The Tower of the Forgotten (5 page)

They
found the wings a bit cumbersome, but Portia managed to arrange them to act as
both bedding and shield should anyone come wandering too near the pavilion that
night. Slowly, she traced her fingertips along her beloved’s body, reacquainting herself with its soft curves and
valleys. She stroked Imogen’s face from her forehead
to her chin, following each caress with a kiss. Imogen’s lips were as sweet as ever; the familiar
vanilla-strawberry taste of them was darker now, flavored with myrrh and a hint
of lily. The faint trace of death made the mixture all that more precious to
Portia, who held her close just to listen to her heartbeat. It was the most
treasured sound she could imagine.

Until
she heard Imogen gasp with pleasure and cry out her name.

* * * *

The moonlight fell across their scattered
clothes, shining on the satin as it lay crumpled on the floor. They lay nestled
together on the cot, limbs entwined, covered with Portia’s glittering wings.
Flesh pressed against flesh, feeling warm, alive, and invincible.

"So,
they are staging an offensive, the Grigori?"

"They are
talking
about
it," Imogen corrected, sounding annoyed. "All they ever do is talk."

"There’s a reason for that." Portia sighed.
"I don’t know how deeply the Primacy is involved, but we can’t trust anyone.
Anyone but the Captain and each other. We need to move. Nigel is planning…I can
feel it, even now." She spoke the last with regret. Nigel’s distant but
constant presence had been a shadow on their lovemaking, but she had kept it
from Imogen.

Imogen
shifted to gaze up into Portia’s golden eyes. "It’s quite all right. I
felt it too. There is no avoiding it this close to the epicenter. That’s why I had to come. I knew you’d be languishing here on your own." She sat up and looked defiantly toward the tower. "Besides, let him watch—it’s all he can do. He can watch and watch until the sun burns
out and he will never have what we have."

Portia
kissed her forehead, marveling at the subtle shift of the aura around her eyes,
around what had been, on the spirit side, Portia’s
eyes.

"You
know, this circus has a very strange layout. It doesn’t make a lot of sense as an entertainment area, but as a
ritual space…" Imogen said.

"Yes!
I am so glad you noticed it, too. I must show you the little stones—copper beads, actually." Portia paused,
remembering. "You talked about an advert? What was in it?"

"‘The
Tower of Miracles.’ They have discovered a spring at the base of the tower and they are advertising it as a cure-all."

Portia
groaned. "Of course they are!"

"That’s not all. There is a plan for
them to allow people
inside
."

"You’re kidding!"

"I’m afraid not. More souls to feed that machine. Can’t you hear the engine? It is getting louder."

She
remembered the roar of the rift engine and the tear that had opened in the sky,
sundering the wall between Salus and Capitola-by-the-Sea. It was not enough,
Portia knew. Nigel wanted more; he wanted total domination, and he now had the
resources at hand to accomplish it. "I need to see the actual
schematics of this place. I have an idea of what they are trying to do, but I
want to be certain before we decide on a plan."

Imogen
nodded. "I can help with that."

"You
can?"

"Halford
Kirkley is a cad with a roving hand. And I can definitely turn it to my
advantage."

"No. I will not allow it."

"I don’t mean him to have his way with me!"

"Imogen, we’ll find some other way. Don’t sully yourself at his grubby hands!"

"Nonsense! That isn’t what I have planned at all! Watch." She rose from the cot with some effort. "Close your eyes."

"I don’t see how games are going to help."

"Just trust me."

"Fine." Portia shut her eyes and flopped back down on the cot.

"Now imagine you have your old eyes back."

"What?"

"Bring yourself to a point before the tower, when your eyes and your sight were your
own."

Drawing
a steadying breath, Portia did as Imogen asked. "All right."

"Now,
look
."

