The Shadow Cabinet (27 page)

“They'll all have to go,” Sadie said, sounding a bit bored by the idea of another mass murder.

“I know, I know. It's tiresome. But if Jane touched that stone, then we still have work to do right now. Wait for it . . .”

A shape was taking form by the sofa—something like smoke coming off of Jane. It came together in a rush, as if filling an invisible mold just on top of her.

“Now,” Sadie said.

Sid rolled Jane off his lap violently. She landed hard on the floor. Sadie dragged her by the arms and dropped her on top of the stone. The smoke disappeared at once, and all was quiet. Jane was limp, draped over the stone.

“There,” Sid said, looking down at his hands and then rubbing them on his blood-soaked jacket. He peeled this off and checked the damage on the shirt and pants. “This is my favorite suit. It might be hoping for too much that I can still buy a replacement.”

He went over to the stairs and hung the coat on the banister.

“We'll have to deal with the rest of them,” Sadie said. “They'll be back soon.”

“Oh, I know.”

Something in the room had changed. My hand was on the floor, next to Stephen, but he wasn't as close to my hand as he had been. He had moved several inches over, toward the table. Just as I realized this, his arm shot out for the knife. In the next moment, he had rolled up on his knees and had Sadie caught in the crook of his arm. His face was pale, and he looked a bit shaken by the sudden movement. He was alive.

“Well, now,” Sid said. “Someone's awake.”

“Rory,” Stephen said, slowly and evenly, “back away.”

“He's quite a pistol, isn't he?” Sid said. “I like these two, don't you, Sadie?”

“They're fab,” she said. She smiled gently, like Stephen was showing her a baby rabbit.

“Now, here's the dilemma,” Sid said, leaning against the railings. “You have my sister, and I'm very fond of her. I have to ask myself—is this handsome young policeman prepared to kill her? However, given what you are, I suspect your only interest is that stone. Take it. It's of no interest to us. We want to go and explore this wonderful new world.”

“That's not up to you,” Stephen said.

“Isn't it? In a moment, this house will be full of people, and they're all going to be upset to find poor Jane here like this. They'll attack you, and you'll be outnumbered, and they'll win. Can't imagine it will be long now. We can both wait and see what happens.”

“Do you want to test that theory?” Stephen said.

“We
love
testing theories,” Sid replied. “Don't we, Sadie?”

“We adore it,” Sadie said. “Boredom is the enemy.”

She reached up to the knife Stephen was holding at her throat, letting her fingers sink into the blade. Without any visible effort, she pulled it away from her neck. Stephen struggled against her, but he was helpless. It was like he was a small child being pushed aside by an adult. She stood up, and the knife came with her, as it was imbedded in the pads of her fingers. She removed it calmly and watched in interest as the blood ran down her arm. Stephen fell back a bit, and I stumbled over to him. He was shaking all over, and I could barely stand. He wrapped his arm around me, and the two of us supported each other to keep from falling down.

“Are you all right?” he asked me quietly.

I nodded. I was in no state to ask him the same. I could only hold on to him. I grabbed his hand and felt it becoming warmer even as I held it. Sid was completely focused on his sister.

“Sis! You impress me. Does that hurt?”

“Not very much. Look. The blood is flowing very slowly now.”

She held the hand up for Sid to see. The wound seemed to be healing even as we looked at it.

“'Struth! That's very clever of you. And look! I like these two. The stone and the guardian. Can we keep them?”

“You're not good with pets,” Sadie said.

“I'm not good with parrots. Or cats. This is different.”

“What are you?” Stephen asked.

“You need to understand,” Sadie said to us, her voice full of patience, “we are a bit special, my brother and I.”

“You'll spoil the surprise!” Sid said.

Somewhere in the room, a phone rang. Sid trailed the sound, producing what looked like the cell phone that I had used earlier to text Jerome. They'd brought it downstairs and set it on one of the tables.

“What's this?” Sid said. “Annoying noise.”

“It's a phone,” I said. “Why don't you answer it?”

Sid held the phone in a pinched grip at arm's length.

“Strange telephone,” he said. “I suppose we have lots of surprises too. How do you answer this thing?”

I walked over and took it from him and hit Accept. Sid watched in amusement, leaning back and folding his arms over his chest. I put the phone to my ear.

