Chapter 74
The asylum was a madhouse. I sprinted down the basement hall, shoving past newly born slipshots, shifty-eyed pickpockets, and a congregation of shills and growlings.
The hallways were congested with Jagger’s creatures.
All of them were awake long past dawn, which was unheard of unless Jagger demanded it. Which he had.
Gleeful chatter jumped from the ceilings and swung down the hallways. They were building weapons, stealing weapons, anticipating chaos. They didn’t care who won or who lost, as long as they could join in the fray.
My high heels clicked like gunshots as I ran.
The former denizens of Hell Gate wanted to kill the conjurers, and Jagger had promised them they would. Better yet, the Knife was back.
The creatures in the asylum shouted, whispered, chortled, and cackled the news. It rebounded off the walls and reverberated through the halls, until the words were as powerful as a riot.
The Knife was back.
As soon as I stepped past the asylum’s ghostly facade, the walls shouted the news.
I clutched the torn tulle of my bridesmaid dress and sprinted into the cold, dark depths of the madhouse.
He was back.
He was back.
He was back.
The dark tore at my bloodstained dress. The cool underground air burned my lungs. The fear, the worry, the guilt, and the grief grappled in my chest and pressed against my beating heart.
He was back.
How long had he been inside the den?
Was he okay?
Was he himself?
The backs of my eyes stung, and my throat burned. Jagger’s will hammered at the onslaught of joy and hope, but it flared so brightly nothing could dampen it. My blood burned, and I gasped, running faster.
Creatures threw themselves out of my way, but not before I heard more whispers.
“—came back depraved—"
“—killed fifteen growlings before Jagger settled him—”
“—no conjurer’ll be able to stop him now—”
“—not the Knife anymore. You seen him? A nightmare—”
“—He’s a mine. You know what a mine is? You’d better pray you never see one. No! There she— Look out!”
I dragged in a shaking breath and slowed as I rounded the final corner.
I smoothed my hair, shoving down the flyaways and tucking the loose strands behind my ears.
It’d fallen out of its braids sometime between the wedding and now.
I smeared my sweaty palms against my dress and steadied my shaking hands.
He was back.
If I could weep, I would. Instead, I blew out a slow breath and curled my fingers into my palms. I smoothed my expression and let Jagger’s blood devour the wellspring of joy and the shoots of hope. I tamed my throbbing heart and the pulse of happiness.
I hadn’t known what Winnie would do when I told her I’d left Justice in the Den of Depravity because he wasn’t worth saving. I hadn’t dared to hope.
She’d touched the back of my hand and asked, “Do you think he’s thrown himself in the lake yet?”
And I’d said, thinking of Winnie’s passenger pigeons, “I don’t know.”
She’d smiled and left. And I still hadn’t hoped.
But she’d found him. She’d saved him. She’d brought him back.
I lifted my fist, about to knock on Jagger’s door.
Then I tamped down all my joy. Justice wouldn’t thank me for feeling anything for him in front of Jagger.
In fact, if Jagger tasted the sweet unknotting of relief, the stark happiness, and my desire to spin in circles, shout to the sky, and yank Justice into my arms and hold him tight, he might just make me shove Justice back into the den so he could feel my mountaintop happiness tumble from its high place and dash against his rocky pit.
So I extinguished all the good and left only the bitter and the bad.
My knuckles were about to connect with the wooden door when Griff darted around the corner and grabbed my wrist. His grip was firm as he tugged my hand away from the door.
“What?” I whispered.
Slowly, he shook his head and then nodded to the closed door.
I frowned, trying to read his expression.
Yesterday, Jagger had sent him on a mission to kill conjurers.
He’d lived. Thank goodness. But with every passing day, he was losing bits and pieces of himself.
His hair was still floppy, his eyes still puppy-innocent and limpid, but there was a cynical hardness in his expression that had never been there before.
He’d always looked for the best in everyone—even in Hell Gate.
He’d always searched for the kindness and the good, even while living in an earthly hell.
My breath caught, and I winced as I realized Griff was being chipped away.
Jagger was eroding him, little by little.
It was hard to notice, because Griff was so good. But the wear and tear were written in the new lines on his face. He shook his head again, and then, holding his pointer finger to his lips, he gestured for me to be quiet.