Portia glanced over to where Imogen was
crouched. Portia’s back was to Imogen, and yet she saw the floor clearly.
Imogen had taken her striped stockings and spelled out the letters I and P and
formed Portia’s gown into a heart shape between them. From Portia’s vantage
point on the cot, there was no way she could have seen the display, but the
image was clear as day to her. She realized that she was looking through
Imogen’s eyes. Or at least her own eyes that lived in Imogen’s being.

"I see," Portia said.

"Exactly! So, all I have to do it
get to where
I
can see the plans, and then we’ll both know
what this is all about. That way you won’t have to risk your little escape act
during the day when people will see you."

"You’re brilliant! I love you!"

Imogen
sauntered back toward the cot, her hair a fiery mantle that barely concealed
her naked body. "How far do you think we
could take it, this connection? Do you think if we thought about it, that we
could feel what the other feels?" She sank to her knees
before Portia and nibbled playfully on her lover’s
kneecap.

"I
don’t know," Portia gasped.

Let’s find out." Imogen ran her tongue
across Portia’s inner thigh and nipped
the soft flesh there.

Portia
could hear her little yelp of pleasure echoed back to her through Imogen’s thoughts. "Yes," she whispered. "I think we can."

"I think we should make sure." Imogen
dipped her tongue into the warm recess of the cleft between Portia’s legs.
Pleasure overlaid pleasure, and Portia soon lost track of which sensations
belonged to whom. And she found that it did not matter in the slightest.

—
4
—

"A SUMMONING CIRCLE." Imogen’s voice was grim. They
sat together over her copy of the plans in the pleasantly golden light of the
setting sun. "We were right."

"I hate being right about these things."

"Me too."

Portia
sat back on her heels, tilting her head to regard the hastily sketched layout
of the new Circus Avernus from a different angle. It did not change the
outcome. "How can they not realize what this is?"

Imogen
shrugged. "Perhaps if they do know what it is, the
money is worth it. You should have seen the take today." She shuddered. "They’ve started a causeway that leads right up to the tower
itself. Four people have already drowned trying to reach the spring."

"So,
instead of blocking off access, they are making it easier for their supplicants
to reach it."

"For
a small fee, of course. They’ve also opened a shop at
the near end, next to the promenade’s gates."

"Selling
the water, no doubt."

"The
water, the rocks, and…these." Imogen pulled one of Portia’s
feathers from the reticule that hung from her belt. "They don’t have many, and at the
prices they are charging, they aren’t likely to run short
anytime soon. But we cannot allow you to remain here much longer. It isn’t safe."

Portia
ran both hands through her silver hair and growled. Frustration gnawed deeply
into her soul. "Has the Primacy sent word? Captain Cadmus?

Anyone?"

You’d likely know before I would. The Primacy has no idea I’m here."

"I’m sure they do. And I know this plays into Lord Alaric’s plan, somehow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow we put a stop to this.
People are dying, Nigel grows stronger, and I am damned tired of sitting here
like a trinket on a shelf."

Smiling,
Imogen ran a finger along Portia’s cheek. "But a lovely trinket."

Portia
paced the enclosure as dawn stained the tower pink and gold. Imogen rose,
rubbing her eyes.

"Didn’t you sleep?"

Portia
shook her head. "Haven’t needed to since I came back."

"I see."

It’s a perk."

"If you say so." Imogen stretched and
yawned widely.

Portia’s glass enclosure rattled. The walls trembled softly again,
and something clattered to the wood flooring in the viewing area. Rising onto
her toes, Portia could see that there was a waterlogged shoe lying a few feet
away and a grimy splatter on the glass.

"That’s odd."

The bodies hit with such a force that Portia immediately feared the glass would not
hold. Two came from the arcade and two more threw themselves onto the skylight.
They beat their green-grey flesh against the barrier, oozing seawater and pus
from between their fingers.

"You said four drowned trying to reach the tower?"

"Yes," Imogen said.

"Ah. Well, they seem to have a new purpose now."

"What should we do? Fight them?"

The skylight, not made to withstand the weight of two adults writhing around on it,
began to crack.