“I'm outside,” Jerome said. “I've called 999. The police will be there any minute. Tell them.”

“Oh,” I said, looking to Sid and Sadie. “The police are coming.”

“Are they?” Sid said. “Well, I—”

And then something looped around his neck and pulled him back against the railings so hard that I heard a crack. Thorpe had removed his tie and was strangling Sid. I got teary seeing him. He was all right. Sid was gasping and laughing at the same time. Sadie went to swing the knife at him, and I threw the phone in her face, hard. This surprised her enough to make her drop the knife. Stephen lurched forward and threw himself at her, pinning her to the ground. I looked around for something heavy. Sid was still struggling and kicking and going blue, but smiling all the while. Thorpe pulled back with all his might. Sid's head went straight back through the railings.

Sadie had thrown Stephen off and was picking up the knife again when the door opened.

“Oh, my God,” Jerome said. “Oh, my
God.
”

I'd found a bookend made of marble. I brought it down on the back of Sadie's head with all the strength I had. This caused her to fall forward a bit, and I fell right with her, carried by the momentum of my swing. Stephen pinned her down again, and I got the bowl from the table. It was still full of the disgusting barley drink.

“Get her head up,” I said. I forced the bowl to her mouth and poured. Stephen held her mouth open. She gagged a bit, but I got most of it into her mouth. Her eyes fluttered, and she looked dozy. Above us, there was a very bad sound on the stairs, where Sid had gotten himself free and had his hands around Thorpe's neck. Jerome ran up the stairs and tried to get him loose, but Sid punched him right in the face and knocked him back against the wall. Stephen pulled on Sid's lower body, forcing him back through the hole in the railing. Thorpe collapsed, coughing and heaving against the splintered banister. Jerome was picking himself off the stairs and pulling his inhaler from his pocket. Sid got down next to his sister, turning her head in either direction.

“Oh, dear,” he said. “Someone is going to have a hangover.”

He scooped her up and stood in one fluid motion.

“It's been fab,” he said. “It really has. But we must be going. Things to do, things to see. I suppose you'll have your hands full if that's been moved.”

He nodded at the Oswulf Stone.

“That'll be very bad indeed, I think. That's been holding back some very naughty energy—how many thousands of dead criminals, or worse yet, dead innocents? I couldn't even guess what might come out of Tyburn. I'd hurry if I were you. I'll tell you this, though—I wouldn't put that back where you found it. It looks like simply
anyone
could take it. What you want to do is get it into the river, in the sewer, ideally. No one wants to go looking for rocks in the sewer.”

He swept past us, passing only a moment to look down at me and smile.

“I'll see you later, little diamond. We'll have a wonderful moment.”

With that, he nudged the door open with his foot and carried his sister out of the house, into the fading day. The rest of us were broken and scattered around the room. Stephen fell to his knees right where he was, and I fell too.

“We need to go,” he said. “The stone. We need to get it back into position.”

Thorpe's face was discolored, and his eyes were bloodshot, but he managed to speak.

“Marigold?”

“I don't know,” I said. “Somewhere in the house.”

“Need to find her. Shut that door. Need to find her.”

“We need to leave,” Stephen said to him. “We need to take this stone and go.”

Jerome was now standing, looking at Jane's body on the stone. “This woman is dead,” he said.

“Don't look,” I said to him. “She's . . .”

“Something's happening,” Jerome said. His voice sounded very far away. “There was some trouble. Freddie said there was trouble. She told me the address.”

“Trouble where?” Stephen said.

“Marble Arch.”

Stephen got to his feet, using my shoulders to help push himself up. He helped me after that. The two of us were walking like we were drunk. Stephen had just woken from the dead, so this seemed fair enough, but I had no idea what was wrong with me.

“Callum? Boo?”

“They're all at Marble Arch,” Jerome said. “Freddie said everyone went to Marble Arch.”

“How did you get here? Do you have a car?”

“Tube.”

“We need to leave before the police come,” Stephen said.

“You go,” Thorpe said. “Take the stone. I'll find her. My car—keys.” He patted his pockets, but his keys were not in them. “Look for the keys.”

“Clothes,” Stephen said to me. “You need clothes.”

