Author's Note: Much thanks go to MikoNoNyte and Mushy K, who both read this chapter before I posted and helped me fix it up.
It took us about a month of traveling to get to Rouen. Along the way we performed two exorcisms, a small miracle for us considering we weren't advertising—though considering the desperation which those people were in, I really shouldn't think of it as a miracle. With the money from the jobs we were able to get a carriage for the last of the way. Both Zhuzhen and I had been thankful for this, worn out from weeks of traveling on foot, but Keith had not seemed to mind either way.
As we entered the city, the sun cast long shadows from the buildings. We inquired around a few inns for Margarete, but she hadn't checked in to any of them. Finally we came to the inn my father and I had been staying at when he died. The church was just across the street from the inn and I glanced at the building even as Keith held the door open for me. It seemed to have become neglected; there were weeds poking up between the cobblestones and some trash strewn about in front of the doors.
"Good evening!" the innkeeper greeted us as we entered.
"Excuse me," Zhuzhen said, "But we're looking for a lady named Margarete. Is she staying here?"
"Miss Margarete? Just wait a moment," the man requested as he scanned the pages of his register. "Yes, she's staying here. Blonde, blue-eyed, right? I saw her leave a while ago. She hasn't returned yet."
"Hm, she beat us here," Zhuzhen grumbled. "Not that it was very hard."
"I suppose we'll be staying here too then, if we can afford it that is," Keith said, and I bit my lip to keep back my protest. It would be easiest to wait here for Margarete. But why, why of all the inns in Rouen did she have to choose this one?
"We haven't had a lot of customers lately, so I can make you a deal," the innkeeper offered. "You seem to have a lady with you, so I'll prepare two rooms upstairs. Use them as you wish."
"Thank you," I said.
He paused at my voice, and then looked at me more closely. "Oh, aren't you...?" He hesitated a second, but then ploughed on: "Aren't you the young girl--"
"Yes," I said sharply, but I knew what he would have asked. He shook his head sadly.
"I still remember that incident...such a tragedy...oh, that poor priest, rest his soul. But at least you're safe, child. It's a blessing of God," he told me, and I had to fight down anger at his presumptuousness. 'Safe'? Being chased by a warlock and the witch who served him, having your soul claimed by demons--I was 'safe'? He meant well though, so I chewed my lip and willed myself to be quiet. A part of me wanted to ask him why God would not extend his blessing to a pious and faithful priest who had served the Lord with all his strength.
As soon as the rooms were ready, Keith and Zhuzhen both entered their room, and I entered my own. It was always impossible to tell at what hour Margarete would come back, so it made no sense to stay up and wait for her. Knowing her she'd want to follow whatever lead she had straight away, so we would need all our energy.
I told myself that, but I could not sleep. Though I lay still, my eyes followed the flickering shadows the candle on the nightstand cast about the room. It was a comfortably-sized room, though the dark colors of the furniture made it seem more snug. It looked a lot like the room I had stayed in with my father. The pictures behind the candle were different, but for all that it mattered it might have been the same room. I knew very well though that the last time I had stayed at this inn, I had been downstairs, not upstairs.
The seconds passed, one after the other. Perhaps if I blew the candle out I'd be able to sleep, but then if I slept in this state, what would I dream...the Masks had appeared almost nightly in the last week, snipping at pleasant dreams to turn them into nightmares. Here in Rouen, they wouldn't even have to try; it was already certain that there would be no good dreams.
After a few moments of tossing in bed, I sat up and changed back into my clothes. Maybe if I saw Father Doyle I would feel better; the church's appearance had disturbed me. And afterwards I could pay my respects to Father. Maybe then I'd feel a bit more at peace.
I shrugged on the bolero and without much thought picked up the Tome of the Sun. I had carried it so much over the past month that its weight alone was familiar and comforting.
Though the innkeeper seemed to have retired for the night, there was a Chinese man sitting in one chair. He looked familiar and I frowned, wondering if I had seen him in China. He looked up at me and took no notice, however, so I passed him by without a word.
With the air cooling, the evening was rather chill and I wrapped my arms about myself. At least it was a short walk to the church. The doors would not open and so I knocked on the door. "Father Doyle? Father Doyle? It's me, Alice." When there was no response forthcoming, knocking turned into pounding. "Father Doyle?" I called, trying to keep my voice loud enough to get his attention if he was within and quiet enough not to disturb others.
"You haven't heard, have you?" I turned to the petite brunette who had approached me. "Father Doyle...they say he suffered a terrible ordeal when that murder happened a year ago. He locked up the church and hasn't let anyone in since that night."
A terrible ordeal? He'd stayed within the confessional the whole time. But maybe that was why he was troubled now...it could have been guilt which had caused him to close the church. But I wondered why he hadn't reacted when I had called out my name; after all, if it was guilt, wouldn't he feel relieved to know that at least I was fine?
"Thank you for telling me, I hadn't known," I said. The woman nodded and, with a nervous glance at the church, walked away at a swift pace.
For a moment I stood on the steps, lost in thought. I had thought maybe talking to Father Doyle would help reassure me, but apparently not; he had more weighing on his soul than I did. I hadn't shut myself away, after all, though it was a tempting idea sometimes.
I could still pay my respects to Father. Though hesitant, my feet made the path through the narrow alleyway. There was the faint glow of a streetlamp on the stones. They seemed normal enough; the reddish tint was probably just my imagination. I had been expecting to see stains of blood, but they must have washed away months ago. As I knelt, there was a slow, whining creak.
A remnant of the back door of the church swung on one hinge--it looked like the door had been shattered in a single blow. My breath caught in my throat as I realized that whoever had done the damage was no ordinary thug. What if they did something to Father Doyle? I thought, and went to check on him.
