Ascension (Demon's Grail Book 1) Page 5

  “But what you don't know,” he continues, “is that as she took form in the womb, she was not alone.”

  “Not alone? What -” I pause for a moment, trying to work out what he means. “How could she not be alone?”

  “I only learned this recently myself,” he explains. “It seems that the midwife who delivered Abigail Hart was somewhat reluctant to let her fall into her father's clutches, but she knew she had no choice. When a second child emerged just a few minutes after Ms. Hart, however, the midwife realized that this second child could be spared the horror of its destiny if its existence remained hidden.”

  “A second child?” I stare at him. “You mean... Abby has a twin?”

  “A brother,” he continues. “The boy's existence was kept not only from Ms. Hart herself, but also from the parents. Patrick had no idea, and neither did Sophie Hart. The boy was simply spirited away by the midwife and allowed to grow up with no idea of its parentage. I suppose you could call it a last, desperate attempt to ensure that at least someone emerged from that mess with a scrap of happiness. And since that boy was formed in the same womb as Ms. Hart, and at the same time, it stands to reason that the knowledge about Karakh is also in his mind.”

  “Then we have to find him!” I reply. “Forget Abby Hart, we just need to find her twin brother!”

  “I've already done that,” he says with a smile, limping back past me and stopping at the window. For a moment, he looks out at the slowly brightening city. “I know his name, I know where he's been for all these years, and I know where he is at this very moment.”

  “Where?” I ask.

  “He's in this city,” Keller replies, before checking his watch. “In fact, right now he should be getting ready to go to work at the Alganian Public Library.”

  Part Two

  IDENTITY

  Abby Hart

  “You brought a human here!” Absalom hisses as I lead Mark through the door. “Abby, are you insane?”

  “Things have changed,” I reply, gasping as I feel a sharp pain in my chest. Those bones aren't quite healed yet. “I'm way beyond the point where I can keep things from Mark anymore.”

  “Still, you shouldn't have brought him to my home,” Absalom continues with a faint, disdainful sneer. “I suppose I'll just have to kill him before he gets a chance to leave.”

  “Woah,” Mark says, stopping in the doorway. “You two realize I can hear you, right?”

  “He seems reasonably intelligent,” Absalom adds. “Smarter than the average human, perhaps.”

  “I'm a New York police officer,” Mark says firmly.

  “Really?” Absalom turns to him. “Well, I'll be sure to have that mentioned on your tombstone.”

  “No-one's going to be killing anyone today,” I tell them both.

  “Of course not,” Absalom replies with a fake smile, before leaning closer to me and lowering his voice to a whisper. “Except me. I'll be killing the human.”

  “I can still hear you,” Mark adds.

  “Really?” Absalom turns to him and frowns. “You know, sometimes I have a terrible habit of underestimating your species. You're not quite the mud apes of old, are you?”

  “You two are real cute together,” I continue, “but we're here for your help, Absalom, and to tell you something.”

  “That there's a half-spider creature loose in the city?” He pauses, and I can see a subtle change in his expression. He's making light of things, but deep down he's worried. “After we spoke earlier, Abby, I got in touch with some of my contacts. At first I assumed they wouldn't have anything to tell me, I dismissed your fears but...” He glances at Mark, then back at me. “We should talk in private. Would you like me to find a bowl of water for your human? He can go play in the garden.”

  “I want Mark to hear everything,” I reply. “I'm done hiding. He's part of this now.”

  “Abby, that's not a good idea. I once saw a human's head literally split open because he read one of the tablets of Jon'arth. Some knowledge just doesn't fit into their little minds.”

  “I think I'll be fine,” Mark says, clearly not impressed by Absalom's constant efforts to sideline him.

  “Fine,” Absalom mutters, “but don't say I didn't warn you.”

  ***

  “There have been rumors in the Underworld for months,” Absalom explains a short while later. We're in his garden, drinking tea that was brought out by his assistant, while morning sunlight slowly creeps across the city. “Usually I hear about such things very early, but in this case... It turns out people were so scared of those rumors, they barely dared utter them.”

  “Rumors about spiders?” I ask.

  He nods.

  “That they're...” I can hardly bring myself to say the words. “That they've come back?”

  “That perhaps they never quite went away.”

  “But my father -”

  “I know,” he says quickly, interrupting me. “There was a prophecy linked to the destruction of the old spider civilization, and your father was the key to keeping that prophecy in place. He played his part, and that should have been the end of it, except...” He pauses. “There were complications, Abby. Your father is said to have hesitated at one or two key points, and it's now clear that those hesitations caused small fissures to open up in the prophecy, and something escaped through those fissures. Something that now wants the spider race to rise again, just as vampires rose again after our species appeared to be dying.”

  “And that something is Emilia Hargreaves?”

  “I think there's more to it than that. I think she's just a small part of what's going on. Whatever they're up to, the remnants of the spider civilization must have a plan, something more complicated than simply causing a nuisance. I sense the presence of a guiding hand, something that seeks to influence events from a distance.”

  “She knew my name,” I point out.

  “She came for you specifically.”

  “Why?”

  “I think you know why.”

