The Strangely Beautiful Tale Of Miss Percy Parker (27 page)

He stared into the long mirror by the door. His dark eyes were empty; he was devoid of the usual energy with which he burst into a room and commanded it, making flames roar to life by the mere wave of a finger. But, rousing himself from his morbid reverie, he donned cloak and top hat to leave his large, empty house all the more empty. After readying the faithful Prospero, he set off for the intimate chapel that housed their divine mystery.

The air was sick. A virulent force was tearing through the streets toward a specific destination, ready for a reckoning. It growled and roiled and cut a path like a whirl of ancient blades. Its casualty would be an unspeakable shame. Neither
Alexi nor his cohorts had any inkling that there would be another mutilated corpse in the morning, nor that this would be the worst. There would be nothing, when all was said and done, to ever suggest that this woman, torn utterly to pieces, had once been a human being. The Ripper had struck again, swiping ferocious, merciless, unthinkable paws down Dorset Street, en route to the evening’s festivities.

The faint roll of Percy’s white eyes beneath her white lids was the only sign of life. Her odd fever had not broken. It seemed, rather, to worsen. As did her vision:

Light was the most welcome sight, after Darkness. Running into the field, she laughed. The sound brought Spring, and her love would be waiting: beautiful, winged, safe. Not cold and lonely like her husband in name but not in her heart. She had heard Love’s rich voice, deep within her breast, his feathers murmuring upon her ear in her most shadowy hours. She knew he would come.

The call of a great bird sounded, and a warm wind surrounded her. Strong arms swept her into a cradle hold. Laughter greened the trees. The Muses rushed into the field, delighted by the reunion of their dearest friends.

“Darling!” murmured a rich voice. She beheld the speaker, winged and magnificent, chiseled, stoic and true; Balance, Truth and Light, he was. Her heart swelled.

“Love…” she breathed, as his dark eyes stared deeply into her own prismatic irises. “You waited for me!”

“Did you doubt ‘forever,’ we who created the word? We shall create so much, you and I, shall we not?” He smiled, irresistible, and placed a powerful hand upon her stomach.
Her insides grew warm with fertile desire, and she knew she would bear his body, take him in and then bear a god of Balance like the father. This would make the world right again.

The noble face of her love grew grave. “Has he harmed you?”

She shook her head. “Other than stealing me? No. Speak not of him. There is only you within me.” She took in the scent of her lover: fresh air, foreign spices. He pursed perfect lips in a delighted smirk. She felt the weight of Darkness fall away like heavy linens, revealing her free and naked body for her beloved’s appreciation, so different from her husband’s cloying prison where she was meant to keep the dead at bay.

Her love kissed her deeply, his dark hair entwining with hers in the spring breeze. Tracing the lines of her body with his fingertips, he pressed against her, aching, desperate…In centuries to come, she would curse the day she had been so careless. She would forever curse the day she failed to look behind to the cave opening where burning eyes watched and hardened.

He, winged and supposedly eternal, the Keeper of Peace, the Balance, her
true
husband in love, drew back and stared at her, a woman who should never have become another god’s bride. She should have foreseen the danger. So foolish. But she could only stare at her lover, transfixed. She did not hear a growl from distant shadows.

It was then that her true love’s body burst into flame. There came an unforgettable, ungodly shriek of agony. She herself screamed a scream that rent the heavens.

Her lover’s form exploded, his feathers scorched and smoldered in terrifying bursts. Her own terror made the rain come, and it doused him. But it was too late. Hysterical, she cradled the charred, reeking, unrecognizable body of her true love in her arms. The Muses watched, frozen in horror.

The wind lifted a huge feather into its gentle hands; the consoling wind, murmuring sweet sympathies, blew the
feather upon the breeze. It began to float away of its own volition, stirring to life. Five Muses ran after it, while four others ran away in terror.

She watched her true love’s corpse crumble to dust. She backed slowly away as madness began to overtake her. Wailing, she beat her fists into the ground until her hands bled. “This is far from the end!” she shrieked into the crimson mud. “The world will not release you! I cannot release you! It will not end this way. We shall return—!”

With a retching cry, Percy came to consciousness, found herself pounding her fists violently against her bed. Realizing she was not in a distant, ancient land but rather a London sickbed, she moaned, fell back and threw the sheets over her head. This did no good. To her great dismay, she still heard the distant growling of hounds. But there was a new sound. Percy removed the sheets and opened her eyes.

A humming, translucent feather made of blue fire floated before her eyes. This feather of cerulean flame was strangely comforting, and it eased Percy’s boiling blood. The feather floated closer and then retreated, away from her bed, beckoning.

