The Lost Codex Read online

  “I don’t think we can unhook him from the machines.” He keeps the diagnosis calm and logical, as if this weren’t his brother we were discussing but a stranger. “We’ll bring them with us. I’m sure there is someone from some Timeline that can . . . fix him.”

  As I hold the man I have grown to know and consider family over the past year, I loathe the doubts that creep in. There are true miracles to be found within different Timelines, but can anyone successfully rouse from being stitched together with pieces from the dead?

  “I won’t.” His head lifts from my shoulder. “Dad won’t, either.”

  Over my shoulder, Sara’s brow furrows considerably.

  I jam steel rods into my spine. We now have a pen. It is not mine, nor Finn’s, but it is a Society pen, and that means we have a way out, even though our miracle is accompanied by a curse. No matter what the outcome, Victor deserves to come home, be it for burial and peace or miracles and recuperation. “Is there any way to override Victor’s pen? Allow us to use it?”

  He disentangles from me. “No.”

  “Are you su—”

  He holds up a hand. “I can try, but I’ve never heard of that working.”

  “Of what working?” Sara asks, but he hushes her, too.

  “Maybe the three of us, though? Our intent might override it?”

  “You want Sara and I to help?” I query.

  “No, no.” He strides over to the table with the pen. “It can’t hurt to try.”

  A blast of light illuminates the room of death. A shadowy outline of a man appears momentarily in a new doorway before melting once more into darkness. “Who dares to intrude in my workspace?”

  The voice is hauntingly memorable. The same baritone belonged to a sallow, dark-haired man with shards of blackened teeth who wreaked vengeance upon Victor.

  Grymsdyke hisses from atop Sara’s head.

  This beast of the Piper’s will not escape us a second time. Not now, not after Victor’s fate.

  It repeats its question. Footsteps squeak on polished tiles. Finn grabs what appears to be a bone saw off of a nearby table.

  “This is my sanctuary.” The shadow emerges in the gloom, closer toward our lantern light. “You three are trespassers, and your lives now belong to me.”

  I toss Sara a blade. She is smart enough to catch and then hold on to it.

  Finn tests the weight of the saw in his hand. When the glint of lustrous, dark hair appears, he says flatly, “A family’s sin is a stain that cannot be washed away.”

  Victor’s manic cries of the same punishment buzz in my ears.

  The creature grins. “So this is where the missing assets are. How fortuitous. Mother is livid.” It jerks its jaundiced, marred face toward Victor. “Do you like my latest creation?” Rubbery lips peel upward, revealing his abysmal set of ghastly teeth. “Not my best work, but the current crop of parts to choose from is lacking.”

  Its lips are black, its teeth rotten. This is not the creature from Victor’s Timeline, though. This is not the creation his biological father birthed. This is nothing more than another of the Piper’s minions.

  Finn holds out the saw, as if it were a gun. “I will have my retribution.”

  “I would expect nothing else. After all, a family’s sin is a stain that cannot be washed away. Not even if I cut it into pieces and sew it into something new.”

  Finn launches forward at the same time the creature snatches a scalpel off of a nearby table. I dart into the darkness, circling toward the back whilst Sara and Grymsdyke attack from the side. The creature laughs merrily, as if the taste of a multi-pronged death means nothing, and soon I realize why.

  The room elongates, much as the hallway we lost Victor in did. Grymsdyke, Sara, and I are left behind, hastening to catch up with Finn and the creature but never truly gaining ground. The pair clashes, blood emerges, and hysteria brings forth blessed madness.

  “Stay with Victor,” I order my companions.

  I failed Victor during the last battle with this monstrosity. I failed Finn whilst I slumbered. I refuse to fail either now.

  I believe in the impossible. I live the impossible.

  The room ceases growing, and I am within throwing distance. No creature is invulnerable—not the Jabberwockies, not the Queen of Hearts, not boojums, not this stitched-together man. I hurl a dagger. The blade sinks within the flesh just north of its kneecap.

  The creature staggers and roars.