As I stepped through the doorway, the hallway was dimly lit by light spilling over from the chapel. With a tight grip on my book, I was about to check the first room when a shadow fell upon me. I turned and raised the tome. The intruder looked haggard, wearing ratty clothes. His entire body leaned to one side.
"Alice, I don't know how you could be scared of me like this," he muttered.
I nearly dropped the book, but Sasha didn't seem to notice my surprise. He staggered towards me and I stiffened, wondering what he would do.
"Will you stop it? I'm not going to do anything. I'm just on my way out."
Finally my voice came back: "Oh--so you've already done something, haven't you?" He made to step past me, but I sidestepped and blocked his path again.
Sasha glared down at me. With him facing away from the light it was difficult to see his features, but he seemed exhausted. "No, I haven't, so will you get out of the way?"
"Why did you break in?" I demanded.
"I needed to see Doyle and he wasn't opening up."
I chewed my lip. Given that Sasha was working for Roger Bacon, the visit couldn't have done Father Doyle any good. "Then where is he?"
"He locked himself in the confessional. I doubt you'd want to see him, he keeps muttering and moaning."
"Why--?" But Sasha was trying to get past me again. Once more I blocked his way through the narrow hall, but this time our feet tangled up each other and he stumbled before leaning on me for support. He hissed when I pushed him away with both hands.
"Oh, please," I said, exasperated, "It wasn't that har...you're injured."
"Well shit, why'd you hit me there if you knew?" he asked, one hand rubbing his chest.
"I didn't realize--just how bad is it? Take off your shirt."
His flesh was discolored from infection. I frowned as I realized it had not been caused by any sort of poison, but by neglect. Roger Bacon wouldn't have let something like this go untreated, so Sasha must not have found him yet; the knowledge was a small relief. "Why didn't you heal this more quickly?"
"Didn't have the stuff to treat it."
"Oh?" I scowled as I remembered. "You only stole all of our things."
"Yeah, and I lost them when I got attacked out of nowhere. Are you going to heal me or not?"
"What made you think I was going to heal it?" The retort came out weak, as I knew very well I had come close to doing it.
Sasha rolled his eyes. "Because it's you."
The remark made me bite my lip. Did he really think me so predictable?
It was true though; I didn't want to leave him injured. It was clear the infection was sapping his strength. He could die if it went without treatment.
But what if he lived? He wouldn't have run away unless he had been intending to return to Roger Bacon. Healing Sasha would be helping the warlock.
Yet if he died, I would have given up my soul to the Masks for nothing...hadn't he already proven it a worthless sacrifice though? He didn't want to turn his life around. He wanted to go back to Roger Bacon and help the warlock cause more suffering. If only there was a way I could stop him--but I hadn't been able to convince him and I couldn't restrain him--
He'd stop if he were dead.
My throat clenched as the thought sank in. The only sure way to stop Sasha would be with mortal force. I had helped kill Dehuai, and it was almost certain that unless Roger Bacon captured me, I would fight to the death with him as well, and Sasha was conspiring with the man--why shouldn't I kill him? Right now, while he was injured, it would be easier, and he hadn't helped Roger Bacon yet--
Yes, he hasn't done anything yet. Dehuai had, Bacon has, Sasha hasn't.
Yet.
"Hey!"
I jumped when his hand gripped my shoulder. He was staring into my face and I wondered for a second if I had indeed acted on that sinister thought.
"What in the world's wrong with you?"
"S—sorry," I murmured. My hand reached out to touch his chest, fingers trembling slightly. Something held it back; I knew I should heal him, but my insides roiled with anger and fear. Thoughts were flying like lightning—how dare he be so presumptuous, he'll kidnap you, treacherous liar, let him die, he'll kill you!—and my heart was clenching in a frighteningly familiar manner. My hand balled into a fist as it withdrew. "S-sasha. Did you kill any monsters?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
My chest felt tight. I gasped out a single word: "Malice." It felt the same as it had in the sewers of Fengtian.
"But Fox Face is dead!"
Without breath to answer him, I sank to my knees. There was a sudden stab of pain and my teeth clamped down on my lip, releasing a trickle of blood.
"Shit. Shit," Sasha muttered, staring at me. Then he shook his head and walked past me.
"Sa—" Tears streamed down my face, splashing onto the church floor. Bent over, clutching my chest, I could only listen as his footsteps quickened and the door slammed open, more remnants cracking and falling off. He was running away, that coward bastard son of a—
"All alone, little girl?" I looked up, blinking to clear away the tears. The pain had dulled to an ache, but now my stomach churned with fear. One of the masks floated above me, its mouth hanging open in a mocking cackle. "It's time to close the deal."
I swallowed, my legs shaking beneath me. "I need more time."
The blue mask rattled as its mouth snapped shut, then opened again. "That's none of our concern, girl. The only thing we care for is your soul. Now, to prepare you for Atman…"
The grail mask swooped down. With a croak its mouth opened even wider, blue mist proceeding from it. As the mist touched me, my fear rose and I started, knowing I needed to escape. My first attempt to stand caused me to stumble and fall on my back. I rolled over and climbed to my feet and ran, my heart beating wildly. Over my frenzied breathing and footsteps I heard the mask's malicious laughter.
I burst out into the alleyway. My first thought was to get Keith and Zhuzhen's help, but that flew out of my mind when ice spread out beneath my feet before rising up in massive spikes. Though I avoided the first three, I lost my footing on the slick surface and a fourth icicle sliced open my left arm. As I gasped and the mask rattled with laughter, the realization struck me that it hadn't been aiming to kill me, only terrify me. The power and control the mask had over its magic were shocking. It might even be as strong as Roger Bacon, and I knew immediately I could not fight, only flee.
"You can run to the ends of the earth, girl, but you can't leave your fear behind," came the mocking call.