"Seems so."

The
glass above them seemed to cry out as it gave way, dumping two rank bodies
nearly into their laps. The two remaining outside grew agitated and redoubled
their efforts against the glass.

The
first creature righted itself and plucked the glass shards from its face and
belly. It regarded them a moment before swinging its glass-laden fists at
Portia. She dodged easily and watched as the second creature went after Imogen.
Stepping toward her beloved, she realized there was no need. For all her
delicate and willowy frame, Imogen was an accomplished fighter. She brought her
elbow down into the ghoul’s collarbone as it
sought to wrap its hands around her throat. The bone broke easily, and with a
sickening wet sound, but the creature did not slow its assault.

Portia
took the drowned creature in both hands, reaching under its tattered sleeves to
touch its bloated flesh. Her fingers scalded it, but she did not dare let go.
She half expected it to ignite like a fiend might, but instead, the pitiful
thing only wailed as it melted into a clotted heap of putrid silk and hair.

Behind
her, Imogen had forced her attacker to the floor and delivered blow after blow
into what remained of its skull with the heel of her suede boots. Portia
lamented only a moment that the stains would never come out of them as she
reached for a bit of the creature’s exposed leg and
gripped it fiercely with both hands. This one had far more fight in it than the
other had; it tried to kick free before finally collapsing with a hiss of gas
that reeked of low tide.

The
two others refrained from their attacks on the glass enclosure and looked to
the tower like dogs awaiting the whistle of their master. Portia wasted no
time.

"Imogen, close your eyes!"

Without
waiting to see if she complied, Portia opened the floodgates on her inner fire,
letting it stream out from her unfettered. The wave of light struck the two
ghouls, and they fell back, howling. A fearsome roar rose up through the light.
The glass walls arced momentarily before blowing out with a crash that woke
dogs in Capitola-by-the-Sea, a half-mile away.

"Let’s go." Portia wrapped her arms
around Imogen. With a few sweeps of her wings, they rose through the ruined
pavilion and into the brightening day.

She
did not lower them to the circus grounds, but made for the tower. She flew
straight for the balcony from which she had been plucked by the airship crew
weeks ago. Her golden axe had fallen when she was captured, she remembered. As
they landed upon the balcony, there was no sign of it.

Portia
could feel it, though, she could nearly hear it calling her name with her
father’s velvety voice. And she also knew it was
not alone.

"Stay
here. Do not set one toe over this threshold, do you understand?"

Imogen
nodded, her double-layered irises swirling a shade darker with worry.

"I’ll be fine. I already know I can come and go from here. I’ll be right back."

Portia
stepped into the room. It reverberated as she passed into the halfway house
between the living realm and the spirit. In strange, translucent layers, she
could see Celestine’s blood as well as the
piles of discarded books and scrolls. Over it all, there were shadow-puppets of
the maidens, of Imogen and Kanika, of herself, those last moments before the
rending of the worlds.

"Oh, sister, I knew you’d be back soon."

At
first, Portia could not tell if the voice came from the here and now or the
weird tangle of memories pervading the tower. But the moment she saw him, she
could not doubt that Nigel was very present.

He
looked quite different; quite alive, in fact. Squinting a moment, she could see
why. Beneath his all-too-casual exterior of tweed pants, leather suspenders,
and one of his annoyingly perfectly pressed dress shirts, it looked like he had
swallowed a pocket watch. A circular metal object hovered in the middle of his
chest, blinking. Around his waist, beneath his clothing, a belt encircled him. Leather,
but studded with copper disks, and both the belt and the disk at his chest were
engraved with glyphs. She recognized the hybridization of science and magic; it
was what had gotten them into this mess to begin with. It bore the unmistakable
mark of Lady Analise’s plotting. Portia also
noticed the Lady was missing from Nigel’s garland of ghosts—in fact, he walked aura-less and empty, devoid of even
Kanika’s weakened shade.