The Artisans (33 page)

My gaze roams over the dusty room. Who knows what will happen when Gideon lets them go? I haven’t spent a lot of time thinking about it until now. Some will find themselves in another era. Maybe they can start over, build a different life. The rest can take their chances with the police or with their Maker. I hardly care. I just want Gideon free of them so he can get on with his life.

Despite the cold, my clothes are damp with sweat from moving the heavy boxes. I wipe my brow with the back of my hand and sling a heavy curtain of hair over one shoulder.

“You’re so beautiful.”

I freeze. Gideon’s words almost make me forget what we’re doing here. “Don’t.”

“Why? I wish you could see what I see.” He rises, moving toward me with the stealth of a hunter. His finger slides feather-light along my collarbone. I close my eyes, hating my weakness. “Your skin looks almost translucent in this light.” I refuse to look at him, so he crooks his finger beneath my chin, drawing it up. My lids flutter open. “Thank you, Raven. I’m grateful you’re here with me.”

Stunned by the conversation he chose to have in the cellar of doom, I say the only thing I can. “You’re welcome.” Then I add, “I’m glad, too.” Who knows why Gideon felt he needed to say that right now, but I’m truly proud to help him. Self-conscious, I step out of his grasp. “Are you ready?” I’m surprised at how calm I sound, as if he didn’t just set my skin on fire with his touch.

He smiles. “I’m always ready.”

I roll my eyes.

He’s right, you know.
Cole appears on my left.
You are beautiful.

I ignore them both. This is so not the venue. “Can I help wake them up?”

“No!” Cole and Gideon say at once.

“Do me a favor and take a seat up there.” Gideon points to the stairs. “Please?” His hand disappears for a moment behind his back and materializes again with a gleaming, black gun. Where the heck did that come from? He pulls a clip from his pocket, shoves it into the bottom of the gun, and replaces the weapon in the waist of his pants.

Holy crap!

“We don’t need that, do we? I can help. I want to.” And I do, even though I have no idea how.

“I know, and you have.” Gideon leans over retrieving a crowbar from the pile of tools he left on the chalk-covered floor. “But if this works, I don’t know what might happen. Do you understand? Don’t suppose everyone will be so grateful for their release that they’ll march off into the night and never bother us again.”

Point taken.

“More likely they will try and cut my heart out.”

“Oh, don’t!” My breath catches, but Gideon’s expression is unwavering, confident.
I love you
, I want to say. What comes out instead is, “Be careful, please.” His gentle smile and nod steady me.

“Now that I’ve decided, I just want the thing done and over with for good. And I need to know that you’re safe.” He stands erect, tilts his head until his neck cracks. “Cole?” Gideon pauses, then looks to me. “Can he hear me?”

My gaze darts between them. “Yes.”

“You’re up. I know we’ve had our … differences.” His smile is stiff. “If things go badly, I need you to get Raven out of here safely. I couldn’t exactly call the police. What would I say? I’m going to wake people from the dead and we need backup in case they’re pissed off? I’m not even sure this will work, and if it doesn’t, how would I explain your lifeless bones in a box.” Both boys laugh, but Gideon’s expression quickly sobers. A palpable tension rises between them. “She’s innocent of this. And she means
everything
to me. Will you help her?”

Already my plan,
Cole says. He faces me.
No one will hurt you. No one.

“Well?” Gideon barks, jolting me to attention.

I gulp a shuddery breath. “He agrees.”

“Then get up those stairs, Rae. And if I say run, you run. No arguments.”

It’s the moment of truth. My legs tremble as I climb to the top stair and squat. Cole appears at my side. He takes my hand. “Good luck,” I say, and squeeze his ghostly fingers. I hope he can feel it.

Raven, thank you. Thank you for saving me.

“I haven’t done anything yet.” His dark round eyes, so earnest and sad, tug on my heart.

You have.
His smile is as faint as a watermark.
Whether or not I’m freed today, you already saved me.

A bang drags my focus to the other room. Gideon starts at the far end of the first row, prying the lids off. Old nails groan and complain. Boards crack as they’re loosened. I wince, afraid of what I’ll see, yet unable to look away. Like eggs nestled in straw, man after man appears as Gideon tears the coffins open.