  I glance over at Mark, who so far has been listening without saying much. I can tell that he's having trouble taking all of this in, but I guess I'll smooth over the cracks with him later. Turning back to Absalom, I can see a hint of concern in his dark eyes.

  “I know where to find Karakh,” I say finally.

  “Ouch,” Absalom mutters darkly.

  “I mean, I don't know, but I know how to find out.”

  “The secret was hidden in your mind,” Absalom replies. “You still have access.”

  “What's Karakh?” Mark asks, mispronouncing the word slightly.

  “The lost palace of the spiders,” I reply, turning to him. “Vampires have Gothos, werewolves have Sangreth, and spiders used to have Karakh. It's said that Karakh was the most ornate and beautiful palace that ever existed. The Book of Gothos says the walls of Karakh were weaved from the purest silk, and that the nearby mountains were spun from strands of glass that breathed in the light of morning. Some legends even claim that the beauty of the place could drive people insane.”

  His eyes widen slightly, as if he doesn't really understand.

  “Careful,” Absalom says after a moment. “No cracked heads, if you don't mind.”

  “Karakh is the seat of their power,” I continue, turning to him. “They want to go home, to reclaim that power.”

  “Of course they do,” he replies. “Right now they're lost, they're wandering. They're like refugees, reliant upon the charity of others. That'll all change if they find their way back to Karakh. They can start to become stronger.”

  “Why don't they know where it is already?”

  “It was hidden from them when the war ended,” he explains. “Your father was supposed to be the only one who knew where to find the palace. There was some discussion about trying to destroy Karakh, but eventually it was decided that since its destruction could never be absolutely guaranteed, it was better to retain control and simply hide the palace where the spiders could never f
ind it. That task was given to your father, Abby. Evidently, when he knew his life was coming to an end, he decided to entrust the knowledge to his child.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I mutter darkly.

  “So you can expect them to come for you again,” he continues. “These spiders are smart, but they're also desperate. In fact, it's a miracle they've let you get this far. They can't possibly have a back-up plan, though. You're the only child of Patrick and Sophie, so the knowledge is yours and yours alone. At least we have that fact on our side.”

  “So I have to kill them,” I reply. “I mean, that's the only way, right?”

  “They don't die easily,” he replies. “Besides, you don't know how many there are.”

  “I'll start with Emilia Hargreaves and work from there.”

  “You'll have to find her first,” he points out, “and that won't be the work of a moment. She seems to have blown her cover and gone missing. Fortunately...” He takes a black folder from the table and opens it, staring for a moment at the first page. “Fortunately I was able to do a little digging.”

  “Emilia Hargreaves doesn't exist,” Mark says. “I've checked into her background extensively. It's an invented identity.”

  “Absolutely,” Absalom replies, turning the folder so we can both see a photo of a much younger Emilia. “Still, she existed before she took on that identity, and her first name really is Emilia. The Hargreaves part is false, though. Her real name is Emilia Vaughn, and it seems she was raised by adoptive human parents after she was found abandoned as a child.” He turns to me. “It wasn't until she reached her teenage years that she learned anything about her true nature. Until then, she was hidden among humans like a cuckoo in someone else's nest. Once she hit adulthood, however, she was quickly drawn into a world of chaos. Frankly, it's a miracle she stayed sane.” He stares at me, with a smile slowly growing across his lips. “Remind you of anyone?”

  “We're nothing alike,” I snap, snatching the folder from him and turning it so I can take a look. “She's evil. She's a monster.”

  “Her father was a great spider,” he continues, “and her mother was human.”

  “That doesn't mean we're similar.” As I look through the folder, however, I can't help but feel struck by the similarities as they continue to mount up. They're all superficial, of course, but a shiver passes through my chest as I realize that Emilia, like me, seems to have been an orphan who initially knew nothing of her lineage.

  “I don't know where Emilia is right now,” Absalom continues, “but that folder will tell you where she was up until about eight years ago. Still, I don't think you'll have too much trouble tracking her down. She'll come for you again soon, Abby. If she wants to find the location of Karakh, she has no other choice.”

  Jonathan

  “Wow,” I say finally, as I see the balance on the screen. “Technically you have a fine of... one hundred and ninety-six dollars.”

  “Say that again?” Mrs. Weaver replies, leaning closer as she reaches into her purse and starts pulling out a few coins. “How much?”

  “You've had this book out since 1985,” I point out, “and the fine has certainly...” Pausing for a moment, I adjust my glasses as I take a look at the list of monthly fines that have built up over the past few decades. Finally, I grab the mouse and make a few clicks, and the fine disappears. “I think that on this occasion,” I continue, turning to her. “we can waive the fine. I've never been one for grudges. It's just good to have the book back.”

  “Oh, thank you,” she replies, clearly relieved. “I don't know how I could have forgotten to return it for so long.”

  “Please,” I reply, “think nothing of it, we just -”

  I pause as I spot movement nearby, and I can't help but turn to take a look. Over by the reference section, the woman in the green dress seems to have been watching me ever since she came into the library half an hour ago. I swear, every time I see her she's smiling at me while pretending to leaf through a book, and if I didn't know better I'd start to think she was flirting. That can't be true, of course, so I simply turn back to Mrs. Weaver and try to get my mind back onto more important matters.

