Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales) (27 page)

One of the figures was feathery and pallid, the other long and reptilian … she got only impressions that were too vague to make sense.

“Stop it!” She tried to shout but her voice failed. “Mist?”

A voice came, “Stevie, help me…”

It emanated from the paler figure.

She reached out and touched flesh. Her hand, too, was transparent. She jumped back as the two specters rolled across the bed and hit the floor, the snake-like one rising on top. The paler shape cried out.

Stevie opened the bedside drawer, seized the Gideon Bible and brought it down hard on the scaly skull of the attacker.

She heard a grunt of pain and then something rushed through the room. A door opened and slammed shut. The world shook itself. A light came on and reality coalesced around them. Stevie was standing at the end of her bed, Mist down on the floor at her feet. The bedside lamp revealed a room that appeared to have been ransacked.

“Mist?”

She helped him up onto his bed and he sat there, gasping. There was a red welt on his cheek. His eyes were cloudy with shock, and bloodshot.

“What the hell was that?” she said. “You look dreadful. Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’ll live, but…”

“What was it?”

“I don’t know yet. Did it hurt you?”

“No, only scared the hell out of me.” She had another flashback to her unseen attacker at the museum. “
Fuck
…”

“Whatever it was, it’s taken the last of the Felixatus,” said Mist.

11

To the Labyrinth

“What the bloody hell—?” said Rufus.

He leaned on the cab door and stared up at the scene they’d left behind the day before. San Marco Square with the Campanile tower standing against a bright blue sky. The Doge’s Palace, a gondola drifting beneath the Rialto Bridge … all the famous landmarks of Venice grouped together in chocolate-box perfection. The buildings were spotless, the water as clear and brilliant as a swimming pool.

“It’s our hotel,” said Aurata. “The Venetian. Wait until you see inside.”

“Oh, funny,” Rufus said. He broke into laughter. “Brilliant joke. They built a Disneyfied copy of the real thing? You’re priceless, Aurata.”

She joined in his amusement, both of them helpless for a few minutes. “I thought you’d appreciate it. Welcome to Las Vegas.”

Shining marble halls with elaborate ceilings brought them to the hotel registration desk. Music from
The Phantom of the Opera
pumped through the sound system. Presently they were settling into a large suite with a sunken seating area, views of Caesar’s Palace and other legendary hotels, and of the dusty-brown mountains that encircled the city. The room had the biggest bathroom Rufus had ever seen, replete with gold taps, marble and mirrors. Aurata managed to cram their valuables—the ancient book of Veropardus and boxes containing parts of the Felixatus—into the safe. Then they showered together, and swapped rumpled traveling clothes for smarter attire. Aurata had a taste for bright red dresses and jewelry that clashed with her hair. Rufus chose a crimson shirt with his dark suit, just to clash a little more.

“You like?” she said.

“You, or the hotel?”

“Everything. I thought you’d be asking more questions.”

“I’m going with the flow. I like surprises.”

“I hope you’ll like this one. I need a hair salon. My hair’s a mess and I want the short sleek look for a change.”

Aurata took him down to the “Grand Canal Shoppes,” a labyrinthine pastel mockup of Venice rendered in astounding detail. The effect was softly lit, opulent and atmospheric, although he could have done without costumed actors bursting into song every few minutes. Rufus loved the squeaky-clean fakery as much as he’d loved the decay of the real place. They bought ice cream from a gelato store and roamed the streets beneath a domed plaster sky, watching real gondolas plying a fake canal. Shoppers browsed expensive gift stores; diners sat on terraces drinking cocktails. Rufus curled his tongue around the delicious cappuccino-flavored ice as he took in every pillar and arch and icing-sugar facade.

“This is incredible,” he said. “Only in America. I thought Las Vegas would be wall-to-wall sleaze.”

Aurata slipped her hand through his elbow. “You need to catch up with the world. The Strip is all glitz and showbiz these days.”

“But there are seedy areas, right? We have to see the nasty end of town before we leave. Where’s the casino, by the way?”

She pointed at the smooth cobbled pavement. “Next floor down.”

Rufus sighed. “I could make a fortune here.”

“What, gambling?”

“God, no,” he said. “As a prostitute, of course. I’d be the hottest transvestite hooker in town. Ladies welcome too; I don’t discriminate.”