I turned sharply around the next corner. My lungs were already burning and I knew that if I did not somehow lose the mask, my soul would be consumed this very night. If escape was impossible, what else was there? I wouldn't be able to harm the mask if it was the same as Fox Face…
"Sasha!" I shouted. "Sasha!" Fox Face had not reappeared after Sasha had cleared his malice. Hopefully that would eliminate the mask too. But where was he?
Another sheet of ice appeared under me, but this time I managed to avoid the rising icicles. One shot up beside my leg, its jagged edge making warm blood dribble down the cold flesh, but otherwise I was unharmed. I glanced over my shoulder. The mask was farther away now; perhaps too far for its magic to be precise. Just a little more distance between us, and I'd be able to lose it; then I'd have to find Sasha and—
I looked in front of me again as I darted into an alleyway, but as my foot came down the ground was unexpectedly slippery. The grail mask had cast yet another spell. I lurched and lost my balance—my foot slipped, and all my weight came down on my ankle as I fell. When I tried to stand, pain shot through my ankle. I had to keep moving though; the mask wasn't far behind. I staggered forward, only to stumble and cry out as a frozen spike rose from the ground. My hands flung out and gripped onto the icicle. They slipped and were sliced open on the jagged edges, but stopped my fall with the icicle's tip poking between my breasts. Streams of blood ran from my palms down the white ice. My breath was coming hard and panicked tears leaked out of my eyes.
"Ohoho, very good, little girl," the grail mask laughed. "Such a close call, too. Just a second later and—"
The ice shifted beneath me and I pushed myself away as the icicle jutted up further. Had I stayed there, it would have speared through my heart.
The worst part of it was that I was sitting on the ice, defenseless yet alive still; the mask was only playing with me. It could have killed me on the spot, but instead it wanted to torture me.
"Don't tell me you're broken already." The contempt in its voice was obvious.
I looked up at the mask, grimacing. "I can't run."
"Ohoho, what bad luck," it said, twirling in the air with glee. "Well then, little girl, it looks like your time is u—uaaaaaaaah!" The mask screamed when it was struck by lightning, despite a cloudless sky. As the grail tilted and spun crazily, a grey bird with brown wings swooped down from the sky. It was huge, the size of a man.
"Sasha!" I called, recognizing it as the fusion he'd used at the top of Kuihai tower. Then my eyes widened as he continued in his dive and stretched sharp talons out. I braced myself for the impact, gripping my tome with both hands, but I couldn't stop myself from screaming when the talons dug into my shoulders. With me in his clutches, Sasha rose into the sky.
The grail mask had recovered and was shouting something. Around us the air turned frigid and Sasha flapped his wings furiously as shards of ice shot at us. My hair whipped about my face, flying into both my eyes and my mouth as I forced myself to take deep breaths. As much as I felt like it, this was the worst time to faint. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see my impending death. I'd be stabbed or Sasha would drop me, either way I had no desire to see it. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Father in heaven… I couldn't think of how to continue the prayer; my soul would certainly not go to heaven, not after being sold to the masks.
I could hear the air crackling each time an icicle formed, and though it seemed like the mask was barraging us with them, Sasha was somehow managing to avoid them. The din was thinning; cautiously I opened an eye to see no mask, no ice… My breath shook with relief. Perhaps I actually would survive this night.
Sasha descended slowly and gracefully, apparently comfortable with this fusion, but the landing was still rough as he chose to release me without warning. It was not a long drop, but falling on my back and bleeding shoulders caused me to hiss in pain. As I rolled onto my knees, he was already changing back and sat against a building, slumped over slightly.
"Are you all right?" he asked. The answer was so obvious from my bloody shoulders alone that I only gave him a look before I opened my tome, seeking the healing spell.
He sighed. "I thought if I got away from you, nothing would happen…"
I paused, my fingers resting between the book's pages and looked up at him. He was speaking quietly, his eyes half-closed, and his breathing sounded strange. After I healed myself, I stood and walked to him, wincing at the ache in my shoulders. Praying that this time no mask would appear, I pressed my palm against his chest, my fingers splayed out. I cast Wish first to heal the infection and followed it with Cure.
Sasha lifted his head and quirked a smile. "You got a new spell."
"You need to empty your malice."
"Yeah, yeah, I know," he said. He closed his eyes and I could only hope he was delving into his Graveyard, rather than simply sleeping.
Hopefully Keith and Zhuzhen were both asleep; they would be quite worried if they knew I wasn't in my room. As soon as Sasha awoke and I knew the malice was cleared, I would go back.
But what about Sasha? There I could not think of a solution, even as I paced the dimly lit alleyway back and forth. He had already broken our trust, and now that his talisman was lost, he couldn't tell how much malice he had…so even if I could somehow convince him to travel with us, it would only put everyone in danger.
So I would just let him go to Roger Bacon? Let him help our enemy? But then, what other choice did I have? I couldn't control Sasha's decisions, as poor as they were.
The gruesome idea of murder returned, but without a moment's pause I shook my head, brushing the thought away. If Sasha died with the malice still full to the brim, I had no way of knowing if it would vanish or stay full. Besides, I'd exchanged my soul for his life…for me to kill him now would make that meaningless.
It would've been better had he died before we found him.
Soft footfalls interrupted my dark thoughts. I lifted my head to see Roger Bacon smiling at me. "Good evening, sister."
I gasped and jerked, turning to Sasha before realizing he would be no help. "What—how—?"
He raised an eyebrow at my astonishment. "How did I find you, is that what you mean? I was well aware that your search would likely bring you to Rouen. And even at night, sister, a large bird carrying a woman is terribly conspicuous. Now, if you would leave…" The warlock raised one fist which glowed with power. "I have a traitor to see to."