I found my clothes folded and sitting on the piano. I pulled the pants on under the sheet, then quickly turned my back to get the shirt on. It did cross my mind that I was doing this in the presence of two guys who were already somewhat familiar with this part of me, but it was habit. Stephen walked right past me and into the kitchen, where I heard lots of banging and the rattle of cutlery as drawers were quickly opened. I pulled the plastic sneakers on without any socks. I didn't bother to look for the coat. I happened to look up on the piano, where there was a low bowl with a few things in it, including some keys.

“Keys!” I shouted.

Thorpe was gone. I could hear him moving around upstairs, looking for Marigold. But Stephen returned from the kitchen and took the keys from my hand.

“Good,” he said. He looked them over for a moment. “These aren't for Thorpe's car. Probably hers. Doesn't matter. We're taking it. Come on.”

Jerome was still frozen in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around himself, looking at the scene. Stephen pushed Jane's body off the stone.

“Get that cloth from the table,” he said.

I pulled the dark cloth that had been covering the coffee table, and we used it to wrap the bloody stone.

“We're going to need your help,” he said to Jerome. “I don't expect you to understand, but this is important. It's the most important thing you'll ever do. You're Jerome, correct?”

“Yeah . . .”

“You've seen me before. I'm with the police. I was at the Ripper scene. I'm telling you the truth. I know this is . . .”

“I'll do it,” Jerome said. He blinked a few times, which is something he often did right before we kissed, at least when we first met. It meant he was nervous. He was blinking like mad.

“There's a back door,” Stephen said. “Come on.”

Right as we were about to go, I remembered something very important. I went to Jane's body. Her neck was—barely a neck at this point. It was a thickening mess of dark blood and hair. I steadied myself as best I could, thanking whatever was still in my system numbing me, and felt around until I came upon her locket.

“She's got two of them around her neck,” I said. “Two termini.”

I couldn't get it unhooked, so I snapped the chain with my hands. I was covered in blood now. I wiped my hands on the carpet, but it barely helped. I thought about using her dress. I could already hear the sirens. It seemed like there were a lot of sirens. All this blood—on my skin, under my nails.

It was Jerome who handed me the white cloth from the table and helped me get some of it off. He held my hand and pulled the cloth along, finger by finger. He looked nauseous all the while.

“Thanks,” I said.

He nodded, lips pursed against the smell and the sight.

“We need to move,” Stephen said.

27

T
HERE
WAS
A
SMALL
WALLED
GARDEN
AT
THE
BACK
OF
Marigold's house. I would never have known it, but there was a door in the back of it, almost entirely covered in creeping vines. These were clearly tended to do this. There were nails around the door frame where they'd been wrapped and tamed. We pushed through into a small alley between the houses and other walled gardens, holding the wrapped stone between us. Stephen walked a bit unsteadily, occasionally touching his free hand against one of the walls as he walked. He pressed the Unlock button on the key fob, and there was a friendly toot somewhere on the street.

“That dark green Jaguar,” he said. “That's hers. Come on.”

“Hang on,” Jerome said. “Are you all right to drive? I have no idea what happened to you, but you look high.”

Stephen wavered a bit.

“You drive?” he asked Jerome.

“Yes.”

“Do you drive fast?”

“Fast enough.”

“Right. Set the stone down. Careful.”

We all lowered the stone to the ground as one.

“Get the car,” Stephen said, wiping his brow. He was sweating, and when I noticed that he was, I realized I was too. “Bring it here.”

Jerome took the keys, looked at me, then jogged toward the car. Stephen leaned against one of the walls and closed his eyes.

“Does he drive well?” he asked.

“I don't know.”

“Maybe I should drive.”

“You should
not
drive,” I said.

We didn't need to go over what happened the last time Stephen drove.

“We can't risk getting pulled over,” he said, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands before opening them. “All right. He drives.”

“Are you okay?”

“I have no idea what I am,” he said. “Except here.”

He touched his hairline, pulling the bandage off. There was no mark underneath. This made me well up at once, but it was no time for crying. He clearly noticed this.

“What's happening at Marble Arch?” I asked. “How bad is this?”

“Very bad,” Stephen said. “Far worse than anything we've ever seen.”

“That could mean anything. What's happening?”

“I don't know,” he said. “I'm not sure it's ever happened before. Imagine this stone is a dam, holding back a flood. Well, there's no dam now. Anything could come through. It's a question of what's under there. But I think we can reasonably assume that whatever it is, it's not going to be good.”

