10 Between the Queens
They danced and sang to a decades old pop song in the kitchen using wooden spoons as microphones. Both were dressed in sleepwear, pajama bottoms and tees. Their choreography matched the music video if he remembered correctly and it was obviously practiced and routine.
He couldn’t decide. Should he interrupt or try to slip back out? Adam had tried knocking but the music blared from a wireless speaker on the table and they couldn’t hear anything. They were having fun, two friends, singing their hearts out, dancing in the kitchen on a Sunday morning with pancakes burning on an electric griddle.
He decided to back out and maybe call before returning. He should have done that in the first place.
Then Honi saw him. She screamed and jumped up and down frantically before snapping into her fox form and fleeing the kitchen from beneath the pile of her clothes. Meanwhile, Ophelia dropped the spoon and found a knife on her way across the kitchen, a blur of movement at speeds that tortured his mind with the impossibility, even more than Honi turning into a white fox. He found himself pushed against the wall, knife to his throat before he could even think to not react. Fortunately, he had a bit of experience not reacting to dangerous things that would be provoked by said reaction. So not reacting came naturally at this point.
“I did knock,” he said, evenly.
She was panting from the exertion, her eyes glowing slightly with the circuit board lines that match the marks on the sides of her arms and along her jawline. “Knock louder next time,” she breathed, easing back with the knife only slightly.
“Actually, I should have called,” he said, watching her eyes. The glow came from pinpoints of light that traced the dark lines of her pupils. “I apologize. It won’t happen again.”
The glows subsided as she lowered the knife. “You are impossibly diplomatic,” she said.
He shrugged and wanted to smile but she turned back into the kitchen where pancakes smoldered on the griddle.
“Shit,” she muttered and went to salvage the smoking mess, pausing to kick Honi’s clothes through the side door. Seconds later, Honi emerged from the darkness, tying her pj bottoms at the drawstring. Ophelia tossed black, smoking discs into the trash while Honi found her phone and lowered the volume on the music. Then she turned to Adam.
“Forgive me,” she said in Japanese with a bow.
Adam returned the bow. “There is no need. It should be I that asks for forgiveness. I explained to Ophelia that I will call from now on.”
Honi took a step forward, smiling, her hands behind her back. “There is no need for that. We owe you so much.”
Adam shook his head. “You owe me nothing.”
Ophelia slapped the counter with her spatula. “Do you two need a minute?” she snapped.
Honi hopped to Ophelia’s side and began working on a new batch of pancakes.
“Stop it,” Honi whispered to Ophelia. “Don’t be mean.”
“I am not being mean,” Ophelia growled. “And why are you so skittish lately?”
“There is a lot going on, okay?” she said, ladling batter onto the griddle. “I know things needed to change but I am not good with change. But I’m working on it. Offer him coffee or something.”+
Adam had moved to the kitchen table, thumbs in the pocket of his jeans watching the exchange. Ophelia looked to Honi, then to the pancakes and then over her shoulder to him.
“Coffee is over there,” she motioned with her chin. “Help yourself.”
“That is not offering him coffee,” Honi whispered.
“Would you like me to get a cute little maid outfit and maybe some thigh highs?”
“I have that if you would wear it.”
“Absolutely not.”
Adam banished the image of Ophelia in thigh highs and went to the coffee pot, an aged automatic drip contraption that had to be an original fixture of the asylum. Dry powdered creamer, assorted coffee cups and a crock of sugar sat sadly nearby.
He was going to up their coffee game next trip over. Ophelia would be insulted but this was pathetic. He poured the thick black coffee into a chipped mug. Turning back to the table, he saw that Honi and Ophelia watched him intently. As casually as possible, he lifted the steaming mug and blew gently on it before taking a sip.
Battery acid, pure and simple. But worse. He nodded and said, “Very nice. Thank you.” and took another sip. Disgusting. It was thick and bitter and if he dropped the cup or spilled the coffee it would dissolve a hole to the center of the planet and destroy them all. He had to finish it. For the sake of the planet.
“I just wanted to stop by and check on things,” he said. “And to see if you need anything.”
“I think we’re fine,” Ophelia said, moving finished pancakes from the griddle to the plate. Honi elbowed her and Adams saw her mouth “Be nice” at Ophelia.
Ophelia rolled her eyes as she turned and delivered the stack of pancakes to the table. “But maybe you should look over everything and see what I missed. We have donations and sponsors now.”
“I can do that.” He already had. As he had expected, she had everything in hand except for a few missteps that any seasonal accountant could figure out later at tax time. “I was also hoping to see the grand hall this time.”
Ophelia lifted an eyebrow as she crossed her arms.
“I read about it,” Adam added. “There is some history there I would like to see.”
She nodded slowly. “You do understand that we stay out of the main building mostly. Most of us do anyway.”