She stared at the feather and asked a silent question:
Am I to follow?

The feather burned brighter; its blue fire sparkled.

Yes,
Percy realized.
I must follow. And this is the end of me.

Six candles burst into spontaneous flame as Alexi threw wide the chapel door and strode down the aisle. The Guard, clumped near the altar inside, looked to him, full of anxious hope. His eyes were dead, his face unreadable. From his lips burst a decree, and his powerful arm shot forward, emitting a burst of lightning that spun toward the altar. A black door rent the air wide, and The Guard approached it inexorably.

The chapel door behind them opened again, and they
turned to see a new vision. Lucille Linden stepped into the chapel, and everyone lost their breath as she threw her cloak aside to reveal her immense black satin gown. Everything about her was the picture of beauty.

Lucille approached Alexi with an outstretched hand. He stepped close to her, and she responded by sliding her arm into his.

“Lead on, Alexi,” she said. He nodded slowly, as if trapped in a dream.

The feather bobbed and pulsed, impatient.

Are you leading me to my death?
Percy wondered. The feather suddenly changed shape, its wispy blue barbs transforming into a burning Sacred Heart. The symbol evoked such yearning that Percy couldn’t refuse to follow, no matter if it led to the undiscovered country after all.

She attempted to stand, but an attack of nausea sent her sprawling back upon the bed, sweat pouring off her brow. She reached toward the heart, asking for its help. The image again became a feather. A beautiful music played somewhere close. Percy felt suddenly lifted by a great, tingling hand. Her thin hospital gown clinging to her body, she stumbled forward but hesitated at the foot of her bed. The feather receded toward the door of the infirmary, pulsing, waiting for her to join it.

The nurses darted busily about their work, none of them seeming to notice her. It was as if she were already a ghost. Perhaps she was.

“Am I dead, then?” she wondered. The feather pulsed and sparkled, not an answer, only a beacon.

Outside, past the infirmary windows, fierce dark thunderheads galloped across the moon. This feather of flame seemed an infinitely better acquaintance than those horsemen of the horizon, who would eventually find their way through the hole in her sky and descend upon her, dead or
alive. Thus Percy placed one unsteady foot in front of the other, scared that the nurses would at last see her and shuffle her back to bed with admonishments.

Fumbling with the knob of the infirmary door, she was almost free when the dearest of the nurses turned to her, rosy face flushing bright. Percy was sure she was trapped. And yet, the nurse somehow didn’t quite see her; the woman’s eyes lost focus and her mouth went slack, as if she had been dazed by a brilliant, hypnotic light. Percy looked down at her hands to find them glowing.

With Miss Linden in tow, The Guard descended into their sacred space, that secret place not quite beneath Promethe Hall but more parallel to it, inaccessible by any other means. The fact that Miss Linden, ostensibly an outsider, was able to set foot upon the stone stairs that had materialized from their inexplicable, private altar entrance, they felt, was not to be dismissed.

Once inside their circular room, Lucy Linden gazed about with eager wonder. Alexi stood nearby. His stern face was ashen, hers flushed; he a statue, she a flower.

Moving liquidly into their ritual circle, Alexi led Lucy to the center. Her smile was dazzling as the crystalline bird above her head.

He returned to the perimeter. A breeze and an ancient harmony filled the air, the first chord struck in a symphony tuned by angels. Their circle of blue fire leaped to life, licking their ankles with harmless affection. Lucy stared with evident excitement.

Alexi closed his eyes.

“Great guiding force, hold fast within us now, each to the other,” he said carefully. “As myth would have it: from the Flame of Phoenix, Feather did fall and Muse did follow. If we are birthed from that flame, then our fire needs a new candle. I submit the humility of my mortal judgment to your
higher wisdom. We know no other way than to humbly present our choice. Is this she?” He opened his eyes.

A breeze coursed around the circle, becoming a whirlpool, urging them to draw close. Lucy held out a hand. Alexi moved forward, breaking from the circle of fellowship that closed again behind him, and the pair stared at each other, faces mere inches apart. The Guard glanced around, uncertain.

“Alexi Rychman,” Lucille said softly. “You are mine.”

Alexi slid his arm around her black satin-clad waist, drew her against him and kissed her ruby lips.

Percy spat blood, crimson fluid welling up suddenly in her mouth. Stifling a cry, she leaped over the threshold of the infirmary, her bare feet pattering against the smooth wooden floor beyond. The halls were quiet. It was late. Only she and the ghosts were awake, she realized, as she moved down the corridor; and they turned to her, their eyes wide. They bowed.