  Finn kicks the beast, sending it sprawling against a wall. Somehow, a scalpel still rests within a raised, grayish hand, and that is unacceptable. I send the second dagger flying. The scalpel clatters to the floor as its hand fastens to the wall.

  Finn wastes no time. The saw within his grip slashes; the creature’s gurgled roars splatter against the walls. A jagged red line replaces black stitching before a scarlet bib soaks its shirt.

  Finn yanks my blade from its knee and shoves it deep within its heart. Glazed, defiant eyes are now empty.

  I catch Finn as he staggers back. Warmth seeps against my hands, sending jolts of fresh worry throughout my veins. “You’re bleeding again.”

  His voice is nothing more than a shuddery wind through autumn leaves precariously clinging to a tree. “I don’t care.”

  The urge to sob and alternately rage clamors up my throat, but I swallow it back. The room rights itself. “We must—”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Do not grieve for this monstrosity.” My hold on Finn tightens. My love will keep him safe. My love will keep him safe. “Who knows how many have suffered at his hands in the past? The world is better off without such a homicidal fiend.”

  “I know.” An uneven breath expands his chest. I shove a wad of my dress against a bleeding torso wound. “I—how do I. . .” His swallow is audible. “I couldn’t protect my brother. He knew this was going to happen, Alice. Even when he was little, he had reoccurring nightmares about becoming. . .” More quietly, “How do I explain this to my father? To . . . Mary?” His focus shifts. “I let you all down.”

  I press my cheek against his hair, still soft despite sweat and blood and violence. “Do not be silly. You have not let anyone down, especially me. There is breath still in Victor’s lungs. His heart still beats. Do not give up on Victor, love. He will need you in the days to come.”

  Despite his fever, Finn’s teeth clatter together. He whispers, “What if that isn’t my brother’s brain in his head?”

  As I kiss his forehead, I catch sight of Sara’s face gleaming in the lamplight. Her eyes remain green. “Let us first take him home and we will deal with the rest of it together.”

  ACROSS THE ROOM, SARA tells Alice, “He’ll have to use the pen.”

  Alice turns away from the wall she’s been running her hands over for the better part of an hour, searching for the door the creature came in from. The two overly opinionated women relegated me to a chair after the fight. I’m not sure if I like them being in such well-regulated collusion.

  Thank God Mary isn’t here, or we’d be doomed.

  Mary.

  My brother’s girlfriend’s name is a fist straight to both my kidneys and balls.

  What the hell am I going to tell her?

  “Pardon?” Alice is asking.

  “There’s no way out,” Sara continues. I won’t tell her, but her hair now looks like a nest, and Grymsdyke a bird perched within it. Hell, the Spider has even gone and spun some webs to make it all the more comfy. “The room is sealed. Even if we could find a way out, there is no way for us to employ any stealth while hauling a heavy, ice-filled box and numerous machines alongside us. Since they’re brothers, Finn will have to try to use Victor’s pen to open a doorway into the room you found. And then he will need to immediately open another door to the Society.”

  I call out, “He is right here and can hear you. Did you forget that we’re both adopted, so our blood type is different?”

  My comment doesn’t faze either woman, but it does bring the
m back over to where Victor and I are. “Is it even possible to open a door within one Timeline to another location in the same space?” Alice asks.

  “Granted, I am not Wendy,” Sara says, “and I do not have any technological working knowledge of how editing pens function, but I cannot help but surmise that, if one can open up a portal between time, space, and dimensions, which seems pretty damn impossible, it can do something as small as open a doorway between a much smaller amount of space.”

  Alice considers this. “We do not have a book with a photograph of that room.”

  “We have you and Grymsdyke.” Sara motions to her new friend, as if none of us can see that a giant Spider isn’t acting as a hat. “That will have to suffice.”

  Alice rests a hand upon my shoulder. “Do you think this is possible?”

  I want to say no, but then I remember the Cheshire-Cat babbling on about how he believes in the impossible. And Katrina thinks it’s possible, so. . .

  I muster my remaining shreds of confidence. “Give me the pen.”

