The Dire King (Jackaby #4)(57)

“Is she all right?” I cried.

“It’s drained her,” he answered, pulling Serif farther from the strange light. I helped him prop her against the wall. She was barely breathing. “She was in poor shape to begin with, but that thing sapped her in an instant.”

“Will she live?” I whispered.

With a series of mechanical clacks and clicks above us, the machine stopped swiveling. Cogs whirred to a stop.

“She really won’t,” came a familiar voice from above us. Morwen Finstern stood at the crumbling edge of the landing above ours, black blade at her hip and a smirk on her lips. “And neither will you, in case you were wondering.”





Chapter Twenty-Three

Miss Finstern,” said Jackaby. “You’re looking rather . . . villainous. Have you considered not destroying the world, though?”

Morwen sneered. “We aren’t going to destroy the world, you stupid man. We’re going to bring it back. We’re going to make things the way they’re supposed to be again. Your kind have spent far too long alone in an empty arena that was meant for blood. You’ve forgotten what it means to fight for your lives. You’ve grown fat and weak.”

“So kind of you to look out for our best interests. Disseminating some nice pamphlets with advice on diet and exercise might be less trouble for everyone, though. I’d be happy to help you print them up. I know a fellow with his own press. He does marvelous woodcuts.”

“Our kind have grown weak as well,” Morwen continued, ignoring Jackaby. “They have dulled their blades with bureaucracy and diplomacy. They don’t remember what it means to be wild any longer. They live their lives in chains and call it freedom. My father is going to return the worlds to a glorious new age of chaos.”

“Where is that friendly father of yours? Off giving schoolchildren nightmares?”

“He is coming,” said Morwen with a menacing smile. “He is setting in motion the next stage of his plan.”

“And what might that be?” I asked. I was slowly moving toward Serif’s sword. Morwen did not appear to have noticed.

“The final one,” she said with sinister delight. “He will be very pleased you came to see it done.”

“Will he be pleased about this?” I said. I whipped Serif’s sword out of its sheath and swiped it at the pipe climbing up the wall beside me. It chimed like a church bell. My wrist throbbed with the vibration. The pipe was barely chipped.

“About your ineptitude?” she asked. “He might be a little amused.”

Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs behind me, and I turned to see a man with enormous muttonchop sideburns and wild eyes climbing up the second-floor landing. He reached the top and snarled. His teeth looked very sharp.

“Your assistance is not required, Mr. Loup,” Morwen said lazily. The hairy man did not approach, but he did remain locked in place, effectively blocking any chance we might have had at making our exit down the stairs.

“Oh, come on!” I kicked at the pipe. It shifted and began to hiss from a seam a few feet up. I might not be able to take apart the whole building, but I would do as much damage as I could before she got to me. I kicked again, and a fine mist began to spray over us.

“Please, no,” Morwen said in mock concern. “Don’t ruin the cooling lines.”

“Miss Rook, I think perhaps it would be unwise—” Jackaby began, but I drove one more kick into the pipe, and the metal split, a stream of water gushing out at once.

The fountain cascading over our heads did not splash down across the landing. It arced through the air and then defied physics to spin around us instead. It was a ribbon of whirling liquid, and then a wide band, growing thicker as more water fed it from the ruptured line. Mr. Loup chuckled thickly from the stairs. My eyes shot up. Morwen was spinning a hand lazily in the air as though stirring a pot with her fingers. I cursed inwardly. Nixie. Water spirit. I was an idiot.

“You know, I do enjoy a good evisceration, but it’s been months since I properly drowned anyone,” Morwen mused. The water was quickly spreading into a thick dome. Soon it would be enough to encapsulate us in a complete globe of water. With all of those muscular monsters waiting right outside the door, I had not expected to be killed by a bubble.

“The window,” Jackaby whispered. He nodded toward the rend, where, through the distortion of the gurgling wall of water, I could still make out the rip into our world. The hole torn through the fabric of the veil had ceased growing any larger, but the image of Mary all dressed in blue hung before us, dancing and bobbing on the far side of the wave. “We can make it if we move fast.”

“What?” I whispered back. “Even if we could, the machine is still on.”

“Three,” said Jackaby.

“Wait, we can’t—”

“Two.”

“Sir!”

“One!” Jackaby grabbed me by the hand and leapt. I felt my body slow down as we crashed through the water. For a horrifying second I was afraid that I wouldn’t have the momentum to escape its clutches, but then I was tumbling out the other side and Jackaby was pulling me to my feet. Soaking wet, we reached the edge of the demolished landing and jumped.

We leapt over the humming generators, through the glowing golden light, and into another world entirely.