The Tower of the Forgotten (16 page)

The
archangel nodded.

"So,
the Almighty has made more plans, then?"

"Always." He tilted his head and frowned slightly at her. "Do you doubt?"

"Always." She turned away from him. "The
thing is, I liked the life I had. You were right about that when I was a child,
there’s no argument there. But things are different
now. I have a life full of wonderful people who I love and who love me in
return."

"Yes," he agreed. "Hester loved you a great
deal. And Imogen, too. And many, many others."

"And
I am not done with that."

"That
is not up to you to decide."

"No?"

He
spread his hands and half-shrugged.

She
faced him, striding up to him to look right into his perfect eyes. "What happens to me now? Where am I? Where is Imogen?"

Gabriel
sighed. "You are here." Portia protested, but he silenced her. "You will never understand so long as there is doubt in your
heart. Have faith."

"There
are precious few things in which I have absolute faith." She glanced at her naked wrist and felt the pain at the
loss of her lover’s token redoubled.

"And
I am not one of them. I understand. I can hear the voice of your soul, Portia.
I know what it is you most want."

"Listen,
Messenger of Angels, I am not in the mood for riddles. Say what you came to say
and be done with it."

"Have
you someplace to be?"

She
had no answer for him.

"You
understand that you are dead, yes?"

"So
I’ve been told. Although it is awfully hard to
believe it." She flexed her fingers
and flapped her wings.

"And
the order of the Grigori is at war with itself."

The
wave of panic and guilt surprised her. "War?"

He
nodded, and Portia understood the inevitable consequences of the sequence of
events set in motion so many years ago. She and Nigel were only tiny pieces in
the great mosaic of this conflict: to serve, or to rule. The divide had always
run deep between the houses, and Alaric had exploited that to the last.

"And
that’s why you’re here. That’s why I’m here." She indicated the beach around them.

Gabriel
nodded. "I come to offer you a choice."

"If
one of those choices is to go back and fight alongside my fellow Gyony, to set
the world to rights again, then don’t even tell me what the
other option is. I don’t care. I will finish
this."

He
watched the waves for a long moment, as if reading something in their
undulations. Finally, he smiled. "I should have known you
would say that. Very well." He bent down and
reached straight into the sand in front of his bare toes.

Up
came the axe. It shone as if it had been newly polished.

Portia
gasped as she took it from him and held it in front of her.

"But
Nicor…"

Gabriel
shushed her. "He will never realize it
is missing. This is destined to be yours and yours alone. For always."

She
reveled in the feeling of the battleaxe’s familiarity in her
hands, the now-tempered presence of Zepar within the weapon, but she also felt
its weight, the burden she had so eagerly asked to carry once more.

The
sun, she realized, was beginning to set. It stood only a few finger widths
above the horizon.

"Gabriel,
I want to ask one thing."

But
the beach was empty, save for a few long, dark shadows cast by the rocks along
the strand.

"Did
Imogen survive?" she asked anyway,
knowing he would not answer. And she wondered if it mattered. They had both
already been through life and through death, and it was not as if Portia did
not know a way to get back to the world of the dead, whether through Alaric
Regalii’s basement portal, or through Soloman
Aldias’ passage through the Penemue chapter
house, or by walking straight through the portal torn into the world where the
tower had once stood.

She
sighed and rubbed her wrist, thinking of Imogen. "Because
that was the other choice, wasn’t it?"

A
seagull’s staccato call was the only response she
was granted.

Portia
picked her way around the cliff’s edge, wading around
the leeward peak and coming onto a broader beach of finer sand. Not so far from
the shoreline, a blasted rock poked a few yards up from the pounding surf. It
looked to have been struck by lightning, so violently was it split apart, with
a strange, glass-like formation fused to its jagged peak.

Higher
on the beach, where the dunes leveled out into a grassy plateau, a team of
workman hauled broken lumber and discarded materials onto a waiting flatbed
trailer hitched to a nervous-looking mule.