  “The history of Greco-Roman pottery,” I say with a smile, “is truly fascinating, is it not? I'm particularly fascinated by the influence of the early Greek styles on the Ancient Etruscans, and the manner in which figurines came to carry a remarkable resemblance to -”

  Spotting something moving on the counter, I turn and see a spider making its way toward the edge. Instinctively, I grab the returned book and slam it down against the creature with such force that the whole counter shudders.

  “Wow,” Mrs. Weaver says, taking a step back, “you must really hate bugs.”

  “Sorry if I startled you,” I reply, lifting the book up and spotting the spider's corpse flattened against the back cover. Even though it's dead, one of the legs is twitching and flexing still, although it falls still after a couple of seconds. “Horrible things,” I add, wincing as I wipe the spider away with a tissue and drop the corpse into a trashcan. “The way their legs sometimes keep moving for a while after they die, I know it's just a natural phenomenon, but -”

  “You've lost me now,” Mrs. Weaver replies, turning and heading toward the door. “I was just bringing a book back, I don't have time for a lecture on bugs.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter as she leaves, adjusting my glasses once again. “Thank you, though! On behalf of the staff and trustees of the Alganian Public Library, I can assure you that -”

  The door swings shut, and she's gone.

  “We're very grateful indeed to have this book back,” I continue, before sighing as I head around the counter and make my way along one of the aisles. The other librarians here tend to leave recently-returned books on a trolley to be re-shelved later in the day, but this particular volume has been away from the collection for so long that I feel it deserves to be immediately reunited with its fellows. I know it's crazy, but sometimes I almost feel as if books have souls, and as one of the librarians here I'm proud of my duty to keep order. After all, a library without order wouldn't really be a library at all, it'd just be a collection of books randomly strewn about the place.

  I can't help but shudder at such a thought.

  Stopping at the correct shelf, I smile as I see a gap where the book belongs. Order. Control. Proper systematic filing. These are the most important things in life, and as I slip the book back into place I feel a sense of true satisfaction in my heart. I've known for quite some time that this book was missing from the library, and although I tried and failed to trace the borrower, I still had a nagging sensation at the back of my mind that the gap need to be filled. I rather think I shall sleep easier tonight, now that -

  “Hello,” a voice says suddenly.

  Torn from my thoughts, I turn and find that the woman in the green dress is standing right behind me, and her smile has grown.

  “Can I help you?” I ask, trying not to sound flustered.

  “I don't know,” she replies, peering at my badge, “Jonathan... Durridge?”

  “That's my name,” I point out, somewhat needlessly.

  “Huh.” She frowns. “No. No, it's not.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but she slips past me, and I can't help but notice that she let her body brush against mine in a rather suggestive manner. It really does feel as if she's flirting, although I can't possibly imagine why a beautiful woman would wear a tight-fitting green cocktail dress to a public library on a Tuesday morning, or why she would decide to flirt with a man who has never even been near a cocktail party in his life. I can only presume that she's drunk, or on some form of narcotic, or of unsound mind, or some rather alarming combination of the three.

  “I love libraries,” she says, glancing back at me. “Even small ones like this.”

  “Quiet, please,” I reply, making my way after her along the aisle. My glasses have begun to slip again, so I push them back up. “You must keep your voice down.”
>
  She smiles. “You look like him.”

  “Like who?”

  “And you really don't have a clue. How cute.”

  “A clue about what?”

  Reaching the end of the aisle, she stops and turns to me, and I can't shake the feeling that she's arching her back in an effort to emphasize her rather prominent cleavage.

  “You're a librarian,” she points out.

  “I am.”

  “And that's all you are? All you think you are, at least?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Are you a married man?”

  I pause, bristling slightly at such an inappropriate question. “Is there a particular book that I -”

  “I know you're not married,” she continues, reaching out and straightening my glasses for me. “A wife would make you get those things fixed already. Tell me, are you really happy just working in this dusty old place, day in and day out?”

  “I take great pride in -”

  “And don't you ever feel as if something's missing?” she asks.

  “Such as?”

  “Don't you ever feel as if you don't fit in?” She stares at me for a moment, as if she's lost in thought. “How is it that Abby was almost torn apart by her true nature when she reached her teenage years, and yet you apparently sailed through without so much as a murmur?”

  “Abby?” I wait for her to explain. “I'm sorry, I don't think I know anyone by that -”

  “Tell me about your dreams.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but somehow this strange woman has managed to stumble onto an area that makes me feel distinctly uncomfortable.

  “You have bad dreams,” she continues, stepping closer. “I can tell.”

  “That's really none of your business.”

  “Emilia,” she adds, reaching out and shaking my hand. “How about we make it my business?”

  “My dreams are -”

  “Torrid,” she continues. “Violent, perhaps? Filled with sights and sounds that scare you? You feel as if they're someone else's dreams, someone who is fundamentally different to you... You wake up wondering if something's wrong with you. After all, how could a mere librarian dream about such huge battles, or such strange and distant lands, or about creatures that defy all explanation?”