Charlotte Markham and the House of Darkling (25 page)

“Do you trust me?” I asked Henry.

“Of course.”

“Then stay by my side and help me with the children.”

“What are you—?”

I took a deep breath and, hands shaking with conviction, plunged the knife into my chest. It did not feel as I thought it would. I had imagined more pain, more terror, but it was all very numb. The world slowed down, and I collapsed into Henry's arms in slow motion. Lily turned to see what had happened, her veil fluttering before her eyes, one step behind the progress of time. She ran back down the aisle to my side. I pushed the hood of the cloak away from my face, and the crowd stood up to observe the chaos, blurry figures at the edge of my vision that I felt I recognized, but could not quite make out.

They were elated.

I heard Mr. Whatley above the crowd, demanding to know what had happened, for he could not see over the throngs of wedding guests despite his unnatural height. Henry cradled me in his arms, unsure what to do and trying to calm the children, who were beside themselves in shock and horror.

“It's all right,” I choked, trying to comfort them even as my teeth became slick with blood. “Look!”

A storm had gathered outside, the moon obscured by a writhing tempest of black clouds that spilled down from the sky and into the horizon, churning over the bleak pine-colored hills of The Ending in a frigid, swirling vortex that pressed against the windows until they shattered inward. The firebirds extinguished themselves, and the lights in the room went out. A doorway made of night opened to meet us where we stood, and from within it there appeared the shape of a man clad all in black.

I had summoned Death to The Ending.

Some of the wedding guests began to cry with tears of joy, while others knelt in reverence.

“Really, there's no need for that,” said the man as he stepped forward. Mr. Samson appeared beside him.

“We bid you welcome to The Ending, my lord.”

“While that's very kind of you, I am no one's lord, and I'm afraid I have more pressing matters to attend to.” He observed me on the floor with Lily, a pool of blood spreading before us, staining the hem of her white dress. The man bent over me and looked at my injury. He gestured to the knife. “Shall we remove this?”

I nodded to Lily, and she pulled the knife from my torso. I winced, gasping for air, the pain of it nearly causing me to black out, but I gritted my teeth together and bore through it.

“There, all better,” he said drily. If I hadn't been in so much pain I would have laughed aloud. “Now, to the matter at hand. One of you has been dead for some time, and the other is dying in a place where death has never before occurred. What am I to do with the two of you?”

I sat up, and a gout of blood spilled down the front of my chest. “If I may, sir, there is only one reasonable course of action.”

“And what is that, Mrs. Markham?” asked the man. At the utterance of my name, the crowd fell away, and Mr. Whatley finally saw me with his fiancée. His eyes went very wide, and for what I assumed was the first time in a very long time, he was speechless.

“A soul must be taken,” I continued. “Lily passed on, but not completely, and I cannot die in a place where death does not exist. Reason would follow that you should take her into the light, and let me keep my life.”

“A reasonable point, but wrong all the same. Death did not exist here, until now. Hello.” He turned and waved to the crowd of onlookers with good cheer. “But this is still The Ending. I am, if anything, a man of the people, and the people of The Ending are different. New rules are needed.”

“Please, sir, take us with you,” Samson blubbered at his side.

“Yes, some of you would like that very much, but others would prefer to persist, even though they might say otherwise. I can sense it throughout this room. Normally it doesn't matter, I would take each and every one of you all the same, but you don't
die
. If I left, you would simply keep ticking away until the end of time. That is where you're different, and that's why I will give you the chance to decide. Come or stay, live or die.” He spun around again to face Lily and me. “The same goes for each of you. Which will it be?”

Lily Darrow looked at her children, and at her husband. Tears began to stream down her cheeks. “I think I've kept this gentleman waiting long enough.”

“This is outrageous!” bellowed Whatley, taking several steps forward until the man in black raised his hand with unveiled antipathy toward the master of Darkling.

“Do not interrupt us again, sir, or I shall be encouraged to take you instead. Do I make myself clear?”

