “Mary was right, you know. The Piper and the Chosen are taking agents out, and as much as it kills me and my pride, I’m one of them. The people here in the Society . . . they’re my friends. My family. The Institute is the only place I’ve ever truly called home. I can’t stand on the sidelines if there is a possibility I’ll be used against the ones I love. And to be used against you again?” Steely determination only fortifies his litany of reasons. “I love you, Alice. You came out of nowhere to shine bright in my sky, and even though it was crazy fast and everything since has been chaotic, you mean the world to me.” His warm thumb strokes mine. “If I ever did something to you because of these bastards, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

  Familiar surges of grief born from forced separation bubble up in my throat. “You wouldn’t. You could never.”

  We have true love, after all.

  “I’m going to guarantee that.”

  I cannot allow any questions or concerns to plant seeds of doubt, for I fear my psyche will not accept any outcome other than success. Finn does not deserve a blithering, weak partner who weighs his conscience down with guilt and fear. And I refuse to ever become that person, anyway.

  I tell him as steadily as one must in just such a situation, “I journey to the White King’s encampment. We will hunt the Chosen down with our armies.”

  The string tightening his shoulders slackens a bit as he straightens. “Kick their asses, Alice.”

  My chuckle is soft, a breath of allowed air. “I fear I will never become truly accustomed to these modern-day sayings.”

  He requests the location, and I draw a map upon a scrap of paper. I fold it into a square and tuck it into his blue jeans’ pocket. “Do not lollygag. I require your gun and expertise in battle. Wonderland will need its Diamonds prince.”

  He bows before pressing a kiss against my knuckles. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”

  “Do not dare bade me goodbye.” I pull him closer as the chasm of my past threatens to rupture between us. “This is not farewell. This is merely a momentary separation, nothing more.” And then I seal my lips shut to hold back the onslaught all too ready to tumble into that abyss.

  All of the hardened lines etching his handsome face melt, first as his brows furrow and then again as they smooth and his mouth falls opens. He laces our fingers together and presses our joined hands against his heart. “You’re right. Because I am coming back to you, in just a few days.” He kisses the back of my hand. “This isn’t the same as what happened with you when you left Wonderland, Alice. Not even close. There’s no prophecy here. And even if there were, as long as this means something to you, there is nothing that could keep us apart.”

  When I indulge in my turn in kissing the back of his hand, I linger, my lips against his tan, warm skin for many heartbeats.

  “I wish,” he says, “we had more than a half hour.”

  Being the greedy lady I am, I will always wish for as much time as possible with this man.

  When we kiss, I savor his taste. I memorize the feel of his lips against mine, silky and firm and erotic all at once. I commit to memory his grip on my face and in my hair, and the heat of his breath against my mouth.

  The Caterpillar told me our hearts are made up of those we know. So many pieces are etched by this man.

  Soon, too soon, the sound of a cell phone chirping breaks through our hastily built cocoon. We reluctantly separate. I am aching and trembling and furious and desperate.

  I crave another meal of vengeance.

  He peruses the message an interloper sent, even as we still hold one another. “They need me to help get Victor to the roof. He’s not exactly cooperative.” His phone disappears into his pocket, next to the map I drew. “Not that you couldn’t hold your own against him, but maybe it’s best if you don’t come up with.”

  An explanation is unnecessary. After all, did I not make the same request to the White King during my departure from Wonderland?

  “I love you, my north star.” He caresses my cheek with his lips.

  I kiss him again, meaningfully, deeply, so that there will be no doubt in his mind over how much this will forever mean to me. So he understands that, as binaries, our orbits are interlocked.

  I do not threaten him as the Librarian did. I breathe him in and tell him I will see him in a few days’ time.

  “WE MUST TALK.”

  The Librarian, nursing a cup of tea, perches upon the sofa in my flat’s sitting room as if it were her own. As she drinks from a china set that I do not own, I must surmise she had Jack bring the tea setting with her. “Please,” I say wryly, “make yourself comfortable.”

  She does so by motioning for me to sit down upon my own chair and then assuming role of hostess by pouring me a cup of tea.

  I would prefer a cup of the Hatter’s juice instead.

  “Although the timing of the Van Brunts’ departure is unfortunate,” she says tightly, ensuring I clearly recognize the words she fails to spe
cifically also attach, “you and I have other matters to focus on. Starting with our trip to Wonderland.”

  The cup is not even a half-inch from my lips before I unceremoniously jerk it away, splattering tea upon my person and furniture. Surely I misheard her. The Librarian is infamous for never leaving the Institute, save for one situation that left the majority of Society members befuddled. “Our trip?”

  The woman in question tucks her long, glossy hair back from her beautiful face. “Jack, Marianne, and your assassin will do nicely to provide the necessary backup, both in weapons, thievery, fighting, and technology.” Her focus lifts away from me, toward the main door. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mary?”

  A darkened version of my friend and colleague haunts the doorframe. No longer biting and witty, scarves of sorrow wrap tightly around her. She asks, “Are they gone?”

  The Librarian busies herself with readying Mary’s tea. “Yes.”

  Mary drifts into the sitting room, eventually situating herself on the couch next to the Librarian. “Good.” More loudly and infinitely more fragilely, “Good.”

  I do not ask if she shares my qualms. Instead, I wonder if Mary fears she has little to lose with Victor undergoing any experimental procedure.

  Mary coughs into a hand. “Why Wonderland?”

  As she pours milk into Mary’s cup, the Librarian motions for me to explain. Emotional or not, I cannot stem the irritation she inspires within me.

  “There are reports of a town besieged by pipers bearing the Queen of Hearts’ regalia who change them from what they are to something else entirely.”

  Brown eyes ringed in red stare straight ahead. “That bloody sonofabitch and his minions are hiding in Wonderland.”

  “It is an excellent possibility.”

  Arms fold tightly across her chest. “I’m going with you.”

  “I rather thought that was obvious.” The Librarian passes Mary the teacup. “You’ll need to ensure two weeks’ provisions for three people, considering Wonderland’s food and water are addictive to non-natives. While that sounds like a lot, try to pack lightly.” Her head cocks to the side. “I assume Grymsdyke will obtain his own food.”