Redlisted (35 page)

She raised an
eyebrow, pursed her lips, then lifted her right hand. “I do not
respond to threats. If you won’t accede to civil discussion,
you consent to imprisonment.”

The shadows at the
edge of the pit parted like curtains to reveal four of her initiates,
armed with daggers and chains.

They began to
advance.

The closest, a
young, red-haired woman, lunged at me first, stabbing for my gut. I
stepped to the side at the very last moment, evading the attack. I
seized her wrist in one hand, her elbow in the other, and snapped the
bones of her forearm in two. Her knife fell to the ground; she cried
out in pain.

I shoved her into
the trajectory of my next attacker, who stumbled backwards just long
enough for me to turn on the third. He threw his dagger at me,
catching me in the right side of the chest. My vision boiled with the
pain of the injury, the black tendrils teeming at the surface of my
consciousness.

I felt my gums
began to retract; the skin of my palms began to pucker and burn. As
he came at me with the chain, I tore the knife from my own chest and
plunged it through his eardrum. He collapsed in the shallow pool, his
body convulsing.

“Julian!”
Mnemosyne cried. “Control yourself!”

Ignoring her, I
turned towards the three remaining generals. “Leave us,”
I growled, commanding them with the force of my blood. All three of
them stood stock still for a moment, then scrambled for the staircase
leading into the earth.

“Hold your
ground!” Mnemosyne screamed, but still they ran.

As I turned to
face my mother, for the first time in all the years I’d known
her, I saw a glimmer of fear behind her eyes. My feet began to move
of their own volition, one in front of the other in front of the
other, leading me towards her in a staggering, rhythmless march.

She stepped
backward. “Julian—please calm yourself. Control yourself.
You don’t understand what will happen if—“

I lunged at her
and shoved her to the ground. Her limbs scattered around her like an
unstrung marionette. She collected herself, scrambled to her feet and
drew a shining sword from behind her back, thrusting the blade in my
direction.

“Don’t
delude yourself into thinking you can challenge me, child,” she
said, narrowing her eyes. “I’ve had quite enough of your
posturing.”

I bared my teeth
and reached out as if to grasp the blade in my bare hands. It was no
more substantial than breath.

Her eyes widened.
“Julian, listen to me.” She raised her hands in a gesture
of surrender and allowed the illusion to dissipate. “There is a
terrible poison in your blood—if you give in to it, you will
damn us all—“

I felt the flesh
of my left hand twist and cauterize into a curved blade dripping with
black ichor. The voices of the thousand mouths commanded me to plunge
this instrument into her heart, ending her.

“Julian,
please.” She dropped to her knees. “I can help you—please
just listen to me—“

I grabbed her by
the throat. She screamed; the sound of it was too delightful to bear.
I silenced her with a single swift stroke, sending her head toppling
forward into the depths of the moonlit pool.

I watched it sink,
shaking and panting for air. The mouths were still chanting missives
in my ears, but something deep within my gut suddenly craved their
silence. I stared down into the deep pool, overcome with revulsion as
the voices screamed for me to carve out her heart and eat it.

No. What I had
done was enough. I wasn’t a murderer. I wouldn’t make
myself one on her behalf.

I covered my ears
with my hands, stumbling away from her corpse, and threw myself into
the pool after the head. The water was cold and strangely thick; it
muffled the voices somewhat. I felt my left hand begin to soften back
into muscle, bone and sinew as I went deeper.

I caught a glimpse
of the head and reached out to grab it. Mnemosyne’s eyes flew
open as my hands latched on to either side of her face. She spoke
through my inner ear.

Swim back to
the surface and drink from the shallow pool.

I knew it was
intended to be a command, but I clung to my ability to resist.

You must obey
me. What you have seen, what you have heard—it must all be
expunged from your memory or it will drive you mad.

I shook my head.

Swim back to
the surface and drink from the shallows. Release me, Julian. Do it
now.

I dropped her
skull and struggled back up to the surface of the viscous liquid. The
voices grew louder as I neared the surface, and amplified to a
deafening screech as I pulled myself out of the pool. With every
shred of my remaining will I forced myself to ignore her body as I
crossed the inlet.

I knelt at the
edge of the shallow waters and brought a single handful to my mouth.

{Adam}

I woke up on the
ground beside the tomb of Mnemosyne. My own skin felt alien, having
spent days—weeks? months? It was impossible to tell—being
Julian, inhabiting his smaller frame, seeing the world through his
eyes. Now he was lying just a few feet from me, curled into the fetal
position. Was he still dreaming of the past? What more was there to
see?

Mnemosyne’s
voice resonated between my ears.
Nothing.
You’ve seen all that needs to be seen.

“How long
will he be stuck this way?”

Only minutes.

I rubbed at my
eyes.

I forced you
awake because I must speak with you. Listen carefully.

