The Skeleton Key (21 page)

We sat in the candlelit antechamber, an unusual foursome – ghost, ancient Sanguine, telepathic witch and the Seventh – three of us sipping Celia's calming tea, at her insistence. (Lieutenant Luke could not consume food or drink unless he was in human form.)
Is Celia's tea a kind of potion?
I wondered for the first time. A kind of calming witch's brew? If so, it seemed to be working. In some real way it felt as if the four of us were members of some secret society, charged with keeping Manhattan safe. And perhaps we were. Celia's tea ritual felt strangely civilised after all the bared fangs and head chopping.

‘There are some repairs to be made to the mansion,' she said matter-of-factly after the feeling in the room had settled.

That was an understatement.

‘We can get to all that later, but for now there is another pressing issue to discuss while we have you and Deus in the room together. Deus?'

I cringed. I really wasn't up for any more pressing issues. What I needed was a good lie down – for about a month. I didn't think I'd be able to keep my eyes open for much longer, now that all that adrenaline had passed.

The grinning Kathakano turned to me and I recalled, with a shiver, the look of those fangs of his. ‘Miss Pandora, I have been told that Harriet tried to kill you this evening? Is this true?'

I frowned. Let's see. The thing on Barrett's back tried to kill me. Luke tried to kill me. Deus tried to kill Celia. Was I forgetting anyone? ‘Sorry, who?'

‘The one you know as Redhead,' my great-aunt explained, and took another sip from her cup.

‘Oh. Yes, she did.' It was hard to believe that was the same night. ‘In the lift.'

Deus nodded gravely. ‘I see. Then she has broken a direct order, and an important rule of this house. She must be dealt with accordingly.'

‘Okay,' I said. For the moment the issue of my attempted assassination seemed about the furthest thing from my mind, though it was sort of an issue, wasn't it? Not quite on the level of the dead overrunning the planet but, yes, a problem.

Deus said nothing further about it, though I could tell he was considering what to do. It seemed to me that his role in the Sanguine community was one of considerable authority. Judge and jury? Commander? We remained quiet for a while longer and my mind drifted back to the sight of that extraordinary subterranean cavern and that huge portal, which had – for now – remained closed. If only just.

Lieutenant Luke's ghostly hand came over to rest on mine and I flinched. He'd tried to kill me a few too many times lately. I knew it wasn't really his fault, but still, I was spooked. He pulled his hand away. I did not look at him.

Celia watched my body language and I sensed that she knew what was happening. She placed the empty cups on her silver tray. ‘Now, come, Pandora,' she said. ‘There is much to do. They need to be returned to their resting places before the sun rises.'

‘What?'

‘The dead,' she said simply. ‘Deus, you have work to do also.'

‘Indeed,' he agreed. ‘Thank you for the tea. My apologies again for the incident in the laboratory.'

It
had
been awfully close.

Celia nodded. ‘Apology accepted.'

‘Now I will leave you, and begin my work in the city. Madame Celia, Miss Pandora, the Seventh.' He rose and bowed his head, and before I knew it he had opened the casket and stepped inside. In seconds he was gone.

Celia picked up the tray and led me to the door of the antechamber. I noticed Lieutenant Luke hesitate. ‘You can help Vlad with the mansion repairs,' my great-aunt said, not quite looking in his direction. She could not see his face drop.

‘Miss Pandora?' Luke said, still standing in the middle of the small room.

‘Thank you, Lieutenant Luke. Thank you for your help tonight. I'll see you soon,' I told him, and bit my lip as he vanished instantly. Part of me was relived and the other part hated what this whole incident had done to us. My stomach twisted and I took a breath.

‘Everything will be fine,' my great-aunt assured me.

We put the tray in the kitchen and the cups in the sink, and Celia led me to the tall lounge room windows overlooking Addams Avenue. To my dismay I saw that Manhattan's recently animated dead lay around the street outside the mansion on their backs and their sides, some heaped one upon the other, however they had fallen when the necromancer's spell was finally broken. It was a mess.

‘You can do it, Pandora,' she said, with her hand on my shoulder.

‘
I
can do it?'

‘Command them to return to their resting places.'

‘I won't . . . anger them?'

‘They have been pulled here. They cannot simply be left. It would not be right.'

I sighed. Well, I supposed my great-aunt was right about that.

It would be a long night.

O
n Saturday morning the sun rose as usual, and beyond the thick fog surrounding Spektor, the (living) residents of Manhattan went about their business as if nothing had happened. I, for one, knew better, and after a night spent commanding the dead I did not feel like getting out of bed. I shut the heavy drapes on the four-poster bed, rolled over and passed out again.