“If it’s a problem,” he began.
“It’s not a problem,” she said. “I’m just tamping down your expectations. I’ll go change and then we can eat and then you can have the tour. Nice jeans, by the way.”
That confused him. “Thanks?”
Ophelia walked out through the side door with a parting, “I’ll be right back.”
Honi spun around, spatula in hand. “See? She can be nice.” she said quickly in Japanese.
“Honi!” Ophelia shouted from the dark hallway.
“Sorry!” Honi turned back to her pancakes.
Adam kept the conversation light and polite with Honi until Ophelia returned. She wore a simple blouse over jeans and sneakers and her hair in a high ponytail.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s eat.”
The building shook. Like a small earthquake. Enough that Adam had to steady himself with the table. Then another rumble rolled through. He could feel it in the soles of his feet and cans and dishes in the cabinets rattled ominously.
Adam pulled out his phone and scanned for alerts but Perdition Falls was on the far edge of a quake zone. They were few, far between and usually mild.
The third movement sent a few dishes, pots and pans out of the cabinets even as Ophelia stormed towards an unassuming door situated between the side door and the entrance. Adam had always assumed it was the pantry. Ophelia opened the door and yanked on a pull chain for an old-fashioned swinging bulb, illuminating shelves filled with cans and dry goods that danced with the rumbling. She went straight through to a second door and yanked it open revealing darkness. There appeared to be stairs leading down.
A basement?
Honi scrambled to cover pancakes with dish towels to protect them from the dust that fell from the ceiling with each tremor. “Pappi is going to be pissed,” she said to herself as she tried to push pots and pans back into the cabinets.
As if on cue, Pappi stormed into the kitchen in his black and red checkered robe, brandishing his black cane, his dreads flying wild.
“That’s it,” he said. “I’ve had it with that son of a bitch.”
“Pappi,” Ophelia said sternly from the pantry. “I got this.”
“No, he’s going to get it.”
“Pappi!” Ophelia turned and screamed into the darkness. “Mr. Leeds! Mr. Leeds, I would speak to you right now!”
Pappi suddenly became aware of Adam. He looked to the pantry. Then to Adam.
“Well, this is a development,” he said, then he took a step closer to Adam. “Brace yourself.”
“Why?” Adam asked. “What’s down there?”
“Answers,” Pappi said. “Answers that you are not ready for.”
Impossible. The search for the answers was everything.
Pappi shook his head as if he had pulled the thought from Adam’s mind before turning toward the coffee pot.
Adam stood where he could see directly into the pantry. Ophelia walked out and stood to the side, hands on hips. Adam shifted his gaze to the darkness of the basement door beyond the yellow, swinging bulb. Something was coming and if anything the darkness became darker. Adam touched his implant and his display came up on his contacts. He blinked rapidly three times to begin recording.
Oily black smoke slithered out of the darkness, curling along the floor of the pantry. Adam could feel something coming, a push of something huge and imposing that seemed to want more space than was available. Then a figure bloomed from the blackness, a human shaped mass of shadow with eyes of orange flame that slowly resolved into an older man with a long graying beard and long, greasy hair. He wore a black cassock and black boots, a Rasputin with black marble eyes with lava colored veins. The oily black smoke fell off of him and rolled back into the darkness.
“Miss Goodfellow,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
“Mister Leeds,” Ophelia began. “You were being destructive again.”
“Yes, of course, I do apologize. An experiment gone awry, I’m afraid. Unfortunate. Most unfortunate.”
“No, Mr. Leeds, what would be unfortunate is if we all lost our home due to a lack of foresight on your part.”
He bowed slightly. “You are correct, of course, but what of my experiments?”
“I can not answer that, sir, but surely there are experiments that do not require the destruction of our home.”
Mr. Leeds nodded thoughtfully. “I should rethink my approach to certain problems and conditions. Yes, of course.” He blinked suddenly and took in Ophelia with an appraising once-over. “Trousers, Miss Goodfellow. And your shirt is not fully buttoned. We expect Miss Petrova to parade about as a common harlot but you should strive to do better.”
“Hey!” Honi said in the background as Ophelia raised an accusatory finger.. “Neither, I nor Honi need your approval on how we dress or conduct ourselves.”
“Well, that is just silly,” Mr. Leeds replied, indignant. “Of course you need my approval.”
“They don’t need nothing from you,” Pappi snarled and planted the tip of his cane onto the tile of the floor for emphasis.
“A double negative predicating some laughable posturing,” Mr. Leeds said. “It must be the self designated pater familias, the desperate outworlder. Surely, it has not been long enough.”
“I avoid you for the sake of Ophelia but I’m thinking it’s time I shove this cane up your ass and run you like a puppet.”