“Okay,” I said, blinking and trying to take this in. “And what about them, Sid and Sadie. What the hell are
they
?”

“That,” he said, “I have no idea. There are no instructions for anything that's happening right now. We just have to get this stone back to where it belongs.”

“Why did he tell us not to put it back where it had been?”

“Rory, I don't know.” He sounded exhausted. “But he was telling the truth about the sewer. That's where the River Westbourne was diverted. If we can get it into there, close enough to the point of the breach . . .”

Jerome pulled the car up to the opening of the alley, and we loaded the stone in the back. I sat with it, and Stephen took the front seat.

“We need to get to Marble Arch,” he said. “I'll tell you the route. Drive slow and steady through here. Avoid Oxford Street. Use New Cavendish.”

I heard the sound of sirens—many sirens, possibly all the sirens—caterwauling in the near distance.

“The police are going to be at the house,” Jerome said. “We're going to be—”

“The police aren't going to get into that house. It's owned by someone in the security service, and she will never allow them in. Those sirens are coming from somewhere else.”

What became clear pretty quickly was that we were not going to be able to get to Marble Arch. Traffic was at a standstill. Cars were practically parked. Stephen kept directing Jerome to turn down smaller streets, looping around, cutting through all kinds of passages, but everything was blocked up.

“Are you some kind of human sat nav?” Jerome finally asked him.

“I did the Knowledge.”

“Right,” Jerome said. He eyed me through the rearview mirror. “Of course you did.”

Stephen put his head against the car window. I wanted to sleep as well. It was taking everything I had in me to keep my eyes open. I stretched out over the cloth-covered stone. It was surprisingly soothing. I could rest here, maybe just for a minute.

“What the hell is that?” Jerome asked.

Both Stephen and I sat back upright. Ahead of us, maybe a half mile down the road, was a solid wall of white—like a cloud sitting on top of part of the city. It was like over there was its own place with its own weather, and its own weather was a solid white mass. Every car was stopping.

“Turn around,” Stephen said, craning around in his seat. “Now. Right here. Turn.”

“I can't—”

Stephen made to grab for the wheel, and Jerome elbowed him off.

“Fine!”

Jerome made a frustrated grunt and ground through the gears, turning the car in the middle of the street and heading the opposite direction. Stephen turned on the radio and scanned through the stations quickly until he got to the news.

. . .
unconfirmed reports of a possible explosion at Lancaster Gate Tube station. The area has been cordoned off and
 . . .

“Lancaster Gate,” Stephen said. “Right next to Marble Arch. This is not good. We won't get into Marble Arch this way.”

Stephen continued giving directions, leading Jerome down an endless sequence of smaller roads and paths. Every time the traffic was blocked, we turned again. After ten minutes of this, Stephen let out a weird half yell of frustration. I'd never heard anything quite like this come from him.

“What the
hell
is going on?” Jerome yelled.

“You just need to drive.”

“I need to know.”

“Jerome,” I said, “please. I promise. We'll tell you. Please.”

I reached up and put my hand on Jerome's shoulder. I felt his muscles tensing as he drove. His expression was grim, and he looked a bit terrified, but I think he got the message. Stephen pulled off his glasses and pinched the space between his eyes. This was maybe too much for him. The news report droned on, and the story only got worse. Reports of smoke, people being evacuated from the area, the Tube being shut down.

“Pull over,” Stephen said to Jerome.

Jerome did this, but from the way he was holding his head and the stiffening of his shoulders, I knew he didn't like being ordered around like this.

“We're going to need to get in some other way,” Stephen said.

“We're not getting in if the whole area is blocked off,” Jerome said.

“We don't have a choice.” Stephen put his glasses back on and exhaled loudly. “Right. This is what we do. We go to the Athenaeum Club on Pall Mall. We'll cut north and go around.”

“Why there?” Jerome said.

“Because that's the way in.”

• • •

We got there eventually, though it took much longer than it should have. The fog wasn't quite as bad in Pall Mall, which was a wide stretch of what were clearly critically important buildings, all white, all large, all stinking of Queen and Empire and that kind of thing. The road ended pretty much at the club, where it butted up against a set of steps that led down to a park. Jerome pulled up where Stephen directed. Stephen had already unclicked his belt and was halfway out of the car before it was in park.

