I stared down into the black, then looked up at Cassius. “You said ‘Strata’ earlier?”
The centurion nodded. “The Strata are several long periods of London history that have coalesced to form layers of thepast. In them, thanatists, vestiges, and semblances reside, as do things altogether dark.”
“Like the thing that took a bite out of your neck?” Chuey asked.
I held up my hand to stop them, clenching my eyes shut against this dizzying new reality and the hot adrenaline still surging through me.
“Are you telling me that if I go down these steps, I can actually travel into the past?”
“Aversionof the past,” Lady clarified. “And there are, in fact, other stairways across London into the Strata. But as Church said, only these go all the way down, and only a thanatist can use any of the Strata steps.”
I opened my eyes and glanced at the gold rim around my shadow. “Like me? Like those two Ren-faire goons with the lanterns in the alley?”
“Just so,” said Church. “Technically, certain specialized members of a thanatist’s crew can travel the Strata unaccompanied. What’s key to understand, Jack, is that there are hundreds of thanatists in the Strata, just as there are in the world you know. More than a few of whom might be willing to kill in order to gain control of these steps.”
I stared down into the darkness again. “What’s down there worth killing for?”
Lady took my hand. “Lost wisdom, Jack. Powerful wisdom. And those who control the Steps have sole access to the lowest levels of the Strata to seek that wisdom.”
“More than that,” said Church, “the past is not content. Some of it, anyway. Against the present world it holds certain . . . resentments.” He tapped his cane on the floor. “In recent years there’ve been a few Strata thanatists who’ve sought access to the Abyssal Steps in order to seize that wisdom and use it to punish the topside world, whether by influence or violence.”
“Are we still talking about those cosplay thugs in the alley who were getting up in our face?” Chuey asked.
“I can’t be sure,” said Church.
“Regardless”—Lady squeezed my hand—“the Iron Horse is protected by the ward you felt near Stacey Street. It’s neutral ground.”
“Henry said something like that right before he was shot.”
“No one can be harmed or compelled inside the ward,” Lady explained. “It likewise prevents use of the Steps without permission.”
My mind was racing again. “Then why all the concern about anyone getting access to these steps?”
Church removed his cigar. “Because a week ago, the ward extended beyond St. Giles, well past Henry’s flat.”
Henry had raised his hands to the barrier well short of his flat. That must have been why he didn’t want to sleep at home tonight. “But if the ward is failing anyway, why would they try to kill Henry?”
“To hasten its collapse,” Lady said. “Henry is the ward’s steward.
Removing him makes it more vulnerable to attack.”
I took one last look down the Abyssal Steps. I wanted so bad to climb down and see it for myself. History andlost wisdom. I’d been a history buff since my Westmont library days. But even if I’d been prepared for whatever was down there, I was spent.
Church led us back into the pub, then disappeared into the back office for a moment before returning with an armful of books. “There are a great many more things we should discuss, Jack. But before we do, you need to decide if you intend to embrace your new reality as a thanatist. It’s not required that you do. Many choose to simply live much as they did before. That said”—he tapped the books—“if you choose to learn and develop the thanaturgic skills now available to you . . . well, youreyes will be further opened, and you won’t be able to unsee what they show you.”
The hot energy swirling in my chest suddenly waned, and I started to fall. Cassius caught me by the elbow. “You need rest. The first rebirth is the most disorienting.”
I had no strength or desire, just then, to ask what “first rebirth” meant. There was so much to process. The events of the night were already blurring together, and I was exhausted. One thing, though. I knew what a gateway choice was—being unable to see everything you were signing up for when you joined a cause or group. And I sensed that the road beyond this gateway stretched for miles. But I could also hardly bear to think that Henry might not make it back.
I took the books from Church’s arms. “I’m a pretty fast reader.”
Church smiled. “Based on the ward’s contraction, your flat should be safe for three, maybe four days. You get some sleep, lad. You’re of no help to us if you can’t even stand up. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
It would feel good to finally go home.
“I’m going to suspend live performances here,” Church added, “until we know what we’re up against.”
That hurt. Silencing the Iron Horse felt like silencing Henry. This was his life . . . or at least I’d thought it was.