“That is enough,” Ophelia said firmly as Mr. Leeds grimaced, revealing rows of sharp black teeth as thin tendrils of oily black smoke seeped from the corners of his black eyes. “Not in front of company,” she finished and looked pointedly at Adam.
“Company,” Mr. Leeds said, the demonic visage falling away easily as his attention shifted to Adam “Oh my, company. Of course, there is company. A man actually, and attractive. No wonder Miss Goodfellow is dressed to entice sexual desire. No doubt a suitor.”
“You’re an idiot,” Pappi breathed but he withdrew and hobbled to the table with a cup of coffee.
“He is not a suitor,” Ophelia said evenly.
Mr. Leeds brought his hands forward and cupped them. But his fingers were too long and reptilian, ending in obsidian black claws. He looked to Ophelia then, very mechanically, turned his head to Adam and then turned the rest of his body to align with his head, a maneuver filled with menace even as he flexed his black, spider-leg fingers. The lava orange veins in the black of eyes flared as he stepped forward.
“So good to meet you,” he said.
Adam had a bit of experience not reacting to dangerous things that would be provoked by said reaction, but this was too much. The remnants of his conditioning burned like a tiny white sun at the base of his brain, screaming for action. Here stood everything that Abigail had warned him about, everything the conditioning was designed to overcome. The smoky affectations, the black eyes, the formal speech and inhuman movements in a body that could never fully morph into a human because that was just too alien for it and in many ways, too repulsive. Protocols existed that could bring a first world military response to destroy this thing and everything around it should one be found and confirmed. Drones, satellite based strikes, boots on the ground, even a literal nuclear option if more than one popped up. And here it was. Abigail lived less than an hour from the very thing she feared the most in the universe.
The conditioning tried to force action. He had to make a decision in a cloud of conditions that would normally have exorcized any decision making. Call the team, activate the protocols, determine if escape was possible. If not, have faith that your destruction was the destruction of the greatest threat to Abigail’s reality.
The Enemy.
Adam had to make a decision. He had come too far and he had so much to do. And then there was Ophelia, who looked at him with some expectations tainted with trepidation. Was this a test? Not planned or primed but an unexpected set of conditions that allowed her to see where he really stood?
There would be no reaction. At least not now.
“Adam Trajan,” he said, with a small bow.
“Leeds,” The Enemy said. “No first name.”
Adam nodded.
“You seem familiar, Mr. Trajan,” Leeds continued. “Have we met?”
Adam shook his head. “I think I would have remembered, sir.”
Leeds took a gliding step forward. His eyes coalesced into solid black spheres in sunken pits, like black planets around a dead sun. “Then what is this I sense? You seem so . . . normal.” He cocked his head, birdlike. Adam felt a slight buzz in his head and his conditioning rebelled. Whips of light came off of the white sun at the base of his brain, fending off thin black tentacles of intrusion. “Some technology there. But something else.”
Was he psychic? If he was, Adam’s choices became limited. He might legitimately have to deploy the nukes.
Ophelia moved to his side. “Enough pleasantries, Mr. Leeds. Adam came to see the grand hall.”
“You carry a residue,” Leeds whispered. “An energy that lingers. An ancient energy that is so familiar. But that would be impossible, wouldn’t it?” He eased closer. “Perhaps you should accompany me to my laboratory. For observation and study, of course. No dissection would be necessary. Just for a moment or two.”
“Thank you, Mr. Leeds,” Ophelia interjected sternly. “for speaking with me and addressing my concerns. But I must take Adam to the great hall. He has an interest in the architecture.”
Leeds blinked rapidly and the glowing orange veins in his eye returned. “Ah, yes. The architecture. A confounding mess. Interesting how the styles of the ages layer over each other. Chaos really but that can be a good thing.” He turned, clasping the strange hands behind his back as he walked casually to the pantry. “Thank you, Mr. Trajan,” he said. ”It was indeed a pleasure to meet you.” He paused at the door and slowly looked back. “I look forward to seeing you again.” The black smoke reached out from the darkness of the basement door and pulled him in.
“Fucker,” Pappi growled from the table.
Adam released a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Ophelia moved to him and interlaced her hand with his, the same way she had the night she had pulled him through the fireflies. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Maybe give the man a minute,” Pappi advised.
“Not here,” she said as she pulled him through the side door.
They moved through a maze of corridors and short flights of stairs that lead to the main building. Adam let her lead while he tried to pull his thoughts together. But he couldn’t. The Enemy was here. In Perdition Falls. Not hiding in plain sight but almost right under Abigail’s nose.
Abigail had mentioned that she recognized Serita’s energy. Was it Leed’s that she sensed? What was the connection?