I finally showered and dressed at noon, my eyelids still heavy despite the sleep in, and as I left my room I glanced back to see the edge of Luke's sword sticking out from under my bed. It gladdened me to see it there, protecting my bed, but it also made me think of the problems between Luke and I. It sure was nice to have him back to normal, blue eyes and all, but I was still a bit scared of him after all that had happened. And I would probably think twice before insisting that he leave the house for me. Sure, it might have been all Dr Barrett – or his passenger – but I'd pushed Luke into it and it hadn't ended well. If I really did have the powers of a necromancer, I didn't want to use my influence frivolously or for my own selfish reasons. (Was there a necromancer's ethics guide out there somewhere?)

A note from Celia in the kitchen gave me the good news that the city was suffering from collective amnesia. Deus had discovered my satchel in the cemetery and returned it. He was apparently confident that his mission to erase the living witnesses in Manhattan was successful – there would have been a few shocked folks in Central Park, I imagined – and Vlad had repaired the front door of the mansion and even the gates of the two marble cemeteries, leaving them in somewhat better condition than they had been in for a while. Would anyone notice the complimentary restoration, I wondered?

Celia's beautifully handwritten message ended with a postscript:

PS
.
I suggest you keep the skeleton key on you at all times. Perhaps this will help?

Sincerely,

Your Great-Aunt Celia

Sitting atop the note was a thin, shimmering gold chain. I lifted it with one fingertip and marvelled at the way the afternoon light hit it. My battered satchel was sitting in the centre of the kitchen table, and I fished out the key, threaded it through the chain and slipped it around my neck. Yes, it was a good idea to keep the key close, now that we knew what it was.

I have the key to the Underworld around my neck.

We'd have to fix the door to the laboratory and Barrett's study, and make sure that one stayed firmly locked. And no one else must get the key. Perhaps Celia and I could even perform some sort of protection spell so that the door into that subterranean chamber couldn't be forced open again.

I grabbed my coat from the Edwardian hat stand and briefly examined my puffy eyes in the small oval mirror. Sure, I looked pretty underslept, but I didn't really look like I'd flown over Manhattan and spent the night battling the walking dead at the entry to the Underworld. I had a few scratches and a bit of a blister where the obsidian ring had burned me, but all things considered, I was okay. With the skeleton key around my neck and the torch in my hand, I stepped out of the penthouse, locked the door behind me and took the decrepit old stairs down to the mezzanine to survey the damage. Vlad (and Luke?) had sure been busy. The lobby had been swept out and the big front door was back in place, though I noticed the elevator was still not working. It would take a while for that to get fixed, I figured. Perhaps it was time to patch up the stairwell? I walked around the lobby, taking in the new scratches on the walls and cracks in the tiles.

Then I looked up and paused.

Finally Mrs Barrett had been released from the curse that had kept her here.

The chandelier was straight.

I slept in again on Sunday morning and through the evening I heard activity in the house – hammering, drilling. I examined the sword under my bed and wrestled with the idea of calling Lieutenant Luke, now that he was back to normal, but in the end I chose to spend the night alone, contemplating all I had learned.

Celia had informed me that Deus was trying to track down the four troublesome Sanguine, so that Redhead could receive whatever punishment he thought was appropriate, though frankly I suspected Athanasia had been involved as well. For now, though, it seemed that they were laying low and had not returned to Spektor.

I did not miss them one bit.

On Monday I used the computer at
Pandora
magazine to check the online news sites a few times throughout the morning, while sorting Pepper's emails, looking over my shoulder to see that I was not observed (‘Walking dead + Manhattan' was an odd search term at a fashion magazine). Nothing related came up, which seemed incredible to me. I'd already noticed that over the weekend the local newspapers seemed to have reported nothing of the strange events on Second Avenue, nor the memorable march of corpses through Central Park. Though Celia had told me that would be the case, it still amazed me. Evidently Deus had done his job well. It was not the first time his considerable skills had been employed to keep supernatural secrets, of course.

The whole thing made me wonder just how much went on that we did not hear about.

One person in Manhattan who had not been erased, however, was Jay Rockwell. (Well, not again, anyway.) Jay walked into the
Pandora
office at 11:59 a.m. on Monday, and Morticia, who'd already pulled out her bagel for lunch, sat up suddenly and exchanged a few words with him at reception, giving me a minute to absorb his surprise arrival and think of what to say. I hadn't even sent him a text yet, I realised.
Oops.
The phone reception in Spektor was nonexistent but that was still no excuse. I could have made the effort to find a patch of reception in Central Park to send a hello at the very least.

He walked to my cubicle, smiling (which did bode well, I thought), while behind him Morticia made big eyes. The proverbial cat was out of the bag, it seemed. There would be questions later, I knew.

‘I'm so sorry about Friday night,' I said, standing up to greet him. Jay towered over me in my flat shoes and I had to admit that I liked the surprise visit. ‘I hope you will forgive me for running off.'

He took my hand in his and it felt so warm that I realised I'd grown more accustomed to the feel of the undead, or Lieutenant Luke's ghostly embrace, than the feel of a real, living, warm-blooded man. ‘I've been worried about you,' he told me. ‘It sounded like something serious was going on.'

