A beam of light cut through the night. Lawson’s head lamp. “Nigel! Come on, climb, damn it!”
Montague let out a keening wail. If Nigel did as Dr. Lawson asked, all hope for her was lost. She could only hold on for so much longer, and no doubt her strength was already beginning to fail.
Every instinct screamed at Nigel to abandon her. To claw his way up the Faraday cloth, grab Lawson’s hand, and let her and Chris pull him to safety. Montague had concealed her family’s crimes, lied to them, put their lives in danger. Used them, because she had money and they didn’t.
“Fuck,” he said aloud. Because Montague might be an awful person, but he didn’t have to be one, too. “Can you grab my boot?”
A ring of white surrounded her irises. “N-No, I don’t think so.”
Damn it. Gritting his teeth and praying he wasn’t making the worst mistake of his life, he began to edge down the cloth toward her.
“I swear to god, Patricia, if you get him killed I’ll raise you from the dead so I can murder you myself,” Lawson yelled down. “Grab his fucking boot!”
His boot was almost touching the rail she held onto. “One hand at a time,” he said, trying to sound calm even though adrenaline coursed through his veins like molten metal. “You can do it.”
Montague fixed her eyes on the boot, her form backlit by the flaming ship below. Visibly shaking, she didn’t make a move to let go of the steel rail for what felt like forever, but was probably seconds. Then, with a wild cry, she released one hand and clamped her fingers around his ankle.
“There you go!” he shouted. “Now the other?—”
The Faraday cloth began to tear.
CHAPTER
SIXTY-TWO
The spirits of Ullman’s victims tore through him like a volley of cannonballs, trailing bits of black smoke in their wake.
“No—stop—you can’t do this to me!” he shrieked. His fang-lined mouth opened, and he tried to bite at them, but they simply ripped through his increasingly insubstantial form, leaving holes in his cheeks, the back of his head. Less and less of the cloaking mist remained every moment, and his face shrank back to normal dimensions, as if a mask was stripped away.
Now all that remained was the specter of a man. Nothing special, nothing godlike, nothing powerful. Ullman looked small, his hands clawing weakly at the air as the spirits of those he’d killed whipped past, just beyond his reach. Finally he gave up and simply stood there, a bedraggled, wet shape moaning to himself, “No…this can’t be happening…I deserve better…how dare you…”
Gloria turned to face him, a look of wonder on her face as she watched long-withheld vengeance play out. Seeing him reduced to this thin shadow, her mouth curved into a grin. Then, with an eerily childlike shriek of glee, she rushed him.
Her hands struck his midsection, and he flew back through the wall, over the gallery, into the night. The last shreds of him unwound in the screaming wind.
Then he was gone. Passed on to whatever awaited him next.
“Look,” Robin said.
Oscar followed her pointing finger. The orbs had raced out across the waves and were now dismantling the flaming ship and its inhabitants as thoroughly as they had Ullman. Within a matter of seconds, the fire flickered and went out.
The ship gone, silvery balls of light chased each other across the heaving ocean in a manner that struck Oscar as playful. Joyful, even. Then, one by one, they faded away and were gone.
“It’s time for me to go as well.” Robin faced Oscar, smiling gently. “I think I’ve atoned for my part in this. Thank you for seeing through what I couldn’t.”
Then, with a last whiff of flowers, she vanished.
“Oscar!” Tina yelled. “We need your help! They’re about to fall!”
CHAPTER
SIXTY-THREE
Nigel could do nothing but cling helplessly to the Faraday cloth as it began to rip. It had never been designed to hold a person’s weight, let alone that of two, even when one was as slight as Montague. The lantern had gone out, the flaming ship vanished, but the cold rain stole heat from his body with every breath. Even if the cloth held by some miracle, he couldn’t possibly climb it in this condition.
Tina yelled for Oscar—thank god, he must be okay. A moment later, Oscar’s headlamp switched on, cutting through the gloom. “Fuck—all right, I’ll brace here in the doorway. Chris, you hold on to me. Dr. Lawson, can you hold onto Chris and grab Nigel?”
“Of course.”
