One by one, the figures rose and stepped from the midst of the shadows, as if passing through thresholds.
Fell was first. He staggered a little as he stepped forward, caught himself, then straightened. He’d emerged armed, guns in hand.
“Malcolm,” Fell’s niece said.
Callan appeared second. Worn out, worn down.
Laird was third. He straightened his jacket, and the gesture seemed eerily Laird-like. The way he held himself with his chin up, so very casually, as if he looked down on everyone, just a tiny bit, even when he looked, well, like he’d died and come back.
There were others, but they were others that Rose didn’t recognize. Deceased belonging to other members of the group. Someone for the Knights, dressed in the same rough, not-trying-very-hard way that the Knights had, carrying a gun.
Two women for the Sisters, one older, one middle-aged. Maybe ones killed in the fight that had risen up around Conquest.
Someone for the Astrologer. Rose couldn’t place the name, but she knew who he was. The mentor figure.
Three children, for the Shepherd.
Alexis followed. She’d been dead for a shorter time than the others, and she didn’t look quite so damaged. Her expression was terribly sad.
Seeing Alexis was like a punch in the gut. Rose tried to swallow and found it difficult, and that in itself was alarming.
To the best of her recall, searching back through all of her memories, she couldn’t remember ever missing someone. Regret and heartache weren’t part of her emotional makeup. In part, that was because she’d never had anyone to lose.
This sort of emotional distraction wasn’t what she needed right now.
Focus. Bringing back the dead? It didn’t make sense. That wasn’t how demons operated.
She glanced over her shoulder, in the direction of Faysal.
Was it possible? As a gatekeeper, he theoretically had access to any place, anywhere. It was possible that he could provide access to some realm of the dead.
No. Too many issues came up with that. Alexis, if she’d died in the abyss, had to belong to the Abyss.
She eyed four new arrivals. Black and featureless from head to toe.
Broken, somehow. There but not there. They didn’t move, didn’t react.
Three for her group, all three short, diminutive, one even looking at Evan. One for the Knights.
There were more emerging.
“Tricks,” she said, aloud. Not wholly because she believed it, but she said it because there would be far too many people here who would be put off guard, their heartstrings tugged at seeing someone they’d lost.
She had to establish it as a ruse, or the demon’s side would make their moves, and Rose’s allies wouldn’t have the wherewithal to fight back.
“No,” Fell replied, shutting her down, just like that. “I’m sorry.”
Rose clenched her teeth.
They could talk. That wasn’t good.
Zombies or effigies wearing the faces of loved ones were one thing. But this?
“Help,” Ainsley said. “Uncle Laird, the people standing behind you are not your allies here.”
“They don’t matter,” Laird said. “This is between me and my family. Just as Fell’s business is between him and his niece.”
“Rose too,” Fell said. “At least, as long as she acts as a host for Conquest. And Diana? I’m sorry, but you did kill me.”
“Oh,” Laird said. “Are we doing revenge, too?”
“We’re doing revenge,” Fell said, with conviction.
They knew each other? Fell knew about Conquest?
No, of course they knew each other. A major practitioner in Jacob’s Bell wouldn’t be able to function without some relationships to the major cities in the area, and Fell had been Conquest’s right hand man.
But Fell knew about Conquest.
She turned to the Sight, and she tuned her vision.
She took an involuntary step back, bumping into Christoff and nearly knocking him over.
The connections that tied the revived to others were eroding.
No, not quite eroding. They were consuming, drawing fuel, and destroying in the process. Dozens or hundreds of candle flames slowly eating at so many wicks.
Many of those wicks led to people who were present.
It was reminiscent of the broken connections that had been visible here and there, after Blake had been eaten. The damage that had left Alexis sobbing without explanation, or Ty’s head going in circles. Evan had been the most affected on that front.
“They’re tainted,” Rose said. “Don’t get close to them. And I’m not just talking physical closeness. They’re consuming everything around them.”
“That’s what that is,” Alister said.
“I’ve seen it before,” Rose said.
“If you hadn’t seen us before, I would be very worried,” Callan said. “Grew up together. I gave you goddamn baths, when you were still shitting in diapers.”
Tiff clutched Christoff a little tighter.
Rose spoke louder, “You aren’t revived. You’re mockeries. Very accurate mockeries. You’re actively consuming everything around you. Ignis Fatuus. Fool’s fire. Candles to draw the moths.”
Except they’re liable to do a hell of a lot worse than burn us.
The shadow figures were spreading out, and they either couldn’t see or apparently didn’t care about the imps that lurked between, pacing, joining them in spacing themselves out.
It did, Rose noted, have the upside that her side was closing ranks, drawing together, preparing to fight shoulder to shoulder if they had to.
“I’m real,” the Astrologer’s mentor said. “I can feel my heartbeat, I have all of my memories.”
Gods. Rose could tell how the Astrologer was holding onto every word. A bomb could have gone off and it probably wouldn’t have torn the woman’s eyes from him, her ears from his words.
“I can remember reading you bedtime stories,” Fell said, to his niece. “You can ask questions.”
He reached out, stepping forward.
The girl didn’t move. Her hand, however, rose from her side.
The Elder Sister reached out, ring flaring. Flame erupted, and it drew a line of fire between Fell and the child.
When the smoke cleared, Fell had a gun pointed at the Sister. “If you don’t believe I’m real, I could pull the trigger right now.”
The Sister didn’t speak or react.
Everyone had gone still.
Except, Rose noted, the lawyers. Levin was gone, absent. The other Lawyers had retreated. Eerie, to realize how much they’d been able to maneuver, with this distraction.
It was a wake up call, of sorts, to the fact that this was a distraction. A damn good, dangerous distraction, but a distraction all the same.
The imps were lurking amid and behind Murr’s creations. The only ones who weren’t primed, tensed, and ready to attack or defend at a moment’s notice were the ones the mockeries were successfully getting to, and even they were straining to hold themselves back. Fell’s niece, the Astrologer, Christoff…
A horrible form of fighting, this. To prey on those who bared their hearts the most.
“This is a great deal messier than I would have hoped,” the angel spoke, in a deep, melodic voice, far removed from the dark scene.