  Sara quickly grabs it and Society book off the table and passes them over to me.

  “The room was on the same level I found you upon,” Alice says. “It was carved of rocks and dirt—there was no sign of civilization save the two-dozen barrels of gunpowder within.”

  “What color was the door?” Sara presses.

  Alice gives as much detail as she can. Grymsdyke adds his own impressions, and then I have them repeat it all until a firm image surfaces in my mind.

  I rub a hand across my face, sweat beading on my brow. It’s then I notice my mother hovering near the creature’s body.

  “You did good, Finn.”

  Her praise is vicious, and in turn, it viciously pleases me.

  “Put it in his hand, and then place yours directly over it. Tell him what we’re going to do. You two have forged enough notes in your time that you ought to be able to replicate his handwriting.”

  I do as my mother says. “I need you to help me edit, Victor.” I shift the pen a bit. “We need to save a lot of people before we leave, so you’re going to have to work with me here.”

  Not even a damn twitch answers me.

  “Keep going. Don’t give up.”

  I write out the directions for Alice’s room, but nothing happens.

  “Try again.”

  Victor’s hand, the one I know for sure is his, is cold. Too cold. I know he’s been packed in ice, but I have no idea how anyone’s hand can be so cold.

  I readjust his fingers around his editing pen, ensuring mine seamlessly overlap his.

  “Talk to him. Tell him what to do. Don’t let him give up, either. We Van Brunts don’t give up.”

  Katrina now hovers behind a very quiet, strained Alice. It’s getting harder and harder to hold on to her, though. And Jim hasn’t returned since he left the torture chamber.

  I’m losing them again, aren’t I?

  I take a deep breath and try to sound calm yet forceful. “Think about home. Think about how we need to save all these people and take them back with us. You’re a doctor. You know that they need a safe place.”

  Does he even hear me? Is my brother even still here?

  I lift the pen. Victor’s handwriting is terrible, a doctor stereotype that perfectly fits. Mine isn’t much better, but nonetheless, they are not remotely alike. I still try to mimic his style, though, as I write out the order to return to the medical wing.

  And then. . .

  Nothing happens.

  The room tilts, and before I know it, Alice’s arms are around me. She hasn’t been talking much lately—or maybe she has, and I’m just not hearing.

  Or noticing.

  I won’t tell her, but I’m worried. I can feel the thirteenth Wise Woman roiling around inside me, insidiously burning her way toward my soul. It’s getting harder to see straight, harder to focus on anything but continuing to breathe in and out.

  I have to get Alice to safety. Get Sara and Victor back home.

  “Why do you resist, when you know that, in the end, you’ll transform?”

  I think I did transform, though. Once or twice. I don’t feel like myself anymore—not entirely.

  “Don’t listen to her,” Katrina snaps. She is now next to Victor and me. “Don’t even think about that bitch. Right now, the only other voice in your head is mine. Is that clear?”

  I wish I couldn’t, but the thirteenth Wise Woman’s influence is fighting to be stronger than even my mother’s.

  “Perhaps we ought to take a break,” Alice is saying. “Try again in a bit.”

  No break. I shake my head too fast, and the room spins once more. “There’s no time. If it’s as close to dawn like we think. . .” I grip the edge of the box holding my brother, fumbling for his hand and pen.

  Explosions are coming. Too many innocent people dead in an effort to wipe out the guilty.

  Alice cannot die. I won’t let her. Victor or Sara either. Hell, I can’t even let the Spider die.

  I’m friends with a Spider. How—

  “Focus! Pull yourself together.”

  “Finn—”

  “We need to get Victor home,” I bite out more strongly than I ought to.

  Alice does not release me. Instead, she becomes a strong backbone, holding me up. For his part, Grymsdyke says nothing from his perch on top of Sara’s head. Sara, either. She and I are in the same boat, having been the thirteenth Wise Woman’s playthings. Sara’s trying so hard to keep herself together that, right now, I doubt she has the ability to talk.