In his mind, pieces circled a three dimensional puzzle but nothing clicked into place. It was too much. Then Ophelia pulled him through a set of metal double doors and they were in the grand hall, the center of the building that held the main entrance with red granite stairs that arced toward the second floor of each wing. Morning sunlight streamed through colored glass windows above the entrance, casting mad patterns of dappled light across the stone tile of the floor.
Adam pulled his hand from her’s and stopped.
“Wait,” he said, short of breath. “Just wait.” He put his hands to his hips and walked in a small circle, forcing himself to take long slow breaths. He felt like he had just sprinted a mile.
“Sorry,” Ophelia muttered. “That was a little much.”
“Is he psychic?”
“What?”
“Is he psychic?” he said forcefully. Ophelia’s eyes went wide at his tone.
“No,” she said, stammering slightly. “No, he’s just sensitive. Maybe a bit empathic.”
Adam made another circle. The grand hall was truly grand. Columns spaced evenly along the walls were intricately carved to resemble trees, with vines, leaves and even an occasional realistic squirrel or bird. The upper limbs merged with the ornate arches to support the ceiling. This is what he had wanted to see. Rumor was that the Others, the Fey, had carved this room from a single block of red granite after losing a bet to the original architect. Still the overlap of art deco and late victorian hurt his eyes even as the three dimensional puzzle spun uselessly in his head.
He turned and walked to her. She stood her ground but her eyes were still wide.
“What is that thing doing in your basement?” he asked.
“I . . .” she began. “I don’t have to answer that.”
Adam huffed as he turned away again.
Serita. Abigail recognized her energy. But if that energy had anything to do with Leed’s, she would not be curious. She would be homicidal. She could sense Serita from a distance and maybe even Ophelia. But why not Leed’s?
The puzzle spun, this way and that. A piece clicked in though and then another.
“Pappi,” Adam said. “Mahin. Monsieur-”
A loud metal clang interrupted him. A metal door opened somewhere and then slammed shut. Then came the singing, a low key version of “Alouette” that barely rose above the squeaky wheels of a shopping cart. From the dark shadows by the stairs, the shopping cart emerged and then the man. He was tall and gangly wearing a garish, purple suit that was one size too small and a straw fedora that was one size too big. His skin was pasty white and he wore huge sunglasses rimmed with sequins that covered most of his face. His cart was filled with broken electronics both ancient and new. Some still sparked and spit orange embers as they rocked along to the rhythm of the cart’s shaky wheels.
He stopped between them and began digging through the cart, still singing, only stopping when he found what he was looking for. He turned to Adam and held out his hand, revealing a small, obviously enhanced wind up musical contraption.
“Monsieur Trajan, please,” he said in French. “For your dreams. This will help.”
Adam hesitated. He looked to Ophilia who threw up her hands and shrugged. He looked at the man that he assumed was Monsieur Portier but he only saw himself in the reflection of the ridiculously huge sunglasses. He looked down at the music box and slowly reached out and took it from Monsieur Portier’s hand.
“Merci,” he said.
“It is nothing,” Monsieur Portier said, clapping his hands with obvious delight. “So glad to help.” He returned to the rear of his cart and moved in a slow arc away from them, singing softly until he disappeared behind the opposite stairs. Seconds later a door opened and then slammed shut.
Adam looked at the box in his hand and then up at Ophelia. “Pappi, Mahin and Monsieur Portier probably put off enough energy to cloak Leeds.”
Ophelia crossed her arms. Adam took a step forward. “Who are you hiding him from?”
Her eyes narrowed and then she took an almost casual step towards him.
“Who do you work for?” she asked.
His conditioning flared and he felt nauseous. She wanted trust and that was impossible. He wanted answers and she couldn’t give them. Not yet. Maybe not ever. She harbored the Enemy. It made him consider the fact that just maybe she wasn’t one of the good guys. The thought made him even more nauseous and he turned away, looking for an exit. The front doors were right there.
Everything was wrong. His plans disintegrated and the new threats were so real, so vivid that he suddenly was locked to the center of the board with few moves available. Not to mention that his conditioning was still somewhat intact. Adam couldn’t trust his choices, couldn’t guarantee that any decision was truly his.
And then there was Ophelia. Who or what she was had been a pleasant mystery. A puzzle he could slowly piece together as the pieces became available. Even now she watched him with tear rimmed eyes, her posture soft, somewhat expectant. So beautiful in the strange light of the colored glass. Now he had to know her secrets. All of them. And then he would know if he had to destroy her.
“I can’t be here,” he said and moved to the doors. He pushed on the panic bar and the door swung open on loud, rusted hinges.
“Adam?” Ophelia said behind him.
He paused. If she gave him even a glimmer of hope, he would turn around and work on something. He had no idea what but it would be something.
“I’m serious about calling before you come out next time,” she said.
He closed his eyes to the pain. But he nodded and let the door slam shut behind him.