The bodies lie quiet. I recognize them from the photos I’ve passed for weeks on the landing upstairs. Their arms lay crossed over their breasts, faces are drawn and bloodless, but there are no maggots, no decomposition. They might be sleeping if not for their blue color. Most are wearing dark suits, the lovely Desiree in her frothy white gown, of course. I watch the years pass in the style changes of their garments, hairstyles, and facial hair.

Gideon works at a fever pitch. When the last lid is lifted, I suck a breath as Cole’s body appears. His pale blue face looks so young, no different from the guy sitting next to me, except the one in the box can’t move. And the one beside me is bodiless. Yeah, except for that.

Shoving a discarded lid away, Gideon coughs as he limps out of the maze of coffins. In a corner near the back of the cellar, a black tarp covers a series of large, uneven lumps. Before I can guess what’s underneath, he bends, taking hold of one end. With a swish and crackle of plastic, I’m staring at the carcass of a great white horse. The hound, Rex, I’ve met on at least two occasions, rests in between the stallion’s legs.

“Good Lord in heaven.” I shake my head. “How did they ever get him down here?” I can’t even guess how many decades the animals have been here. There’s no decay, no emaciated bodies to hint at their age.

Gideon wipes his hands across his red T-shirt, leaving white streaks of lime. “Times were different. The world was smaller, and men didn’t question idiosyncrasies of the man who paid their salaries. Over a hundred years ago, I imagine Mathias Maddox’s field hands thought him no more than eccentric.”

Yeah? I imagine they thought a lot more than that, but I don’t say so. “You’re going to wake the horse up?” I angle my head. “And the dog?”

He blinks. “Don’t you want me to? I thought … I mean, I want to do this right for you. What if it were Edgar?”

The lump in my throat is the size of a bowling ball. I clear it and answer him. “Don’t do this for me. Do it for yourself.”

His lips press into a grim line. “We’re going to have a hell of a time getting that animal up the stairs, but he’s waking up.” Gideon’s smooth voice is pure determination. “They all are.” He lifts his head, his gaze searching mine out. I think he wants to say something, but he keeps silent. Under that intense stare, my stomach flip-flops, and before I can figure out what he wants, he steps to the coffins and holds up the decanter of salts.

I hold my breath as he starts sprinkling the substance over the bodies. I wrap my waist with both arms to quiet my nerves. My focus cuts across the people in the coffins, to the animals in the far corner and back. There’s pressure, and expectation, and fear in the waiting. No sound but the hopeful beating of two hearts. Then the view changes.

Shapes fade in and out of the gray shadows around the room. They waver, finally taking semi-solid form.

“Gideon?” I whisper. “The people from the photos, they’re here. Can you see them?” He doesn’t answer. Cole appears at the head of the casket housing his body. I glance beside me, and just as I thought, his ghost-like image is gone from my side. My nerves tingle with anticipation. My heartbeat quickens. I press my hand to my chest to steady my rapid breathing.

Rex barks. His image stands beside that of the white stallion. The horse’s neck bends as he paws the air. They both wait at the heads of their physical selves. That’s when I know the silver salt is going to work. They’re all here. As I scan the crowd, the flickering ghosts all pause beside their caskets, waiting to reclaim their bodies, and their lives.

One man frantically waves his arms. Something’s wrong. Gripping the stair railing, I half rise from my seat on the step for a better view. The brow of a shimmering spirit creases in angry furrows; another’s teeth are bared. Mouths twist in horrific violence. The prisoners raise their fists in the air, pounding, shouting over one another. They curse the Maddox name. Everyone except Cole.

“Wait!” I shriek. “They’re angry. Talk to them, Gideon. Tell them
why
you’re waking them up now.” But it’s too late. The drama I expected when Gideon shattered the photos upstairs is happening now. Shimmering, silver fog rises from the bodies in the caskets. Thin and snake-like, the mist winds itself around each individual, ascending until it bumps and curls against the ceiling. Cole meets my gaze. The ground trembles. A loud crack and Gideon shouts my name. He thrusts out a hand as the room bursts into a kaleidoscope of swirling color.

The stallion whinnies and rears. His ghost stands snorting and nickering over his prone carcass. I blink as his body and essence meld. Steam chugs from both nostrils. His mane is thrashing red fire down his arched neck. Yellow flames flicker and snap at his sides, while the animal’s eyes glow white-hot. He screams. Rex howls, as his frame is encased in crackling red and blue embers.