The halls should have been dim, for it was night, but Percy suddenly realized she could see as if it were day. Bright day. Passing the glass windows of darkened office doors, she saw her reflection and could not recognize it for the nimbus around her body, burning from inside and glimmering on her skin. She stopped near one glass pane and stared, her hand before her eyes.

The feather floated close, and it brushed her cheek with a warm kiss before slipping again down the Promethe Hall corridor, coaxing, urging Percy to keep moving, no matter if she was shocked by how much she appeared the angel. No matter if she still tasted blood.

“
Mine,
Alexi…” Lucy repeated as she drew back from the kiss, caressing his cheeks with both hands.

Alexi found that kissing her had done nothing to thrill
him, and her touch made him cold. Her eyes shifted colours, emerald to ruby to black. Part of him shivered in dismayed recognition. His goddess had cycled through hues just the same.

Lucille’s hands left his face. “Now then, let’s begin.” She moved her arms in a grand gesture, as if drawing an invisible arrow back against a bow. In response, a circular tile on the wall shuddered and shifted, twisting out of place in the same way a huge screw would pull from a stud, spiraling out. The cylinder lengthened, parallel to the floor as it invaded the room, glistening with indeterminate crystal and metal grooves, silt and debris falling from its edges as it extended farther. With a final belching sound, the extraction fell at an angle, leaving a gaping hole beyond. A dim, hazy shaft of light emanated from behind the seal: an opening.

Another portal, as Prophecy had decreed! Their sacred space had proven responsive to Miss Linden’s commands, and murmurs of excitement flew among The Guard. Rebecca and Alexi stared at each other, and at the transformed wall. Lucille’s beautiful face grew lovelier still.

“I’ve always wanted to come find you, to play with you. This time, when everything is at stake I’ve caught up with you and I’ll never let go. He will be so proud!”

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Lucy’s smile tightened. “I mean, you’re fools. Once upon a time, if you recall, there was a vicious score to settle. Once upon a time there was jealousy, betrayal and justice dealt by fire to put a whore in her place. But let us forgive and forget, shall we? We could join, could reign in both realms as they become one! The sepulcher is pried open at last!” she cried, and flung out her arms.

“What the devil do you mean?” Alexi demanded. His very soul felt frozen.

“The division between worlds, held fast by the seals…Wait.”

The Guard looked blankly at the stone pin, and then at her.

“Don’t you know what you’re keepers of?” Lucille asked, incredulous. She laughed. “You truly are useless mortal fools, if you don’t even know your own purpose.”

“We police spirits,” Rebecca scoffed. “Of course we know—”

“Yes, yes, but when you run about and perform your little tricks, don’t you realize you’re holding the seals fast? The more spiritual havoc you allow up there on your mortal streets, the more this seal loosens.” She gestured to the pin upon the floor.

“It seems that our teacher left that part out of our tutorial,” Alexi muttered.

“For centuries the latch between life and death has been held safely closed by your little chapels. But now that you’ve let me in, we can fling wide the door right here and now! ‘London Bridge is falling down, falling down…’” Lucille grinned.

The hearts of The Guard froze. Their fearful gazes snapped to the crevice in the wall, where deep from within a familiar growl sounded. Then, suddenly, their enemy leaped from the abyss, and that tumultuous mass of combined spirit mongrels loped around the circle of blue flame with its one or one hundred heads snarling and snapping. Fresh blood and bits of flesh dripped from its ungodly fangs.

A laugh that sounded full of sand erupted from Lucille.

“What are you?” Alexi demanded.

“My fable has changed so much over the years! Careful! Don’t stare too close—you’ll turn to stone!” Lucy sniggered. Something shifted and rattled on her head.

Serpents shot from her skull, the black locks slithering outward, hissing, wrapping around the necks of The Guard. Forked, flaming tongues licked the ears, nostrils and lips of the six friends as they struggled. Michael attempted to rally them with a moment of hope, or even half a chuckle to warm
their hearts, but he could not speak or breathe. Alexi’s neck, so close to Lucille’s, was wrapped double by a serpent, driving him to his knees.

“Such passion!” Lucy cried, eyes becoming feline. “Let me taste it—suck it from you!” Reptilian jaws opened their mouths and spat. “Master, receive my gift—the scales of the Balance will tip in our favor as the division of worlds is destroyed! At last you see how much I am worth!” She glanced at the broken seal. “The door! The prophesied door!” she mocked with glee.