  I readjust the pen in Victor’s hand and carefully overlap my fingers with his. Katrina bends over, her hand pressing down over mine.

  “Together, then.”

  “Think of a room filled with barrels of gunpowder,” I tell my brother. “Help me save these people and then kick the asses of the ones we’ve been chasing.”

  Katrina kisses his forehead. “Help us, my sweet boy. Don’t you give up.”

  This time, when I write out the instructions, a door appears. Beyond the frame lies a room filled with rock, dirt. . .

  And barrels of gunpowder.

  A naked man, cowering and covered in welts, peeks his head through the doorway.

  Alice’s relief is audible. “Harry!”

  Terror and confusion fill the man’s eyes. Thankfully, they are brown, not black. He answers in German, “My lady?”

  New faces appear behind him, ones abused and covered in wounds. They’re slaves, aren’t they? Humans treated as nothing more than chattel.

  Oh, hell no.

  The fire in me stokes until the flames burn high.

  Alice rushes to the doorway, urging the others to enter. “Did you light the fuses?”

  It’s done warily, but Harry and the others—a good dozen or so—step through, ashen as they take in their surroundings. “Yes, my lady,” Harry says.

  I want to pound my fists against guilty flesh at how these folk still cower, even now, even here. When I was a kid, I saw this kind of pain all too often. Blowing this damn mountain up is too generous an ending for the Chosen.

  “Is this it?” Alice glances about the small crowd. “Are there none others?”

  “No, my lady.” Harry’s shoulders droop. “There are not many of us.” A bleakness sags his jowls. “The debased do not last long in our positions.”

  “Do you know if there are any other innocents present? Any that are not Chosen?”

  The men and women shuffle their feet. Stare at the ground. No one answers.

  These people are scared—no, terrified. It’s plain as day, and yet, here they are, walking through glowing doorways, naked as jaybirds.

  Trusting us to keep them safe. Trusting us to take them to freedom.

  I can practically taste Alice’s frustration, and share it. Technically, we have no guarantee all captives and slaves are accounted for. It eats at me that we can’t assure that every last innocent is saved from this cursed place. But, as shaky as it is, Alice�
��s plan must go forth.

  We cannot allow the Chosen who remain here to escape.

  We cannot allow the thirteenth Wise Woman to leave Koppenberg Mountain.

  We cannot allow any more Timelines to perish.

  I grab the Institute book, ready to open another door, when an explosion rocks the room. Our new companions cling to one another, openly screaming and weeping.

  It takes three tries and a quartet of explosions before Katrina, a still-unconscious Victor, and I are able to open the second door. Beyond the glowing doorway lies the quiet medical wing of the Institute. Something feels wrong, though. It looks . . . dirty? Shit is strewn everywhere.

  Alice ushers the group of naked, shivering servants through the doorway; Sara grips my arm. “Cover my eyes. Tie my hands together, behind my back. Quickly. I can’t let them follow us.”

  She’s angled her body away from the door. Kept her back to the other door, too.

  Sara Carrisford is as close to a sister as I am ever going to get. I know her. Her heart, her soul—no matter what that asshole did to her—are good, and I will argue that to my last breath.

  I do as she asked, but I make sure she knows it’s under protest. “I trust you.”

  Her sad smile hurts. “Don’t.”

  Another pair of explosions collapses part of the roof as I’m scrambling to find something to tie her wrists with. Stone crumbles down around us. “Put the earplugs in my ears, too,” Sara says as she yanks off the sash that loops around her waist.

  “This is insane. You know that, right?”

  “Your safety is not insane. Man up, Finn. Think with your brain, not your heart.”

  When I push her into the Institute, I do a double take. It looks like a bomb has gone off. What. The. Hell?!?

  Apparently on the same page as me, Alice says, “We shall figure it out later. Let us bring Victor home before it is too late.”

  I fear I am more hindrance than help as Alice and I push Victor and all the equipment he’s hooked up to through the door. The walls and ceiling back in the mountain completely disintegrate. It’s then that I hear her. Feel her wrath in my blood.