Portia
smoothed what remained of her frayed tunic over her wings as she tucked them as
close to her back as possible.

Grunting, the workers heaved a metal arch
out of the debris pile. Although the lettering had been badly scorched, Portia
could still read the words:
Circus Avernus
. The gateway to hell.

And well it had been.

A
few children played with a large dog in the surf’s
edge, ignoring the shouts of their mothers who carried hampers of provisions to
the menfolk clearing the grounds. The tide pushed up higher and higher, and the
boisterous youngsters were finally successfully herded back toward town, the
canine right on their heels, hopping up to sniff at a basket for a handout. One
of the women tossed it a tidbit and called out a name. The dog went to her
side, obediently following her home.

The
men moved off to the remains of Portia’s old pavilion and their
conversations dwindled to chewing and murmurs. She continued along the beach,
vaguely following the route of the wives toward Capitola-by-the-Sea. From
there, she figured, she could make her way up the winding road to Soquel
Village and Alaric’s house. Depending on
what she found, she would decide her next move. Possibly back to Penemue, or
wherever Captain Cadmus was stationed. He would need her, and she did not plan
to disappoint him.

But
for the moment, she strolled alone with her thoughts and the sea. Somewhere,
these very waters mingled with those of the other world, the realm of the dead.
Portia crouched down into the waves and ran her fingers through the foam.

"For
you who did not need to die for our sins, I can only hope that death is kind. I
can offer nothing to you but justice and vengeance." She sighed, thinking of Imogen somewhere beyond the water’s edge on the other side of life. "And hope."

Portia
swirled her hands through the water. "May Saint Jude, the
patron saint of lost causes, look down on us all with mercy and love.
Especially me."

She
stood and wrung out what was left of the hem of her wide-legged trousers as
sunset gilded the beach. She turned to face the town; already the streetlights
were lit, showing her the way back.

Down
the strand, the last beachcomber of the day rose from the pampas grass and came
toward the same path. Portia hurried on ahead, not wanting to draw attention to
herself. She suspected that she still looked as strange as ever with the added
disfigurement of a very disturbing, very visible scar just below her left
collarbone. Not to mention she carried an enormous golden battleaxe.

It
was not a long walk back to town, but long enough to not want to share it with
a stranger who might ask too many questions. She wondered if she ought not try
to hide out in the dunes or back by the cliff until night fell and she could
sneak more easily out to Soquel. So she turned back, hiking up her tunic until
she could cover her once-wounded shoulder completely and trusting the bright,
slanting rays of the setting sun to disguise her hair and her eyes, for
everything looked silver and gold in its light just then. Even the beachcomber
looked to have a great halo of brilliant red hair.

I never even got to say goodbye
to her
, Portia realized, struggling to remember what her last
words to Imogen had been. She hoped she had told her that she loved her.

Lost in her thoughts, she nearly forgot
about trying to keep a low profile as the stranger approached. She turned away
suddenly, looking out over the desolate circus yard where the workmen played a
last round of cards before starting their night shift.

Portia.

It stung to remember her voice. At least
before there had been something of her remaining, something to share, even if
it was only ghostly kisses and the perfume of lilies. This would be a long road
alone.

"Portia?"

She
skipped a step and stole a glance toward the path.

The
beachcomber had stopped, blocking the way back down to the water. The light was
too bright for Portia to see a way around, so she waited for the sun to finally
sink into the horizon. Already, it had deepened to an egg yolk orange and was
well on its way to red.

"Portia?"

Squinting,
she could see that the woman had moved closer, to within arms’ reach.

"Speak
to me, Portia. This has to be real. Please, say something."

"Imogen?" The eye-watering glare subsided, finally, settling into a
reddish glow that shimmered in the sea mist around them. Portia shook her head,
but the woman remained on the path. "It can’t possibly be you."

"Can’t possibly be
me
? I’m
not the one who was last seen dashing off into a rift engine in the underworld,
never to be heard from again!"