She shook with laughter. “You are absolutely serious, aren’t you? I know you. You’d do it, for the hell of it. But we’re only here for two nights. I wanted to have some fun with you, because things will be serious again soon enough.”

“Damn. Not long enough to build a solid client base.” He rushed onto a bridge and leaned on the side rail to watch activity on the canal. “Marvelous, the way the gondoliers pole the boat and sing cheesy operetta at the same time. Can we have sex on a gondola?”

“Only if we want to get thrown out,” she said. “They let people get married on them, although even in Vegas they might draw the line at brother and sister.”

“Never mind. I’ll steal you a diamond ring anyway.”

“Isn’t it killing you, not to ask where we’re going?” She pulled him towards the crowded main square, her voice taking on the serious tone he associated with her “Dr. Connelly” persona.

“Yeah, but I like suspense.”

“It’s all about remaking the world. Reclaiming what we lost when Azantios fell. The pent-up energy between the plates of the Earth’s crust is apocalyptic, and it’s deeply connected to the boundaries between Earth and Spiral … I’ve so much to tell you. There’s something incredible in motion.”

“I don’t like the sound of this. Does it involve me being sacrificed to atone for all my crimes?”

“No, idiot. It involves you helping me.”

He paused to look at a robed man pretending to be a statue. His face and hands were painted silver to match his shiny silver garments. “Aurata, I’ve got a confession to make.”

“What’s that?”

He gave her a helpless, pleading look. “I’m shallow.”

“I never guessed.”

“As shallow as that fake lagoon. I don’t care about these deep, dark mysteries and apocalyptic cosmic plans of yours. I wish to fritter my life away. You want to know why I destroyed Azantios? It’s because I knew I wasn’t fit to rule the place, but I didn’t want anyone else to, either. There’s brainless immaturity for you.”

Aurata turned him to face her. “This is not news to me, Rufe. It’s your ruthless cunning I need.”

“But you know…” His voice became quiet and hard. He had to make her understand. “You do know that it wasn’t me who murdered your pet? Fe—”

“Don’t say her name.” Aurata pressed a finger to his lips. “She’s nothing. Prehistory. But yes, I know it wasn’t you.”

“Thank goodness. You’re the first ever to believe me. I know it was only one death among thousands, but I hate inaccuracy.”

“Rufe, you were a delinquent boy waiting for an excuse to—to set fire to your own house. If being falsely accused hadn’t set you off, it would have been something else. You always wanted to shake up the world, didn’t you?”

“I was bored. The Felynx were stagnant. Perhaps you and I should have staged a coup against the dull, safe rule Mist was planning, but even that didn’t seem enough.”

“So imagine forging a realm to make Azantios look like a flea bite, only this time completely ours. Doesn’t that appeal?”

He decided not to mention her nocturnal murmurings about Sibeylan glaciers, since she barely seemed to remember them. “Well … put like that, yes. I’m interested.”

“Every time Vesuvius and other volacanoes erupted, I kept returning there—until I realized, that was what Azantios had needed. More than an earthquake. Molten dissolution.”

“Errr … that’s still not sounding like fun.”

She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. The silver statue pursed his lips and made a smooching noise. Rufus gave him the finger.

“I promise you,” whispered Aurata, “there will be more fun than you can imagine.”

*   *   *

Stevie and Mist took a train from Birmingham to Leicester, then a taxi to the village of Cloudcroft. They’d checked out of the hotel and were now effectively homeless. Her life was in a shoulder bag; a few clothes, some personal effects and her laptop. She tried not to think of what she’d normally be doing now: guiding a tour group, chatting to visitors … Staring out of the taxi window as suburbs gave way to rural roads, Stevie wondered how much stranger this adventure could become.

Yesterday’s events cycled through her thoughts. Disbelief that she’d lost her domain, the museum; the nightmarish attack in the hotel by some unseen, slithering force … Perhaps fear or grief would come later, but right now she was too shell-shocked for emotion.

The road narrowed, climbing steadily as the landscape changed to a mix of farmland and rocks thrusting from rugged hills, dead bracken spilling over rough granite walls, gnarled bare oaks. Leicester had been damp and slushy, but here on the high ground of Charnwood Forest, the scenery was white with freezing fog. She couldn’t foresee the next ten minutes, let alone a future.