I couldn’t
imagine being able to resist. I stood up, reached for her, placed my
fingers against her temples.

There is a
poison in Julian’s blood—a tendril of chaos stolen from
the blood of a monster from the young days of this earth. I inflicted
it on him during his initiation; I mixed it with my own. It is my
deepest regret.

“Blood from
a monster? The monster he saw in the hallucination?”

The strain has
thickened within the blood of his initiates. May the Gods show mercy
on us if Mirabel ever raises an heir.

“So that was
why they all went insane...”

Yes. Listen
closely. Markham’s entrancement opened a portal within Julian’s
mind, a link to the abyss where the monster lies trapped. Now the
door has been opened once more. Now his mind must be purged of the
sight once again.

“You want me
to force him to forget all of this?” I shook my head. “After
all he went through to get those memories back?”

You witnessed
his transformation. Those memories endanger us all.

I closed my eyes.
I thought of the obscene chorus of voices that ate at my thoughts—no,
not mine, Julian’s thoughts—as he stood here ninety-nine
years ago. I thought of the blade that emerged from the flesh of his
hand, the impulses he barely managed to deny...

You must force
him to take the waters a second time. It will be easiest while he is
still dreaming.

“Do I have
to force him to forget all of it? None of it matters but that vision,
does it?”

What would you
have him remember? How his beloved betrayed him?

I looked down at
Julian. Still asleep, with his defenses still down, his face looked
young, almost childlike. “I don’t know.”

None of those
memories will bring him anything but pain.

I wasn’t
sure if it was Mnemosyne speaking any longer; it could have been my
own internal voice.

Even the
smallest amount will be sufficient.

I placed her head
back in the basin and walked to the edge of the shallow pool.
Stooping down, I cupped my left hand and submerged it in the water.
The liquid felt less substantial than it looked; my palm tingled
under the feather-weight of it.

I returned to
Julian’s side, being careful not to spill the strange water. I
rolled him onto his back, lifted his head and brought my hand to his
mouth. He took the liquid without the slightest sign of struggle.

He
is your charge now, Adam,
Mnemosyne said, her voice gradually fading from my consciousness.
You
must watch him for me until the night I am revived.

Julian groaned
softly as he awakened. His wards went up as soon as he was cogent
enough to realize they were down. He stood, brushed the dirt off his
clothing, and stared at me.

“Who are
you?” he asked, examining my features as if my face was new to
him.

Oh God. I’d
given him too much. How much had he forgotten? Another year? More?

He took a sharp
breath; a kind of recognition flashed behind his eyes. “You’re
Adam Fletcher, aren’t you? The amnesia specialist?”

I nodded, sighing
with relief. Perhaps he’d lost only a week or so, and he was
simply getting his bearings, or...

“What on
earth are you doing here? How did you get into the sepulcher?”

“You don’t
remember?”

He shook his head
no with a few choppy twitches of his nose.

“Julian, I’m
your son.”

{Kate}

I wake up to the
sound of footsteps against wooden stairs. I’m back in the model
home, lying on the couch in the living room across from the fake
television. I rub my eyes, processing what I just saw. There’s
so much I don’t understand that I don’t even know what
I’ll ask Adam to clarify.

Except one thing.
Haruko seduced him and stole something from him? Why the hell are
they still on speaking terms?

Adam emerges from
the basement with Aya in tow, carrying a suitcase. I drag myself off
the couch and stumble into the foyer.

Do you want
help?

Adam shakes his
head no. “Why don’t you go get ready to leave?”

I shrug.
All
right...

I retrieve my
backpack from behind the couch and bring it into the half-bathroom,
where I brush my teeth, wash my face, change my clothes, and comb my
hair back into a low ponytail. My hair—shit, it didn’t
turn out so well. It’s more of a nasty orange color than the
platinum blonde I was hoping for. Not that it matters. Not really.

I walk into the
kitchen, take a glass out from the cabinet and fill it under the tap.
I want food and coffee, but I know from last night that the pantry is
bare. Stupid model home. No food, no television...

Adam walks into
the kitchen and leans against the counter next to me—not close
enough to touch, yet close enough to remind me of what happened last
night.

Explain
something for me,
I demand, hoping to stave off any awkwardness.
Haruko
seduced you and stole that card from you? And you’re still
friends, or something?

“Kate,
don’t—“ He stops abruptly, then shakes his head.
“Christ, for a moment I forgot she can’t hear you.”

Who? Haruko?

“No.”

Aya?

He nods. “So
here’s the thing. She took it from me right when we first met.
Sleight of hand. The sex was... whatever. It wasn’t—“

Like that’s
supposed to matter?

He shrugs.

Why did she
want the card, anyway?

“She, uh...
she had orders.”

From whom?

“Desmond.”

Why did he want
it?

He glances toward
the foyer.

Adam, why did
he want it?