Across the room it’s the same with the other, human bodies. Cut off from the stairs by the enchanted flame, Gideon presses himself against the rough wall of the cellar. His wide eyes and incredulous expression lets me know he sees them, too. My heart thuds against my ribs. Panic climbs my throat. I scan the room for Cole but can’t find him.

Rising above the coffins that housed them for so long, the corpses stand erect. I cringe, flinging myself back until my spine presses against the far wall of the staircase, but I can’t stop watching. I swear the glowing men appear to grow taller. As they burn, bones bulge, pushing to break free of their ancient skin casing. The necks and heads of the men elongate. Their rib cages spread and deepen, legs grow longer, and arms bend and break at odd angles.

The group morphs into twisted, grotesque images of their former selves. Contorting the way a twig bends and curls in a fire pit. Their eyes bug from the sockets to the point of bursting. Instead, they deflate, melting from the sockets like runny egg yolks. Muscle drops from their heating bones, drips from their frames hitting the earth in sizzling plops of dying flesh. Orange and yellow, the skin pops and bubbles on the floor, incinerating before turning to black ash.

Shrieking echoes off the thick walls. I cover my ears to block the sound, but it’s in my head, expanding in my chest, all around me. Sulfur burns my sinuses. My eyes water. The horse is gone, as is the little dog Rex. Under the effects of the withering curse, the men writhe and lash at each other, but their blows are ineffectual. The din rises. My head spins, and I feel incredible pressure building in my lungs. My ears pop with pressure over and over, and somewhere, above the cacophony, a clock ticks.

When the pain in my head reaches its zenith and my lungs threaten to burst, my scream joins with the others. A mushroom cloud billows against the ceiling, all red and orange and pink, promising a hot, sulfuric death. Lightning flashes. Thunder cracks, hits the cellar like a sonic boom, blowing me off the stairs. I crash against the far wall, before dropping to the floor. Gasping for breath, I roll to my side and peer back up the empty staircase. I touch my stinging forehead at the hairline, and pull my fingers back sticky with blood.

A final blast, a gush of angry wind and the room stills, growing quiet.

“Gideon?” I croak. A hand slides beneath my arm, and I’m drawn to my feet. When I raise my head, it’s not Gideon I see, but Cole. And not the Cole I knew. This one is solid all the way to his shoes. He’s taller, broader. His face has both filled in and sharpened. What the heck?

A deep frown covers his handsome features. “Are you all right?” His voice is lower than I remember.

“Cole. I thought I’d lost you.” Weak, I lean against the wall.

The corner of his mouth lifts. “You can’t lose me.”

“Get. Your hands. Off of her.”

We pivot together. My weight sags, and Cole’s arms support me. “Gideon,” I say, relief flooding my being. A crimson line runs down his left arm to his elbow. There’s a gash on his cheek. “You’re here. Thank you, God.”

“Relax, Gideon. If I let her go, she’ll fall down.” As if to prove his words, Cole releases me and I stumble backward into his arms.

Gideon lunges and trips.

Perhaps he wants to avoid a fight. Whatever his reasoning, Cole eases me down onto the cold floor and backs off. My shoulder rests on the rough stone as I struggle to clear my head. Gideon’s kneeling at my feet, his expression a tangle of concern and relief.

“I’m all right.” I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Just need a minute.”

Cole strides to the nearest coffin and inspects the contents. “Dust,” he says. “Ashes and dust.”

“What happened to them?” I ask.

Raising his arm, Cole stares at his hand as he flips it over. His fingers slide up his torso and neck. They run across his face, as though he’s discovering himself for the first time.

Following my gaze, Gideon rises. He walks to the head of the first casket and turns. “Yes, you’ve aged … around four years, I’m guessing. Though age hasn’t improved your looks any.”

I suppress an eye roll, actually afraid it might hurt.

Gideon scans the ankle-deep dust at his feet. “Many of these men were at least middle-aged when they were photographed. Some have been here for decades.” A light goes on in my head.

Cole kneels before another coffin, peering inside. “So for the older ones, if the aging process was cumulative—”

“They were dead the minute they woke up.”

A white flash darts from the shadows at the back of the room. One, dull clank later, Gideon crumples to the floor. I push off with my knees to a stand. Unsteady, my hand searches out the gritty wall for support.