I glanced to Sasha and murmured, "Him? You think he's…you…" A shaky laugh burst from my throat, startling me. "He's been looking for you."
"Alice, lying will not help anyone."
I was breathing quickly, the cold night air stinging my lungs. Roger Bacon had always seemed to know everything—so how could he not know something so obvious? Sasha was his.
The warlock gave me a cursory examination, his eyes lingering on my face. He frowned. "Even if that were true," he said, "His decisions as of late have been very foolish. He's unreliable. Now move out of the way."
Rather than obeying him, I moved between the two men. Now he couldn't cast a spell on Sasha without hitting me. If only Sasha would wake up; was he still in the Graveyard? "That's no cause for murder," I said, raising my voice. Wake up, Sasha.
Bacon's frown turned into a scowl, an odd sight compared to his usual false smile. "You don't seem to understand your position, sister. I'm allowing you to travel freely, as part of an experiment, of sorts. But with the masks after you, considering how reckless you're being…I suppose you, too, are too unpredictable for me to let you run loose."
Recognizing the threat, I opened my book to cast Blessed Light, but a strange light flashed in the warlock's blue eyes. The Tome of the Sun was knocked out of my hands by his magic, landing far away, its vivid orange colors barely visible.
Now defenseless, I turned and shook Sasha. Though I called his name he would not wake—he was about to be killed! A hand grasped my shoulder and turned me about. Bacon raised his other hand and this time it glowed with a soft blue light. He held it over my face, and, though I tried to resist the spell, I found myself succumbing to slumber, just as I had on the train. A yawn escaped me as my eyelids sank down, heavy with exhaustion.
"Sleep well," he said, and then there was a distinct popping sound. From the corner of his open mouth, red liquid trailed down. He crumpled and pitched forward. Too numb to react, I fell when his weight pressed down on me, landing on my back. My shoulders ached at the impact.
"Get off me," I mumbled, pushing him away. The palm of my hand was now wet and lined with red. Blood. There was a hole in the side of Roger Bacon's head and I stared at it, puzzled that it had somehow gotten there without my notice.
Someone was calling my name, but I didn't pay it any mind until the voice was right in my ear. "Alice!" Margarete knelt in front of me, her blue eyes wide with concern. "Shit, girl, are you all right?"
"Oh, so you shot him," I murmured. That explained the hole. Margarete's forehead creased as she stared at me. She rummaged through her coat's pockets, bringing out a pure leaf. When she held it out to me I shook my head. "I don't need it—"
"Like hell you don't," she said before sticking it in my mouth. "What's wrong with Sasha?"
I chewed on the leaf and swallowed before answering. "Nothing. He's in his graveyard. The malice was full and one of the masks was chasing me."
"A mask was chasing you." Margarete eyed me doubtfully, then turned to Sasha. "Wake up," she said, shaking him. This time, Sasha stirred slightly, his dark eyes cracking open. When he caught sight of Roger Bacon, he shot up into a sitting position.
"Holy hell. Are you insane?" he muttered.
"He was," I said quietly. "Now he's dead."
"Not him," Sasha snapped, "Margarete, or whoever shot—your pupils are constricted."
"Bacon cast some sort of spell on her, and that's why I shot him. How is that insane?" Margarete demanded.
Sasha gave a mirthless chuckle and pointed to the corpse. "Just look."
Both Margarete and I looked, and a cry of alarm erupted from the spy's throat when we saw the wound in Roger Bacon's head shift, healing itself. "Goddamned devil!" She whipped out her pistol, firing off a shot—a bluish green light blocked it—before Sasha rose to his feet.
"Forget it! You won't kill him." He grabbed my arm and before my mind could catch up with my feet we were running. My vision blurred from the sudden jolt, turning black for a brief second. When it returned I was met with the glow of street lamps—Sasha was leading me towards a well-lit road.
He stopped underneath one of the lights, looking around. "Where's Zhuzhen?" he demanded of me. "He's still with you, right?"
"We were staying at the inn by Father Doyle's church," I answered, and then: "He won't be happy to see you."
Sasha snorted. "He cast a sleep spell on you, didn't he. It's done a number on your brain," Sasha muttered as he started leading me at a jog down the street. "I don't care. We need to talk."
"Idiot, you're going the wrong way," Margarete called.
The grip on my wrist tightened as Sasha retorted, "Then you lead the way."
Margarete did so, and as we followed her through the city's streets, I sifted through my muddled brain, trying to figure out what Sasha thought we needed to talk about. "You cleared your malice, didn't you?"
"Yeah."
"Then there's nothing to talk about."
"The masks said you gave them your soul." My mouth fell open and I struggled to make a reply, but nothing would come. He simply looked back at me, his own face hidden in shadow. "Goddamn it. You actually did."
His voice was just as scornful as the masks. Even he thought it was idiotic, even though I'd done it to save him… "I know it was stupid. Don't tell anyone."
This time when his grip tightened, I cried out in pain and pulled back. Margarete turned around, her eyes narrowing at Sasha. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Sorry," he answered, releasing my arm.
Frowning, the blonde plucked the sleeve of my bolero, pulling me to walk alongside her. After a few seconds of silence, she whispered, "What's going on with Sasha? He is on our side, right?"
I shook my head. "He's on no one's side." With a small chuckle, I recalled Bacon's words. "He's unreliable."
"Want me to shoot him?" Even with the lilt in her voice, I couldn't be sure if she meant it as a jest. If Margarete did turn around and pull her gun, would Sasha be able to get out of the way before she shot? Would he be able to shield himself? In my mind he was sprawled on the ground, blood dribbling out of him.
"Alice, I'm kidding. Don't freak out on me. Jesus Christ, what did Bacon do to you?"
