“Here we are,” Alistair said, turning sharply. The long rows had breaks every so often that worked like cross-streets, and Alistair headed down one of these sections, while Teag and I tried to keep our bearings and make sure we knew how to get out.
Several of the rows we passed had large glass cases full of elaborately dressed dolls. Down another row, I saw the same cases filled with ventriloquist dummies. I remembered the museum’s recent exhibition of antique children’s toys, and saw more cases filled with wind-up cars and trucks.
Everywhere I looked, the rows were filled with interesting items. I wished we could stop to look, but at the same time, I didn’t want to find out by mistake which ones would trigger my gift. I hoped we could make it out without causing a scene.
Alistair stopped between two rows, got his bearings by looking at the row numbers, and headed confidently toward a large wooden box. He lifted it down from the shelf and carried it a short distance to a large table.
“These were some of Jeremiah Abernathy’s personal items, donated after his death by the local authorities,” Alistair said. “Apparently, he was in enough trouble that no one ever came forward to claim his effects.”
I moved closer to see, and Teag looked over my shoulder. I saw a gold pair of cufflinks, a silver flask, gold-rimmed spectacles, and a knife with an antler handle. Even without touching them, I felt the same resonance as I had at the Archive’s exhibit: cold, violent, remorseless… and frightened.
“You said Abernathy was in trouble. Did his luck wane at the end?” I asked.
Alistair nodded. “Oh yes. Not long after the sinking of the Cristobal, in fact. Deals gone bad, associates who turned on him or turned him in, problems with the police, and with the federal government.” He shook his head. “For all the power he once had, Abernathy died violently in fire and a gun battle. Toward the end, he was hounded by his fellow criminals, the authorities, and some say the supernatural.”
Losing control of your demon will do that to you, I thought. Something toward the bottom of the box caught my eye.
“See something, Cassidy?” Teag asked.
I noticed that there were several photographs in the bottom of the box – old tintypes with faded images. Teag reached in and pulled the pictures out, holding them for me to see.
One of the old pictures showed Jeremiah Abernathy standing next to a tall man in a hat. Corban Moran. Moran’s face and skin hadn’t withered in this photograph, and he appeared to be a man in his early forties. But I knew from Sorren that looks could be deceiving. Still, we had the link we needed.
Moran knew Abernathy, and almost certainly knew about the demon. Both Abernathy and Moran came to ruin when the Cristobal sank. Moran, a damaged immortal, showed back up just when Landrieu’s dive team was about to recover the Cristobal treasure. Moran had approached Landrieu, who turned him down. Now Landrieu and his men were missing, probably dead, along with at least half a dozen more unfortunates sacrificed to feed Abernathy’s demon. And now, I thought I had the piece that linked all the rest together.
“We should probably let you get home and have dinner,” I said, conscious of the time and the fact that Teag and I still had to get back without running afoul of a pissed off demon, the demon’s minions or Moran. Just another night in paradise.
Alistair had just replaced the box on the shelf when we heard the ‘clunk’ of an electrical breaker. Half of the lights in the collections room went out. A second later, we heard another ‘clunk’ and the other half flicked off.
Emergency lights cast a dim glow, but shadows stretched between the long corridors and their tall shelves. Alistair looked more annoyed than alarmed. “Well now, that’s unusual,” he said. “I’ll have to have a word with building maintenance. Come on, I can still see well enough to get us out of here.”
We took a few steps and halted as strange sounds carried over the gloom. From one direction, I heard the scuffing of feet, but the footsteps were light, like a small child. From the other direction, we heard the unmistakable sound of a metal key winding up a spring. And from right in front of us, hidden by shadows, came the sound of hundreds of wings flapping.
“Run,” Teag said, grabbing my arm. Alistair hesitated for just a second, and then led the way at a faster-than-dignified pace.
The emergency lights gave off just enough of a bluish glow that we weren’t completely blind, but like driving at twilight, our eyes weren’t functioning at their best, either. I glimpsed movement in the shadows to my right. Whatever was out there wasn’t much taller than our knees, but moving quickly.
“Get us back to the main hallway!” I hissed to Alistair.
From the left came the sound of dozens of music boxes, each playing a different tune, all at the same time. The buzz-click of mechanical joints moving and the shuffle of metal feet on the tile floor echoed in the huge room. I could hear the halting din of metal drums played by tin marchers, the wheeze of old springs wound too tightly, and the grinding hum of wind-up cars and tanks. Something had brought the old toys to life, and set them after us.
“Those are dummies down there,” Teag yelped, pointing to the right. “Ventriloquist dummies, and they’re moving by themselves!”
An impossible flock of birds began to dive bomb us. They flew fast enough to get up a good speed, flocking down the long aisle, intent on closing the gap with us. Passenger pigeons and Carolina parakeets, birds I’d seen in the glass cases, but that no one had seen in flight for over a century because each and every one was dead, taxidermied, and extinct.
Whatever propelled them kept them flying until they reached us, then the dead birds fell from the air, pelting us with their stiff, lifeless bodies.
“The dummies are gaining on us!” Teag warned. I was too busy swatting long-dead birds away from me, getting scratched by their sharp beaks and talons.
Tinny old-time music and wind-up buzzing grew louder as the army of old toys marched and rolled toward us. Paint peeling, dented and bent, their advance was incredibly creepy, and they were moving much faster than they should have been able to go.
The dummies and the toys rounded the corner, pouring into the main cross-hallway. If there had been any doubt that some sentience was controlling them, their single-minded pursuit removed it. The hallway where we had entered was just ahead, and in the huge mirror at the end of our corridor, I could see the toys were gaining.
Something hit me from behind, scrabbling at my back, pulling my hair, kicking against my spine. Solid and hard, it rammed against my skull with enough force that I saw stars. I wheeled, slamming the ventriloquist’s dummy against one of the metal shelves, trying to scrape it off as is clamored for a hold on my clothing.
Bo’s ghostly form appeared, barking at the dummies and metal toys, running at them to draw them off or force them back. Unfortunately, his spirit mojo wasn’t a match for the very solid, scary-real attackers coming our way.
Metal toys skittered beneath my feet like rats, making it difficult to get my footing. I kicked at them, still trying to knock the dummy off of me. Teag and Alistair were doing the same thing, kicking at the wind-up trucks and bears and soldiers that rammed at their ankles as more of the ventriloquist dummies snatched at our pant legs.
I heard glass smashing, over and over again, and then the overwhelming smell of formaldehyde. Far down the corridor, lost in the gloom of the emergency lighting, things were sloshing and slurping their way toward us, those pallid, wet misshapen specimens I had glimpsed on our way in.