Mr. Whatley fumed and glared, but remained silent.

James clung to his mother's side, the adolescent confidence he had earned temporarily forgotten in the wake of his mother's decision. “No, Mother, you can't!” he cried.

“I must accept my own death if any of you is to ever live your own lives. I'm sorry if I've been selfish, but I love you so much I couldn't bear leaving you behind.” She hugged the boys. Henry caressed the side of his wife's face.

“I'm sorry, Henry.”

“Never be sorry.”

“Do you still love me?”

“Until the end of time.”

He kissed her softly on the cheek. I felt my heart pounding in my chest, but then it could have been due to the loss of blood. As they parted, she wiped her eyes. “Charlotte, you will see to it that they get home to Everton?”

“Yes, of course.” The pain was settling into my body now, not softened but endured.

“Thank you . . . for everything,” she said as she took her place beside the gentleman who was Death.

“I'll return in a moment,” said the man. “I imagine that you wish to be next?” He gestured to Mr. Samson, who nodded excitedly, nearly beside himself with joy.

Suddenly Paul stepped forward, pushing Dabney's wheelchair in front of him. “If you please, sir. The injured should be taken first.” Paul placed a hand on Dabney's ruined shoulders, and the other boy nestled his head against Paul's arm with unspoken intimacy.

The man in black nodded in agreement. “An admirable observation.” He spun around and gestured to the broader crowd. “Would all interested parties please line up? I do love a good queue.”

Paul wheeled Dabney toward the door made of night and knelt beside him. I could not hear what they said, but by the end of it they were both crying, and Dabney watched Paul return to us as his mother accepted the hand of Death.

“Are you ready?” he asked Lily.

“No, but I imagine few people ever are,” she replied.

Together they passed through the door made of night and were engulfed by it, their forms obscured and faded in a dim burst of light even as the door persisted.

Mr. Whatley shrieked and collapsed to the floor in visible pain. Olivia ran to his side and took his arm to help him to his feet as the crowd began to murmur with excitement, some of the guests lining up beside Dabney and Mr. Samson, hand in hand, to follow the man in black into the afterlife.

I could see Mr. Whatley staggering up, somehow diminished in Lily's absence. He met my gaze and cackled with manic abandon, his body shaking with the timbre of his voice. “You warned me, but I didn't believe you. You threatened, and I ignored you. You've stolen my wife from me, Mrs. Markham!”

“Father, please!” Olivia had not released his arm. She held on to him very tightly, her fingers digging sharply into the fabric of his suit jacket.

“Boys, it's time to go. Help me up.” I put my arms around Henry's shoulders and fastened a piece of cloth around my side to lessen the bleeding.

“You're simply leaving, just like that?” spat Mr. Whatley at his guests as they stood waiting for Death to return. “What do you think Ashby and Cornelius will do when they find out what's happened?”

“I don't suppose I'll be inclined to care by that point,” said Mr. Samson. “There needn't be a war at all. We could simply die.”

Whatley tried to escape from Olivia's grasp, but she held herself tight against him until he reached down with both hands and released her fingers from his arm, then pushed through the crowd as Henry, the children, and I left the ballroom, a thin trail of blood marking our path.

“Markham!” he bellowed after us.

James looked up in fear. “Where are we going?”

“Quickly, to the library!” I said. We turned down a corridor, but I stopped in shock. Before us was one of the blurry figures that had been standing over me in the ballroom, made all the more clear as I continued to hemorrhage. It was my mother, wrapped in bedclothes, with dried, bloodied mucus crusted beneath her chin.

“Mother?”

“It's time to rest, my darling.” She smiled and held her arms apart to embrace me. But I don't believe that anyone else saw her, for Henry half carried me away as the boys led us into the library.

“Stay with us, Charlotte!” he cried. We threw ourselves into the room and bolted the door shut. I wanted to go back to my mother, but I was becoming more and more confused. I tried to focus on the task at hand—I had to save the Darrows. I had to save myself.