"Sleep spell," I answered. "Sorry, I'm not thinking right."
"Well, that would explain it," she muttered. "You'll be better after you get some rest though, right?"
"I…I think so."
"The inn's not much farther. Just don't fall asleep on me."
"Don't let Sasha leave. I need to talk to him." Since the masks were his, after all, maybe he'd be able to tell me something useful about them.
"Is this friendly persuasion 'don't let him leave', or should I make things simple and tie him down?"
I laughed, but as it turned out, Zhuzhen was more in favor of tarring and feathering him.
Zhuzhen was pacing the lobby when we walked in. The Chinese peddler was also there, sitting in an armchair. The adept gave a sigh of relief when he saw both Margarete and me, though he looked at me with some concern—small wonder, considering that by the time we reached the inn, I was barely walking and she had to support me—and then his eyes caught Sasha.
"That's rather pretty," I murmured, looking as leaping flames surrounded the small man, making him seem much larger.
"Holy shit, that's an aura," said Margarete.
"Yo, pops!" Sasha's voice was thick with sarcasm, and at this Zhuzhen lost his temper.
"You little thief! You—" His words dissolved into a torrent of Chinese, but one didn't need to be fluent to understand that he was chewing Sasha out. "What did you do to Alice?"
"Zhuzhen, he didn't do anything. Cool the flames a bit, will you? Roger Bacon tried to put her under a sleep spell." As she spoke, Margarete shifted slightly, trying to readjust my dead weight. "Speaking of which, can you boys wait a few minutes before you kill each other? I need to get her in bed."
The fire surrounding the adept tempered a bit at this news, though he was still smoldering with anger. Margarete sighed and walked forward, leading me to—
"My room's upstairs," I pointed out.
"Then my room's closer," she said. "I'm not carrying you up the stairs, and I don't want you sleeping alone when you're in this state. You wouldn't wake up if someone broke in." She was right—I probably wouldn't even notice gunshots at the moment. "Did you forget to tell me something about Sasha?"
"He stole from us in Blue Castle."
"So I have to persuade him to stay, keep Zhuzhen from roasting him, and make sure he doesn't lift a few things?" Once again she sighed as she rummaged through her pockets for the room key. "Well, this looks like it'll be an interesting night."
"Sorry."
She laughed my apology off. "Don't worry about it. Why do you think I travel with you? It's for the challenge." Smoothly, Margarete slid the key into the lock and turned, opening the door. "Though I am a little tired. I've been busy lately. Dug up some info on Roger Bacon."
"You did?" I said, lifting my head a tiny bit.
"Of course. I'm a spy extraordinaire, remember? But you'll have to wait until morning. I doubt you'd remember if I told you now." She stopped by the side of the bed and leaned over, letting me slip onto the bed. "Okay, you—oh, wow, you're falling asleep already. Alice, you're going to fall off."
"Mmm," I answered. My eyes were already closed, darkness wrapping around my mind, but Margarete's hand was shaking me roughly.
"Alice, Alice, oh God, I'm so sorry. I couldn't stop him."
I frowned as I looked at Margarete. She was crying, her eyes wide with panic. "Couldn't stop who?"
"Sasha. It's awful, Zhuzhen, he's—"
In a flash, we were both in the lobby. An armchair had been flung against the wall and laid broken in pieces. The brown carpet was splattered with blood. There were two bodies in a corner, crumpled like rag dolls.
Zhuzhen lay on the center of the floor, his limbs stretched out in unnatural angles. His face was fixed in an expression of agony. His abdomen had been ripped open and his intestines were scattered across the rug. Yet I felt no horror; my reaction was only cerebral, the nagging thought that something was off.
"What should we do?"
I frowned before turning on Margarete. "Would you stop it?" I demanded. "Margarete would not act like that."
"What are you talking about?" she wailed. "For heavens' sake, Alice—look at what Sasha did!"
"No," I said, and the corpses vanished. "Sasha's powerful, but I doubt he'd be able to overpower both Zhuzhen and Margarete." The bloodstains on the rug were fading, but I hardly noticed as I continued. "And so quietly? Gunshots, screams, explosions, yet Margarete and I are the only ones here?" The room itself disappeared, leaving the two of us in a void. "Margarete would not emerge from such a fight completely unscathed. That was a shoddy illusion, grail mask."
The form of Margarete disappeared, leaving a smirking blue mask. "Well, well," he croaked. "Very interesting." And then even he was gone.
It seemed ages later that I woke up. I was on the floor, a blanket spread over me. Margarete had been right about me falling off the bed; yet despite that, I felt well-rested. This was the first night in a week that I hadn't woken from the masks' nightmares. Margarete was lying on the bed—probably to keep a closer eye on me.
There was a rap on the door and I rose to answer it. "Good morn—" I stopped, seeing Sasha in the doorway.
"I need to go with you," he stated.
A moment of silence passed. "Where?" I asked, baffled.
"I need to travel with you."
Now I understood, but I stared at him in disbelief. "No." With that answer, I moved to shut the door, but he caught it with his hand.
"Let me explain—" He pushed the door open.
I shoved on the door, forcing him back. "I don't need any explanation!"
"Goddammit, Alice!" he said and with a huge shove slammed the door into the wall.
"Am I going to have to shoot someone?" Margarete asked, fiddling with her thin black nightgown as she sat up in bed. "Sasha, stop bothering Alice."
"I thought you said she wanted to talk to me."
"Well she was under a spell when she said that…"
I clapped my hand over my mouth, realizing that they were right. "Yes, I do want to talk to you, but—can we go outside, Sasha?"
He stared at me curiously before shrugging his shoulders. "Fine by me."