"But you were all covered in glyphs and
facing down Adramelech and Nicor…"

Imogen
looked away, suddenly shy. "About that…well, I have a terrific new perspective on your life."

"I don’t understand."

"Fereshte, I’d like to introduce you to Iaoth." And the wings she spread gleamed like the dawn.

"Oh, Imogen!"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time. And I would never have been able to
convince Adramelech to go on his merry way otherwise. And Nicor left Radinka of
his own volition. Or did you help with that?"

"I severed their bindings. All four of them."

"So we were a team, after all!" Imogen threw her arms
around Portia and they were as heavy and solid as any living thing’s.

"So, you’re alive? You made it out of the tower?"

"I’m as alive as you are."

"Oh. I see."

"It isn’t so bad. We’re even now, you and me."

"We cannot age gracefully together?"

"Exactly." Imogen grinned. "I had quite gotten used
to being dead anyhow, and this is a marked improvement."

"Things will be so different now."

"They already are. Portia, the Grigori as we knew them are gone. The houses are at
one another’s throats. Some wish to
see the rift closed and others wish to use it."

"And Gyony falls where?"

"On the side of humanity, of course. What else are we to do? The Captain has
marshaled the House at Alaric’s estate and is
searching for the way to close the tear."

Portia
nodded. "The four demons. They helped to summon
the power; we need them to put it back to rights."
She thought of the sacrifice of souls. "Or we just need to
resign ourselves to an eternity of guarding that damned whirlpool if it can’t be closed again."

"That’s exactly what the Captain said. He will be so very glad to
see you. Everyone thought you were lost."

"For
a while there, I thought so, too." Portia touched Imogen’s cheek, still marveling at the feel of her soft skin. "What are you doing down here, anyway?"

"What am
I
doing
here?" Imogen laughed and hugged her again. "This." She held out her arm, where
Portia’s key charm on its silk ribbon hung on her wrist. "I came down a few
days afterward, just to get some air and get away and think of you. It washed
up on the beach, right at my feet. And I thought… I thought, maybe…" Emotion
swallowed her words, and she wiped at the tears on her cheeks. "So I came
back," she whispered. "Every day. And I waited. Because you said…you said you’d
come back. You promised me we’d find a way to be together, always, no matter what."
She broke down, her voice shuddering into sobs, and Portia put her arms around
her.

Portia held her tight. "Yeah, I guess I
did."

"How did
you
get
here?"

"The same way the key did, by way of the
sea."

"I
tried to get to you. I heard you call my name, but then everything went black.
I could hardly see out of my own eyes, and I knew yours were lost to me. Kitty
came racing back to us with the world afire behind her. She got us home safely.
Well, most of us."

"What
do you mean?"

"Radinka.
She didn’t want to leave you behind. She said she
was responsible. She went back for you. Kendrick’s
been inconsolable."

"Oh!
No!"

Portia
wanted to dash back out into the waves, to swim back to that chamber and force
her way to that world. But as if reading her thoughts, Imogen squeezed her
hand.

"Kitty
already took him back there, to whatever’s left there, to find
her. He figured if you could do it, he could."

"How
long has he been gone?"

"Only
a day and a half. I’m not worried yet. He
has a courageous heart and he lives only for her."

"I
know what that’s like."

"I
expect he’ll be successful for that very same
reason. I just hope he hurries. The Captain is ready to move and we’ll need all the help we can get."

Purple-blue
gloaming fell across the beach, and the workmen lit their lanterns and went
back to their business.

"They’re a busy lot, aren’t they?"

"They’ve been here every day save Sundays, rain or shine, since I’ve been back. Someone’s bought this property."

"Do
you know who?"

Imogen
shook her head. "No. A foreigner, I’m told. Wants to put a hotel here."

"No
suspicious layout or extravagant use of copper wiring?"

"None
yet."

"Something
else to be on the watch for, I suppose."