“The end is nigh, my peppercorn.” I saw my father in the green leather armchair that had been Lily's favorite. He had his pipe in his hand and a halo of smoke encircling his head. I wanted to run to him, to drop into his lap, to cry into his shoulder, to have him kiss away the pain in my chest, but instead Henry drove us onward.

“Up the stairs, into the study!” I could barely speak, focusing all my energy on each step as I leaned against Paul and Henry. The pain in my side throbbed with each beat of my heart. I wondered briefly what would happen when I had no more blood to spill.

As we rounded the third floor of the library, Mr. Whatley banged roughly on the door, then ripped it off its hinges.

“More games? How delightful! Shall I come after you then?” His body shuddered and strained against his suit, shredding it and the façade of human skin beneath it as his voluminous tendrils and appendages released themselves from the confines of human clothing. He stretched and threw himself against the wall, using his many limbs to climb each bookshelf as if it were a step.

I urged the Darrows to quicken their pace. “Hurry, we're almost there!”

As we reached the door to Whatley's study, I extracted the silver skeleton key Lily had given to us and inserted it into the keyhole. It clicked as I turned it, and the door opened just as Whatley reached the footbridge. The Darrows and I entered the room and slammed the door shut before Mr. Whatley could reach us.

The room was the same as ever, quiet and gloomy, like a mausoleum. We lurched past Mr. Whatley's emotions and to his collection of faintly glowing glass paintings. I directed the boys to the glass prominently displaying the smoking remains of Everton and kissed them both on the cheek.

“Be strong for me,” I said to them. James touched the glass with his hand and passed through the other side as if he'd fallen over a short wall. Paul followed after him.

“After you,” said Henry.

“I can't.”

“Of course you can.”

“Someone has to stay behind to destroy the painting.”

Henry's eyes went wide, and he ran his hands through his blond hair. “I can't allow it, Charlotte. I've already lost Lily.”

“Your children need you, Henry.”

“And I need you!”

“But you can't have me.” I moved my hand away from my chest. The bleeding had stopped, and I no longer felt as weak as I had before.

“I can't do this again, Charlotte.”

“You can and you will.”

“We can have a life together!”

“If there's a way for me to come back, I will,” I promised.

Whatley broke through the door. “Markham!”

“Good-bye, Henry.” I pushed him hard, and he fell backward through the painting. I could see the children pick him up on the other side as he stood, bewildered and heartbroken, crying. I tore the thing from the wall and smashed it into hundreds of glittering pieces, severing the connection between Everton and The Ending.

“I could always create another painting to Blackfield, you know.” Mr. Whatley observed me from the other side of the room. He had reverted to his human form, but his clothing hung in tatters over his muscular body.

“But you won't.”

“Why's that?”

“Because I'm the one that you want.”

“You've done well.” His hair was as wild and untamed as ever, but in his eyes I could see that there was something subdued in him as he walked toward me.

“Stay where you are.”

He stopped. “And what will you do if I refuse?”

“You've seen what I can do,” I spat.

“You changed the outcome of the story.”

“It's not finished yet.”

“True, but there are pieces missing. Or have you put them together? Even as a little girl, you were very clever.”

“You know nothing about me.”

“That's where you're wrong. I know everything about you. I've watched you for years. You've sensed it, I know you have.” I thought back to the figure who stood over the bodies of everyone I had ever lost.

“The man in black . . .”

“It became dangerous for me to travel between the worlds myself, and so eventually I had to begin sending Roland. But the deaths of humans were my favorite things to collect. Mortals cling to their endings without even realizing it. They are simple to see, and even easier to predict. Your mother was one of many, but you were the first who tried to attack me, and after I met you I realized that I could not see your death. You are an enigma, Mrs. Markham.”

“Do not attempt to justify your failure.”

“This is not a justification, it's an explanation. I feel that I owe one to you.”

“Do you admit to killing them then?”