We both walked out of the inn. Now that it was morning, there were more people up and about, but no one who would be interested in our conversation. I felt strangely light as I walked by Sasha, as though I'd forgotten to wear clothes or something—then I realized that I wasn't carrying my book. It had been forgotten in last night's hasty flight from Roger Bacon.
"All right, since you were under a spell last night, let me make sure I've got this right," Sasha said quietly as we walked along the street. "You're under a curse from the masks." I nodded, keeping my eyes on the ground. "And you haven't told anyone else." This time when I nodded he put a hand to his temples and rubbed them. "Why the hell not?"
"I don't want them to worry." It was a mostly true statement. The only other reason was because the others (Margarete must have heard the whole story by now) had already lost trust in my judgment. I didn't want them to know just how foolish I'd been. "I need to find my book," I explained to him as I turned the corner, trying to retrace the path we had taken.
"You're going to die," he said. "They should be worried. What if one of them knows how to break the curse?"
I shook my head. "I asked both Keith and Zhuzhen about the masks. Mentioned they were in your graveyard. Neither of them knew anything about the masks, so I doubt they would know about what kind of curse they used." I looked up at him. "That's why I wanted to talk to you. What do you know about the masks?"
"Other than that they're assholes, not much," he grumbled. "I asked Bacon about them once, and he said they were the subconscious within everyone—"
"Ah," I murmured, "so I've been cursed by you."
He grabbed me by the shoulder, made me face him. "Don't be ridiculous. I want to help you."
He was earnest; I could tell that much just from looking in his eyes. I wanted someone who would guard me from the masks. But all the same, I shook my head. "Is that why you want to travel with me? Thank you, but I'll take care of myself."
"You don't trust me."
"I never should have."
Sasha flinched at my brusque response, but he continued. "So aren't you worried I'll go back to Roger Bacon?"
"I was," I admitted. "But last night he wanted to kill you, so I don't think I need to worry about that; you seem to have gotten yourself in a bind there."
At this he pulled up short. After a few more steps I turned to face him. The expression of shock on his face left me torn between morbid amusement and shame; it had been a low blow. "You're lying," he said, his eyes scrutinizing me.
I sighed. "Sasha, you know I'm not a good liar."
"He was there to kidnap you."
"He said I could run free—until I tried to stop him from killing you in your sleep."
His expression contorted for a brief instant before he made it perfectly blank. I found myself relying on my skill as a Demon Eyes to catch a glimpse of what he was feeling. It was an odd mix of denial and understanding, outrage and shame. I suddenly remembered how he had talked about Bacon in Shanghai. Though the man was a villain, Sasha had respected him; maybe even thought of him as a father. "I'm sorry."
"No you're not," he shot back, folding his arms. "Did he say why?"
"He wasn't certain whose side you were on."
He gave a mirthless chuckle. "Guess you're right then, I tied my own noose."
We walked along in silence for a few moments, only speaking when I was uncertain which way to go. In a perverse way, it was less tense than before. With his ties to Roger Bacon severed, Sasha had no reason to harm me, and there was the faint hope he wouldn't throw his life away trying to fulfill a madman's dream—though he had already spent the better portion of his life pursuing it.
Finally we reached the spot where Margarete had shot Bacon. There was dried blood, but no body, and, when I looked around, no book.
"What did it look like?" Sasha asked.
"Black, with a large sun in orange…it's not here." Someone must have taken it; the book's cover was very bold and unusual, so it would pique nearly anyone's interest.
Sasha shook his head. "You just have all sorts of tragedy befall you, huh?" he said, his lips turning up in a wry smirk. "See, this kind of stuff is why you need a protector."
I bit my lip and looked away. "I don't think you're cut out for the role. Zhuzhen and Margarete wouldn't stand for it, for one thing. They'd want some sort of proof you were actually on our side." Proof that I wasn't foolish for wanting to trust a liar.
"What sort of proof?" he asked me.
"Tell us what Roger Bacon's doing," I said instantly. "Tell us how we can stop him."
He grinned crookedly. "I can't tell you that."
"You really do believe in this plan of his, don't you? You think it'll make everyone happy." Sasha said nothing and I took a step towards him, forcing him to look at me. It was hard to read his face with his long hair obscuring his eyes. "Will it make me happy?"
He frowned for a second. "You ask so much," he said with a chuckle.
"Tell me. Will it?"
At this he ran a hand through his ragged hair, brushing most of it aside. "I thought it would. I know you wouldn't understand right now, but after everything was done, you'd understand. You'd know that Roger Bacon was doing this to help everyone."
"But?"
He laughed, but he averted his eyes from me as though ashamed. "I got you all wrong. I think you'd be mad. You'd understand why he did it, but you'd still think he was wrong, and you'd want to beat him silly with your bible for playing God."
"What do you mean, playing God?"
"Maybe I'll tell you. Later. I need to think for a while."
At his words my chest tightened. "Just say you won't tell me. You know I don't like being lied to."
"I swear to God I'm not lying." He raised his hands in a pantomime of honesty. "Everything's just a mess right now. I screwed up big." His eyes dropped to my neck and he commented, "You're not wearing my mother's cross."
My weight shifted between my feet as I chewed on my lip. "I left it in Blue Castle. Sorry."
He frowned. "Guess it's no surprise. Just—yeah. Give me some time to straighten my head out, all right? I'll walk you back to the inn."
Once again we lapsed into silence, but this time it was horribly awkward. The only reason I chose to walk back with him was because after last night, I had no desire to go anywhere alone. But when I thought about it, Sasha was really no protection at all.
"One last thing," he said as we reached the inn. "Roger Bacon didn't come here for me."
"How do you figure?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "Because I don't see how he would find out I was here. Plus, if he wanted to kill me, then he's probably tying up other loose ends as well…and there's someone else in Rouen who's connected to him."