He searched my eyes for something, though I wasn't sure what.

‘Yes, it was quite urgent. My great-aunt . . .' I began, but trailed off. I thought of Celia holding back the dead. And then chopping the head off Barrett's pesky passenger-parasite. And then being attacked by Deus, his fangs bared. I decided not to try to explain further, and I just smiled, my chin tilted up to Jay's face. ‘But everything is fine now. Again, I'm really sorry,' I said.

‘I'm sure you'll make it up to me somehow,' Jay told me, with a cheeky smile. ‘Are you going somewhere for lunch?'

‘Well, I wasn't planning to.' I'd packed a sandwich.

‘I'd like to chat with you about something, if that's okay,' he said, and I thought I detected something a bit vulnerable in his voice.

Hmmm.

‘Okay. Sure,' I said. It was already noon, so I put my coat on and grabbed my satchel, both of which looked a bit grubby after my recent adventures, I noticed. There were faint grass stains and dirt on the sleeves of the camel-coloured coat (Ingrid Bergman's dress needed a bit of love, too, that's for sure) and some part of me panicked a bit, imagining that Jay would think I'd spent some hours rolling around in the grass since our date. ‘Perhaps we can sit in a park,' I suggested, and crossed my arms to cover the stains.

We left the
Pandora
office, Morticia staring at us as we went, and Jay Rockwell ordered a hotdog from a vendor on the street outside, which I can't imagine was a common meal choice for someone like him. We carried our lunches a few blocks and found an empty bench in Duarte Park in a patch of spring sunshine. The trees around us were coming to life after a cold winter, and the change of weather brought out the warblers and other birds. It was lovely.

‘Pandora, I wanted to tell you that I think you're really different,' Jay said as we tucked into our lunches.

I stiffened a little. ‘Oh?'

He turned towards me on the bench, his hotdog in his lap. ‘It's probably no secret that I have dated a lot of women. You can judge me for that, but I want you to know I've never met anyone like you.'

It had not escaped my attention that he was rather popular with women. I didn't know how to respond.

‘Somehow I feel like I've known you before,' he continued.

I licked my lips. There it was again. The deja vu stuff. Perhaps Elizabeth Bathory's henchwomen hadn't done such a good job of erasing his memory? Or maybe that always happened when you were erased – the memory went, but the emotion stayed? That seemed problematic, to say the least.

‘Are you seeing a lot of women at the moment?' I asked, trying to make the question sound light. Like the ‘friend' who was at the Empire State Building, I thought. I had asked him a similar question before, though that was a couple of months ago now, B.E.
– Before Erasure
. If we were to keep seeing each other I'd have to remember what was B.E. and what was P.E. –
Post Erasure
, so to speak.

Jay hesitated. ‘I have been seeing a couple of women, but nothing serious. And not since our date, obviously,' he said, and then he laughed at himself, amused by the idea that he might have gone on another date since.

‘I do hope you'll forgive me for having to fly off like that,' I said. Of course I couldn't tell him just how literally I'd had to fly.

Jay leaned in, surprising me by becoming serious. ‘Pandora, are you seeing the man who came to get you? Is he a boyfriend of yours?' he asked, and searched my face again.

Was I seeing Deus?
So that's what this was all about.

‘Oh, no,' I replied quickly. ‘Not him. No, he is a friend of my great-aunt. I'm not with him at all.'

He relaxed a touch. Was that what he'd wanted to ask me? It seemed to be. I suppose Deus did leave quite an impression.

‘He's a friend of your great-aunt? He looks pretty young.'

‘You haven't met my great-aunt. She's . . . um . . .'
How could I put it?
‘Full of life.'

I didn't have a lot of time on my lunch break, so I tucked into my sandwich again, watching the cars and pedestrians pass. A woman with a poodle made her way past and the dog lifted its leg to urinate on a post. I looked the other way.

‘You know you made me quite jealous, Pandora,' Jay said, and I paused with the sandwich at my lips.

I put my lunch down. ‘I didn't mean to make you jealous but, now you mention it, I do have something important I need to say.' I shuffled around to face him, my knees touching his. This was as good a time as any, I supposed.

What was the best way to say this? To get the issue off my chest?

‘Jay, I just need you to know that there
is
someone else in my life. I need to be honest with you about that. I was going to tell you, but I had to run off and I didn't get the chance.'

He frowned and appeared to brace himself for my news. ‘Not the man who came to the restaurant?' he ventured.

‘No. This other man in my life died some years back,' I said.

Not that Deus hadn't also died. Technically.

Jay's shoulders relaxed with that news. ‘Oh. I'm so sorry to hear that.'

‘But he is very special to me, regardless of his death,' I continued. ‘I need to be clear. I hope that doesn't sound too strange?' I'd been thinking about the issue a lot over the weekend.

‘I understand,' he said, though I doubted that was true, strictly speaking. ‘It's not strange at all. Not a day goes by that I don't think about my mother.'