“This reminds me of the Scottish Highlands, on a small scale,” said Mist. Neither had spoken for a while. “I can imagine Aetherials living here.”

“And what are you going to say, assuming we can find them?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure Peta Lyon will help us.” Peta was Vaethyr, he’d told her; an artist colleague of Dame Juliana, who’d helped Mist-as-Adam. “If she’s even home yet.”

The taxi driver hummed along to jaunty bhangra music on the radio, and showed no sign of interest in their conversation.

“Might Rufus have come here?” asked Stevie.

“Anything’s possible. If he sent the shadow elemental to attack us, he must know where I am, so there’s no point in trying to hide.”

“I keep telling you not to be afraid of him, but after last night, I don’t blame you. What was that thing?”

“I’m not sure. Strange beings emerge from the Otherworld, and Aelyr themselves go into different forms. It reminded me of a
dysir
—a sort of elemental guardian—but much nastier.”

“Why did it steal the UCSO from you, but not from Frances?”

“It was a disembodied being, sniffing around blindly for Felynx objects. All I can think is that when I touched the object, I made the Elfstone resonate in a way that allowed the creature to locate and physically touch it.”

“Ugh,” she said. “Like the Nazgul in
The Lord of the Rings
?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said. She explained, and he pulled a horrified face. “Well, let’s hope it wasn’t a demonic wraith-king,” he said wryly. “I don’t know what level of conscious intelligence it had, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t an Aelyr of some kind. If you think about it, what is consciousness anyway? What does it mean to be alive, or to be reborn? When I was elemental, I was conscious, but I had no thoughts or emotions. When I was Adam, I wasn’t myself. I was him, and he’s still part of me, but he’s not
me
. All that connects us is memory.”

“It’s memory, then,” said Stevie. “I went to see my Nanny Peg—well, she’s not mine, but she was the only one of my last foster-family who liked me—and she’s got Alzheimer’s and doesn’t know who I am anymore. Is she still herself? Her body’s there, but her mind isn’t. It’s memory. Your personality’s no more than a cobweb without it.”

Mist tilted his head to look at her. His eyes were shaded by the black fall of his hair. “What does it mean to be conscious at all?” he said. “Events are happening on the other side of the world, or the next street, the next room, and we’ve no idea what they are. People are living lives of which we’re entirely unaware. We’ve no more knowledge of them than we have of daily life before we were born. We might as well not exist as far as those people are concerned. We could be dead, or unborn. And they to us; they’ll never know what we’re going through, or what we’re talking about.”

“I don’t what you’re talking about, half the time,” Stevie said with a grin.

“Oh yes, you do. The Aetherial quality of being semi-mortal—I can’t call it immortal, because nothing can last for eternity—and all our phases of living for eons, turning elemental, then returning to life again … Please don’t think that death means nothing to us. Being violently evicted from your body is never fun. Nor is being trapped inside while your wounded flesh heals. Humans find eternal rest, or perhaps a timeless afterlife as some believe. But we never know what’s next, who or what we’ll be, if we’ll forget bliss or remember pain … That’s not easy to bear. If we’re reborn with no memory of our previous existence, what proof is there that we’re the same being? None. And if memory does return, still no proof that we haven’t absorbed energies from some other Aetherial, or even from a human. Adam’s still alive, but only through me. What does it mean?”

“Aetherials are fluid, not here-and-gone like humans?”

“Yes, but…” He tipped his head back. “I don’t know. But…”

“What? You’ve been giving me strange looks ever since we met. Come on, say it.”

“All right, at the risk of giving offense by stating the obvious … Stevie, I’m certain you’re Aetherial. Are you pretending not to know? I believe that’s why you came out of nowhere with your memory blurred. These things happen to us sometimes. It happened to me. I know how it feels, how frightening it can be.”

Her breathing grew faster. He’d tried to say this to her before, she knew, and every time she’d pushed the idea away. “It’s no good asking me that. You might as well say, ‘I’m certain you’re really an octopus, or an Egyptian deity.’ I don’t know how I’m meant to feel different. I’m still just me. I know I’m loopy and damaged, but everyone’s damaged in some way. Aren’t they?”

Mist made no immediate response. Then he said, “I’ve brought nothing but trouble to you.”