I stared at him. At first I was going to say that he was being silly about Roger Bacon not being able to find out where he was, after all, the warlock had even known about the masks' curse…yet he hadn't known that Sasha had been looking for him, so how would know Sasha's whereabouts but not his activities? And then I realized who Sasha was talking about and my mouth went dry. "Father Doyle?"
"If you're still going to visit him, don't go alone," Sasha advised me before walking away.
I ran into the inn and banged on Margarete's door. "Jesus, Alice, what…" She trailed off, her hands pausing in their adjustment of her bustier, when she looked at my face.
"We need to check on Father Doyle. Right away."
When we entered the church, the first thing I noticed was the smell. It was faint when we first walked in, but it grew stronger, overpowering the must, the stench of burnt flesh.
I opened the door leading to the confessionals and backed away as the odor grew even more powerful, gagging. My eyes were watering. "Dear Lord." I sank down on a nearby pew, my stomach churning.
Margarete also looked sickened, but she opened the door fully and walked down the hallway. She shrugged off her jacket, holding the cloth over her face. When she opened the first door, she only shook her head and moved on, but when she opened the second her reaction was immediate: a muffled but still loud swear as she backed away. She came back to the chapel and sat by me on the pew.
"He looks like he was fried," she muttered. "Bacon killed him? Who was he?"
I shook my head. "He wasn't especially powerful or influential in the church…" I frowned, trying to think. Why had Father come here? It had been something about Roger Bacon…and finally, I remembered. Father had been looking for an ally. "The only motive I can think of is that he knew a warlock, someone who was supposed to be as powerful as Bacon. He arranged a meeting between my father and that man, but we never met him…that was the night my father died."
Margarete frowned. "Do you know who you were going to meet?" I shook my head.
"I just know that it was someone Bacon feared…"
"Why didn't you mention him before?" she demanded. "God damn it. We could've used that lead."
I flinched, shying away from her. "But he never came to the meeting."
"So?"
"So I…I thought he must have been killed."
Margarete sighed, leaning forward. "You're probably right. If Bacon was still scared of this warlock, he would've killed Doyle sooner. It'd be a foolish risk to let a rival get involved…" She trailed off, her eyes resting on the altar. "I'm just frustrated. Doyle might have had information, and I never even knew about him." She shook her head, her hair tumbling out of its ponytail. She gave an exasperated grunt as she bent over to retrieve it.
"I thought you found out something about Roger Bacon," I said. "Isn't that why you told us to come here?"
"Oh, I found a few things," she told me as she pulled back her hair. "But I still don't know where he would be or what he's planning." She stood. "Come on. Let's go back to the inn. Maybe we can figure something out."
"Aren't--?"
When I broke off, Margarete turned to look at me, quirking an eyebrow. My hand gestured wildly towards the confessional and the unseen corpse.
"With Bacon out murdering people, I really don't think this is the best time to get tangled up with the police."
There was logic in her idea; the police would certainly want to question us about the murder, and there was the possibility that they might consider us suspects, which would make things hopelessly complicated…but I couldn't help to notice that as we left the church, Margarete crossed herself, and I felt compelled to do the same. Father Doyle had been isolated for the last few months. How long would it take for someone to find his corpse? He'd tried to help my father and me, the least I could do was to make sure his body was taken care of. But, more urgently, we needed to stop Roger Bacon.
Zhuzhen and Keith were both in their room when we came back, and Margarete wasted no time before plunking herself down on Keith's bed and saying, "Gentlemen, your attention please?"
"Are you going to tell us what you found out now?" Zhuzhen muttered.
She pouted slightly, and I was amazed yet again by how light-hearted Margarete could be. "I told you I wasn't going to say it twice. It'd take too long. But now that Alice is awake…well, first thing's first, Bacon's definitely getting more active lately. You mentioned he sent a witch to kidnap Alice, and we just found out that he murdered the priest of a nearby church."
"How did this happen?" Keith asked, shifting in his chair.
"Sasha told me that he thought Roger Bacon was tying up 'loose ends'. Father Doyle tried to help my father, so I was worried he was in danger, and…"
Zhuzhen shook his head. "Where is Sasha? He went on a walk with you, didn't he?" he asked me.
He hadn't come back yet? It hadn't been very long, a little over half an hour, but all the same I could feel my gut clenching. "He's probably gone."
"At least he didn't rob us this time," Zhuzhen grumbled, his face creasing with wrinkles as he scowled. "So he's going to help Bacon after all…"
I shook my head. "No, he won't. He was one of the other loose ends. Bacon wanted to kill him last night because he was unreliable."
Zhuzhen snorted as he leaned on his staff. "Isn't that the truth."
"Back to Roger Bacon," Margarete said, and then with a look to Zhuzhen, "You do want to hear what I found out, don't you?"
"Get on with it, Margarete."
"All right," she said with a grin. "I'm still not sure who he is, but the first person recorded in history by his name appeared as a priest in the Franciscan Order in 13th century England. His scholarly training was at Oxford and Paris Universities. His skills as an alchemist and a warlock were superb, and his name was known throughout Europe. At that time, he was branded as a revolutionary, but there were also many who felt he was persecuted. It seems he was very critical of the Church and was even imprisoned for it."
"But what's that have to do with our Roger Bacon?" I asked her. "Unless he's a vampire like Keith…"
The vampire frowned slightly. "He is most certainly not."
"Well, since some believe alchemy holds the key to eternal life, the possibility that that Roger Bacon could be our jolly old madman did occur to me," Margarete said thoughtfully. "And the alchemist Roger Bacon did live at least a few centuries longer than most of us, according to history. There are a few problems with that theory though. Roger Bacon definitely had his quirks, but he seemed to have been an upright individual. He aided the leading scholars in the fields of medicine and chemistry.