I nodded, and then Griff pulled me to the side. He leaned against the stone wall, crossing his arms over his chest. I stood next to him, biting my bottom lip.
I tapped my foot.
Griff stared pointedly as the sound echoed through the hall.
I let out a long sigh.
Griff lifted his eyebrows.
I clutched my dirty, torn, bloodstained tulle dress and stood on my tiptoes to whisper in Griff’s ear, “Justice is back. Haven’t you heard?”
He gripped my shoulders, turned me to face him, and pressed his forehead against mine. His messy hair tickled. He stared into my eyes.
“What?” I mouthed.
Griff took my hand and traced a pattern on my palm. I shook my head. He frowned and traced it again. I didn’t understand. He traced it again, and, frustrated, he tapped it three times.
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “That’s not true.”
Griff only stared at me, his mouth an uncompromising line. He tapped the center of my palm again, right where he’d drawn the pictogram for evil.
I tore my hand away and shook my head.
Griff grabbed my hand again and tapped it three times, his gaze mulish.
“You think Justice is evil?”
Griff nodded. There was a warning in his gaze.
Griff was the last of us to still be a nine.
He’d witnessed both Justice and I become mines, and he’d wept both times.
Our transitions had terrified him. After, he’d always worn a frightened, mournful expression.
It reminded me of the look of a puppy whose once kind owners had locked it in a cage, starved it, and beat it instead of giving it treats and hugs.
The puppy couldn’t help but wonder where its loving owners had gone, and deep down, it believed they’d be back.
No matter how frightened Griff had been at our becoming mines, he’d never looked like this.
Resolutely resigned. Grief-stricken but insistent.
Maybe he’d looked for the good in Justice and hadn’t been able to find it.
But no—
“No. He isn’t.” He can’t be. “You’re wrong.”
Griff tapped his nose, reminding me he was the Jersey Devil’s son and he could smell people’s sins. Before, he’d said Justice smelled like blood on the edge of a knife. I wondered what he smelled like now.
He wouldn’t be able to tell me. He expected me to trust him—or, at the very least, to trust his warning.
“You’d probably say I’m evil too.”
Griff crossed his arms over his chest and stared at me.
I shook my head, turned, and went to knock on Jagger’s door. If Justice was inside, I wanted to see him.
I rapped my knuckle and heard Jagger’s muffled growl.
“Enter!”
I closed my eyes, gathered my equilibrium, and pushed open the door.
It wasn’t Justice cloistered in the cold stone room with Jagger—it was Ragnor Bard.
He probably thought I wouldn’t recognize him. He was covered in illusion. Prusik knots, blood knots, overhands, and bowlines. There were even back splices and chain splices.
His conjuring was almost as good as Luvic’s, but I’d known for a long time no one was as good as Luvic at becoming someone else. Luvic had honed his skill through necessity and daily practice, whereas Ragnor had never needed to hide his identity until now.
He was cloaked as a short, flaccid man with jaundiced skin and a spritz of hair ringing his bald head. He smelled like body odor and dirty socks.
I closed the door quietly as Ragnor’s mouth tightened. He was probably remembering yanking me out from under his bed. Or maybe he was remembering the wedding. That was more likely, since I was still wearing my bridesmaid dress.
“Mari,” Jagger welcomed, his rockslide voice edged with laughter. “How was the wedding?”
I kept my gaze on Ragnor. His hand twitched like he was tempted to conjure a knife and fling it at me.
“Pleasant. Who’s our new friend?”
Jagger’s laugh tumbled free. “He’s leaving.”
Ragnor shifted in his chair, giving Jagger a surprised glance.
At Jagger’s sharp-toothed grin, Ragnor shoved his chair back. Then he braced his palms on Jagger’s desk and leaned forward threateningly.
“If you send your pet after me again, I’ll put a leash on her and keep her. Do you understand me, leggerock?”
I closed my eyes, wincing at the sound of Ragnor’s voice. He was using illusion, wrapping his words in barbs and nettles. Each syllable stabbed my eardrums and scraped down my ear canal.
My eardrums convulsed, and I swayed, my balance thrown off. Then my ears popped, and Ragnor shoved past.