“You need to stay here with the stone,” he said to Jerome. “Rory, with me.”

“We'll be back,” I said to Jerome. “Promise. It's . . .”

I hurried after to Stephen. The building was large, with a cream-white façade. Some kind of classical scene cut into marble ran along the roofline. A statue of some kind of goddess sat on the top like a proud pigeon. I guessed this was Athena, judging from the name—and it made me uneasy. I didn't really want to see any Greek gods or goddesses right now.

Stephen went into the foyer, which was quiet and cold and marble. A man in a perfect gray suit stood by a desk and took one look at us, dressed in our scrappy clothes, no coats.

“I'm sorry—”

“I need to leave a message for the timekeeper,” he said. “Give me a piece of paper.”

The suited man looked a bit surprised, but immediately produced a piece of letterhead and a pen. Stephen began to write something. When he'd said “timekeeper,” I'd happened to look up and notice a large clock in the middle of the landing straight ahead of us. The clock was weird. It took me a moment to work out what was so strange about it: it had two number sevens and no number eight.

“That clock,” I said. “It has two sevens.”

Stephen glanced over at it, and something very uncomfortable passed over his expression.

“I'm already here,” said a voice. “Step outside.”

A woman had appeared behind us. She looked to be about fifty, maybe sixty. She was sizable and wore very practicallooking high-waisted pants and a stiff white blouse. Her hair was buzzed neatly and utterly flat on top.

“A moment, sir,” the porter said.

“No,” Stephen replied, folding the paper and shoving it in his pocket. “It's fine. It's fine.”

The porter hadn't seen her, and judging from her aspect, it was obvious what she was—though she looked so firm and clear. She grabbed Stephen's arm and gave it a shake.

“The reports of your death seem premature,” she said. “We'll discuss that later. Do you know what's transpired?”

“I have the stone,” he said. “It's in the car.”

“How did you get the stone? Never mind. We'll discuss that later as well. The important thing is getting it back in place. And you've brought her. I suppose that might be useful.”

The woman gave me a curious, yet dismissive look.

“Neither of us is very strong right now.”

“Well, you'll need to buck up, dear boy. It's started. We've mustered everyone we could to try to hold it back, but we won't be able to contain it much longer.”

Jerome was leaning over the wheel, staring at Stephen talking to the air. This was bad. So bad. I angled around so he couldn't see me speaking.

“What is it?” I asked her.

The woman regarded me with arched eyebrows.

“My dear girl,” she said, “it is the breach. It will envelop and extinguish life. It is the end of order. You must assist. The stone must be replaced. You can't go over the land. They've shut down everything all around, especially around the palace. But you can go under. I will open the doors. You must get it through.”

Stephen started walking to the car and waved me over to do the same. He opened the back door of the car to get the stone. Jerome opened the driver's door and stepped out.

“Who the hell were you talking to?” he asked.

“I was on the phone,” Stephen said. “Headset.”

“Then why did you take
my
phone?”

Poor Jerome was clearly getting nervous about all these strange people taking his phone. Stephen was carefully pulling the stone from the backseat, but he was having a hard time.

“We're going to need your help,” he said to Jerome. “Rory and I are weak. Too weak to get it that far. We need to get this into Hyde Park, and we need to carry it. Will you help us?”

“Will you tell me what's going on?”

“When it's over,” Stephen said.

Jerome looked to Stephen, then to me.

“Can I talk to you a minute?” he said.

Stephen closed his eyes, probably in a kind of agony that this was taking so long. The woman had come over to us and was looking at Jerome.

“Why are you all playing sillybuggers?” she asked. “This is no time—”

“
Let me talk to Jerome a second,
” I said, for everyone's benefit.

Jerome and I walked far enough away not to be heard.

“This is insane,” he said. “I can see there's something going on. I saw someone dead, on the floor. I think we just ran from the police? You're being guarded by some security services people who don't seem to be doing a good job. And now we've got some kind of
rock
that can make the explosion stop?”

“Trust me,” I said, holding out my hands. “I know how bad this is, how weird.”

He shook his head and looked up at the sky. And in that moment, I'd kind of had it. It was time to release anything and everything inside.

“You think I'm not sick of it?” I said. “It's been weird for me since I got here. Jerome, it's been one unending river of weird shit.”

Jerome looked back at me and seemed to be about to say something, but I held up my hands.