"But," she added, "there was something that caught my interest. In 1540, all of Europe was caught up in the mass insanity of witch hunts, and Bacon—yes, he was alive in 1540—was accused by one of his pupils."
"Before the church?" Zhuzhen asked, curious.
Margarete nodded. "A pupil warned the tribunal that Bacon's research had gone too far and threatened to corrupt society. Bacon was exiled. After that point, there are only glimpses of him throughout history…and somehow he turned from a quirky humanitarian to a prim and proper murderer."
"He must have been sucked into the murky depths of sorcery," Zhuzhen said.
Margarete shrugged as she crossed her legs. "Your guess is as good as mine," she said. "That's all I know."
"So we still don't know what his plans are," Keith said.
"Other than that they frequently involve murder, no."
"Actually, Sasha said something to me." My hand traced circles on the bed cover. "He admitted that if Bacon achieved his goal, I'd be angry with him for playing at being God."
Everyone else looked baffled still, which made me feel foolish for saying it. Sasha's comment really was too vague to be of any help.
"I think what we need to do," Zhuzhen said, "is find Sasha. He obviously knows what Bacon's goal is. Did he say anything about where he was going?"
I shook my head. "He actually said he just needed some time to think and he'd come back, but, given what happened last time…"
"Right. He probably pulled a disappearing act." Zhuzhen rolled his eyes.
"He is the only lead we have left though," Margarete pointed out. "It wouldn't hurt to wait for him."
"Perhaps we should track him down?" Keith suggested.
"He can turn into a giant bird. If he was just saying that as an excuse to get away from us, we're not going to have any luck catching him." The blonde woman sighed, stretching out on the bed. "Harmonixers are pain-in-the-asses that way."
"What if he doesn't come back?" I asked.
Zhuzhen gave a soft 'hmm' as he leaned back, thinking. "There is London."
"We didn't find anything there last time," Margarete said with a frown.
"But Sasha did say he'd meet Bacon there, so it must have some significance," I said. It was true that only a month after Shanghai's devastation, we had searched throughout the city without finding a thing, but Sasha wouldn't have said something like that to Bacon without reason. There had to be some meaning to it.
Keith took in our quick exchange, then opened his mouth—but with a shrug of his shoulders, closed it again. "How about this," Zhuzhen said to Margarete. "We prepare to go to London today, and if Sasha hasn't come back by morning, we leave. That should be more than enough time for him to figure out where he stands."
Margarete shrugged. "Alright, it's not like we've got any other leads."
At first there was a flurry of activity as we made our plans, but when it came time to actually make preparations, time slowed to a crawl. I helped Margarete pack her things—the rest of us had never had time to unpack, so that was no trouble—as Keith and Zhuzhen went about getting a carriage. Needing to buy a new weapon, I sought out the Chinese peddler. Between the money Zhuzhen and I had brought in from exorcisms and the money Margarete had on her, the others had all been able to buy new equipment. From the peddler's wares, I selected a sturdy cape made of shimmering blue cloth, a silver circlet, and a book called the Ever-Bible, which had a pink ribbon and blue crystals on its cover.
While I was making my purchase, I overheard other patrons speaking about a murdered priest and a cursed church; the phrase "just like last year" stuck out in my mind. I did my best to ignore the talk, but my stomach churned when I realized that some were gawking at me, obviously knowing I was the daughter of the first victim. I remained in the room for most of the time after that; we had finished our preparations, so I claimed fatigue and lay curled up in bed. Occasionally I read snatches from the Ever-Bible, discovering that it detailed how to perform an exorcism on a possessed woman.
Sasha hadn't come back by nightfall. But I had never really thought he would, so I wasn't disappointed. I clutched the blanket and pulled it over my head, hoping to muffle the jaunty "Yo, pops!" that I kept hearing, over and over.
My eyes were just about to close when a burning stench filled my nostrils. I threw off the blanket, looking around to see where the fire was—and then I caught sight of the flame licking at my calf, causing the skin to melt and drip down the bone like candle-wax.
"What a stupid dream," I said. "It's obviously fake." I thought if the masks couldn't get a reaction from me, they would leave me alone. Just like the night before: grail mask had tried to scare me, and when it knew its trick had failed it had ended the dream. If I simply kept calm…
There was no answer from the masks, but the orange-red flame darkened and spread, consuming my thigh. The liquid flesh spread along the bed, seeping into the creases of the sheet, revealing a white femur.
"If this were real, I would be in pain."
Still no response, but now I sat tilted because the dark fire had eaten away the skin and muscle of my entire right leg, leaving me unbalanced. The many tongues of the fire licked at my other leg, spread up my torso. My intestines fell out of place and dangled within my hip bones before also melting.
"Margarete," I called. Ridiculous, because it was a dream, and her lack of response proved it. Logically I knew that, but my heart was racing, pounding before it suddenly fell silent. I fell over sideways, my arm gone.
"I know this is a trick. I know it, I know it," I said, my voice rising.
Finally, finally a response: this may be an illusion, but your fear is real enough.
My eyes widened, but that was the most reaction I could convey with half my face gone; and then they, too, melted, oozing out of their sockets like raw egg from its shell. I was only a skeleton now, unable to move without muscle, but through the perverse will of the masks, still able to perceive and think. Able to comprehend the masks' message—that I was powerless against them.
When I finally awoke, my nightgown was damp with sweat. The room was completely black. "Margarete," I called.
"Hm?" she murmured. Sheets rustled as she turned over in bed.
"Did Sasha come back?" His masks, his graveyard. Did he have these nightmares too? Maybe he knew how to make them go away.
"No."
My fault. My curse. I'd known full well he wouldn't come back anyways, but it didn't stop the tears dripping down my nose as I buried my face in the pillow.
The next morning, we left for London.