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“Feel no sympathy for them,” Emily commanded. “They are all murderers, many times over, and they had no empathy for those they killed.” She stood and crossed over to the chandelier, where she removed one of the heads. She placed Ryder’s head on the newly vacated bobeche. His face shocked to life, the light building up in his eyes before shooting out his irises. His regard fell on Joe, and he silently mouthed the man’s name.
“They are aware?” I asked, regardless of their deeds during life, it was a gruesome punishment.
“Of course they are,” Emily said and laughed, seemingly amazed that I’d ask such a silly question.
“They were all collectors?”
“Yes. Well, all but this one,” she said, lifting the head in her hand so I could see it better. “This one here is Alan. He never actually killed anyone. He would have liked to, but he didn’t have the balls for it. Alan,” she said, turning the head around so that it would have to look her in the eyes, “was a petty little despot who worked at an airline ticket counter. To make a long story short, he really, really irritated me.” She tossed the head into the shadows, and I heard a crunch as it struck against the stone floor. The sound of scurrying and the excited screeches of vermin filled the room as creatures like my guide descended on their prize.
I shook off my urge to vomit. “If you empowered these people to be collectors, you are responsible for the murders they committed.”
“They would have killed anyway. I merely took advantage of their natural inclinations.” Emily stood back and admired the new addition before waving her hand, signaling that the chandelier should rise. “And now I can turn their evil to a good purpose.”
“What good purpose could you possibly serve?”
An intricately carved mahogany Gothic throne materialized at her side. It was hideous, but in line with its surroundings. She sat and tapped the perfectly manicured nails of her right hand on the top of the lion’s head handrest. Joe came and sat at the throne’s clawed feet. He looked up at Emily, his face glowing with awe, and what else? Was it passion? The way he tilted his face up toward her was like a sunflower following the sun. She reached out and lovingly ran her fingers through his hair. “I told you before about how our teachers and guides have been deposed from their rightful place of honor and banished from this world,” she said. “I serve them in their desire to eradicate the evil that is the line.”
Filled with revulsion for Emily’s world, choking on my disappointment, and yes, hate, I lost patience. “I don’t believe the line is evil. I believe you are,” I said.
The hard look on her face softened, her eyes closed a little and lost focus, as if she were looking into her own soul. After a moment, she pursed her lips and looked up at me. “Evil? Maybe I am. But this is war. Yes, a war. Mercy, I know I’ve gone about this all wrong. I hadn’t intended to make an enemy out of you.”
“Then you shouldn’t have tried to collapse the world in on Jilo and me.”
Her eyebrows arched up. “I assume you don’t mean that poetically, but all the same I have no idea what you are talking about.”
I ignored her lie. “And you really shouldn’t have tried to kill my fiancé.”
“There are mother-in-laws who have done worse,” she said and smiled as if I would find any levity in her actions. “I was angry. I wasn’t thinking,” she continued. “His fairy blood ruined everything,” she said, more to herself than to me, then added, “We were so close when he came and interrupted us.”
“So close to what exactly?”
“To returning this world to its rightful owners, and to returning Maisie to us. The anchors and the witches who support the line will never allow her to return. You have to get that through your head. You want to talk about evil? The line has erased your sister from our very reality. Isn’t that evil enough for you? If not, think about the creature I sent to fetch you. I wanted you to see one of them up close. His kind are not of my making. No, they are a product of the witches who maintain the line. They developed the foul little beings to serve as spies among the humans, to keep tabs on them lest they seek to overthrow their masters as the witches did theirs. That little bit of history is one that’s never taught to the young witches. And so much of what is taught is a confection of half-truths and lies.”
>“Why did you sacrifice Ryder?”
“What, did you think him an innocent?” Joe asked. “He sacrificed his wife and unborn child and killed a score or more of humans and at least two witches. He was a collector; he gathered his power, his magic, from his victims’ quantum energy—the sum of everything that would have occurred in their lives. He so hungered for power that he quite willingly sacrificed his own flesh and blood to summon Barron and take the demon into himself.”
“It was the demon we wanted,” Emily said. “Ryder was only a useful tool—a container, if you will. The power he had taken into himself through killing humans had grown great, but once he’d augmented it with the demon’s energy, he was ripe for sacrifice. There was enough magic in him to allow me to attempt the Babel spell.”
I turned to Emily. “You are the one who gave him the mark and turned him into a collector.”
“You say that as if you are accusing me.” She took a few steps toward me. “Ryder was a battery, and his death freed his energy so that I could use it toward my own ends. If your fellow anchors hadn’t dampened your magic, I wouldn’t have needed him. But because you willingly let them limit your power, I needed an extra boost of energy. Furthermore, if you hadn’t interfered with Ryder’s attempt to collect your golem’s magic, it might not have been necessary to summon the demon, so I think it’s fair to say that the lives he claimed lie at your feet as well.”
Joe faded into the shadows and returned with a plastic grocery bag filled with something about the size of a melon. He handed it to Emily, who opened it up and smiled, folding the plastic back to reveal Ryder’s face. “Josef,” she said, “let’s display our latest trophy.”
No sooner had she given the command than an enormous chandelier descended before us. The blue light suffusing the room grew more intense but narrower, revealing that this chandelier was the room’s sole source of light. In spite of all the horrors I had witnessed, the sight of the chandelier made my blood run cold. My rational mind fought against a correct interpretation of the image. At first, I merely took in its geometric features. The chandelier was shaped like a cone, its circular base, which must have been at least thirty feet in diameter, at the top, its point facing down.
And that’s where my intellect checked out, for the chandelier did not consist of electric lights, gas jets, or even candles. It was made entirely of severed heads, the eyes of each opening and closing independently of the others. All hair had been removed, leaving their pates perfectly smooth. They were pale, bloodless, and each was carved with the symbol I’d seen on Ryder’s forehead. Some mouths were opened in soundless screams, others in mad laughs. Some remained closed, dispassionate, stoic. The unwholesome blue light that illuminated the world around us was emanating from the heads’ open eyes. The realization that the light falling on my skin was being shed by this nightmare made me want to scream. Would I ever feel clean again? Feeling Joe’s gaze on me, I looked over at him. His own eyes glowed, not with the sickly blue light, but with the joy of witnessing my revulsion.
“Feel no sympathy for them,” Emily commanded. “They are all murderers, many times over, and they had no empathy for those they killed.” She stood and crossed over to the chandelier, where she removed one of the heads. She placed Ryder’s head on the newly vacated bobeche. His face shocked to life, the light building up in his eyes before shooting out his irises. His regard fell on Joe, and he silently mouthed the man’s name.
“They are aware?” I asked, regardless of their deeds during life, it was a gruesome punishment.
“Of course they are,” Emily said and laughed, seemingly amazed that I’d ask such a silly question.
“They were all collectors?”
“Yes. Well, all but this one,” she said, lifting the head in her hand so I could see it better. “This one here is Alan. He never actually killed anyone. He would have liked to, but he didn’t have the balls for it. Alan,” she said, turning the head around so that it would have to look her in the eyes, “was a petty little despot who worked at an airline ticket counter. To make a long story short, he really, really irritated me.” She tossed the head into the shadows, and I heard a crunch as it struck against the stone floor. The sound of scurrying and the excited screeches of vermin filled the room as creatures like my guide descended on their prize.