I winced at the slammed door, pressing my hands to my ears.
Jagger watched me with a small smile. “Pet?”
Apparently, leggerock hearing wasn’t as sensitive as a human’s.
“Ragnor?” I asked.
“Pet?” he repeated.
If there was one thing about Jagger that remained consistent, it was that he didn’t like to share.
Ragnor saying he’d keep me was probably the worst thing he could’ve said to Jagger.
I doubt he meant it. Bards tended to throw threats around like confetti at a parade.
For instance, Celia had a fondness for threatening to lop off body parts to use as props in a play.
“I had a run-in with him. He got upset.”
Jagger smirked and stroked his obsidian knife. “I may be sentimental, but I like the other one better. It’s a shame this one wasn’t actually dead. I thought Luvic knew better. I thought I’d taught him better than to leave betrayers alive.”
I lifted my eyebrows.
Jagger smiled.
Not for the first time, I wondered if he knew I’d helped Luvic escape all those years ago. Luvic had killed me after I freed him. Did Jagger know that was really how I’d died?
Maybe the stones had told him.
Maybe . . .
“I didn’t know we were friends with Ragnor.”
Jagger pulled a bottle of Furtig out from under his desk. He eased the cork from the bottle. It freed with a sharp pop. The Furtig hissed and moaned, and Jagger tilted it toward me, offering a sip.
Furtig was strange. There were times—like now—when it made noises.
It never sounded like the hiss and fizz of champagne, nor the glug of a swiftly poured alcohol.
Its moans were manifold. Sometimes, I heard the wail of an express train, its brakes screeching against metal.
Other times, I heard floorboards groaning beneath a heavy weight.
Sometimes, there was the wail of an old woman.
Sometimes, the Furtig exhaled noisily, gurgling on its own liquid breath.
Once, I’d heard a shriek and then the boom of a cannon at the pop of the cork.
None of the sounds were liquid sloshing or alcohol glugging.
All of the sounds were the moan and hiss of spirits.
No. I didn’t want Furtig.
I shook my head. “No, thank you.”
“I’m not asking.”
I stared at the bottle. My breath grew tight in my lungs. A whining, frightened noise grew louder in my ears. Was that me, or was it the Furtig?
“To answer your question . . . we’ve been friends with Ragnor Bard for a very long time. In fact, we’ve been friends ever since he gave us his brother to play with.”
I clutched the cold glass bottle, a numb, horrified feeling tripping over my skin.
I’d always wondered how Jagger had caught Luvic.
Yes, Luvic had been just a boy, but he was still a thirdborn conjurer.
Even as a kid, he was one of the most powerful conjurers alive.
It had always confused me. How had Jagger lured Luvic into the conjurer’s cage?
Why hadn’t his family looked for him? Why hadn’t anyone ever wondered at his absence?
What had Ragnor done? And why?
“Does Luvic know?”
Jagger didn’t answer my question. Instead, he gestured to the bottle. I closed my eyes, breathing in the chrysanthemum and rubbing alcohol scent. The spirits sloshed in the bottle, their fumes rising to sting my eyes.
“Justice has returned,” Jagger said. “He turned out better than I ever imagined. I was too hasty in my judgment of him. He is . . .” Jagger’s flat gray eyes turned a burnished shade of gray, gleaming with greedy satisfaction.
“It was how long he held on. It was the good in him that made the evil in him take root so deeply. If he hadn’t fought .
. . it wouldn’t have had time to sneak in and pervade every crevice of his soul.
You see? The good in him is what opened the door and paved the way.
Now he isn’t just a mine—he’s more. He’s .
. . hmm . . . Do you know where leggerocks come from? ”
“No.”
Jagger smiled. “Neither do we. But we have our suspicions. Don’t hold on too long, Mari. Unless you want to surpass your friend. Drink. Make a toast. To the new Justice.”
I lifted the bottle of Furtig. It snarled like a beast caught in a trap.
“To the new Justice.”
I drank.
A scream filled my ears. Was that me screaming? I dropped to the floor. Jagger leaped over the desk and grabbed the bottle before it spilled from my hand.
The Furtig closed over me, and the door to the world slammed shut.