I moaned and rubbed my eyes. My mouth was horribly dry, and oddly, there was the taste of garlic and basil. “Rou?”
She clicked her tongue, which she always did when she was annoyed. It was as dark as the inside of a creature’s mouth, and I was lying in a bed of ash and blackened rubble. The noxious scent made my eyes water and stung my nose. I rubbed my eyes and sat upright, knocking aside stone and mangled iron.
Rou scowled at me, and I was so happy to see her fierce frown I almost jumped up and hugged her. Two things stopped me. First, the joy at seeing her was causing my blood to sizzle and pop in painful blister-bursts. Second, she was as insubstantial as morning mist rising from the river. Her skin was a cloud-white, her hair a spray of gray—even her eyes were a solid pearl-white. Her form shifted from spirit to solid as she frowned at me.
“Well. Get up! Luvic said you’d taken a hit to the head.”
I touched my forehead and winced. “He did?”
“Dropped you off like a load of laundry, said a loose jackaltooth had brought you to them.” She shuddered, and her misty form vanished for half a second. Then she reappeared. “Nasty things, jackaltooth. Nasty Bard creatures. The world would be better off rid of them.” She pursed her lips and added, “Perhaps Jagger will kill them all once the conjurers are gone. Wouldn’t that be a treat?”
I blinked again, trying to make her come into focus. There was something wrong here.
“Luvic brought me?”
“What did I just say?” Rou clicked her tongue again. “Stand up, Mari. Get up! It’s moving night. The Smiths destroyed Hell Gate. Griff’s worried about you, poor boy. I told him you were fine. Jagger wouldn’t have been in such a good mood if you’d died. Honestly, I haven’t seen him this cheery since 1952.” Then she added with a motherly smile, “Oh. Did you have a good day with the Bards?”
“I . . . umm . . .” I flushed, thinking about Rockefeller Center. “Not really.”
Rou gave an “oh well” shrug. “I didn’t expect you would. Hopefully, they’ll all kill each other before summer’s end. Do you have anything you want to collect before heading over?”
I looked around the remains of Hell Gate. Sometimes, when you light a piece of paper on fire, it burns so quickly that within seconds, the only thing remaining is a bone-gray rectangular outline of where the paper once was. When you touch it, the entire thing turns to ash.
The Smith’s fire had been so hot and raging that all the stone and iron of Hell Gate had gone up like blue touchpaper.
Touchpaper was impregnated with potassium nitrate, but what was Hell Gate soaked with? I frowned at the melted iron fencing, the twisted electroliers, and the charred amorphous shapes that hours ago had been something. But the something was indiscernible now. Maybe Hell Gate’s basement, with its cage and its listening stones, was still intact, but nothing else was.
I was surprised the surrounding neighborhood hadn’t noticed Hell Gate’s fall. Sure, there was illusion wrapped around its perimeter, but the acrid stench was overwhelming. It was muggy, hot, and the lingering smoke made the humidity a painful soup to inhale.
I peered through the dark. The grotesques were nowhere to be seen. “How many died?”
Rou shrugged. “Oh, plenty. Who knows? A lot, I imagine, else Jagger wouldn’t be looking so pleased.”
She was right. Jagger was a leggerock, which meant the only time he was upset about death was if it inconvenienced him. The only time he was happy about it was if it benefited him. Usually, he didn’t care at all. He was as unmoved by death as a cliff was by the shadows that moved across it. But if he was pleased, then a lot of his creatures had died. Which meant—in his mind—the Smiths had decided he was an adversary.
He’d crowed with delight when Luvic set Hell Gate’s kitchen on fire. He must be singing with glee over the Smiths’ attack.
What was a slipshot to him? To a leggerock, they hatched like mayflies and died just as quickly. What was a growling but something to be used? What were shills and spirits? What were any of us?
“Was Winnie here?” I asked, realizing I hadn’t seen her in a while.
“What do I know? I was in my kitchen baking blueberry scones. Besides, can death die?”
Was that truly what Winnie was? Death?
“Ready? You can help me carry the cornerstone to our new home.”
She kicked at a sizeable piece of granite that had somehow survived the inferno. Her misty foot passed through the edge. It was the stone that read “Hell Gate—Home for Lost Souls—MDCCCXV.” It had to weigh as much as a piano.
“I can’t lift that.” I shook my head and wiped away the ash that had blown into my eyes. “Wait. Go where?”
Rou gave me a grimace of distaste. “Wards Island. The asylum.”
I stared through Rou, suddenly remembering something from earlier. It was after I’d yanked down the building. Jacob had been there—eating a hot dog, of all things—and Luvic had been on the ground writhing in pain.
I’d told Jacob I didn’t want to collapse the building, and he’d said, “I know. But as soon as you do, we can go.”
And then I’d yanked out the knots. The building had collapsed. And . . . then nothing. I’d blacked out.
