Book 7, Chapter Twenty-one – Casket Case

“Alex and the Dark Magician!” Pandy gasped as she opened her eyes. She lay in Augustus’s arms, not far from the chair, which now sat empty. When everyone stared at her with relief that faded rapidly into confusion, she sat up a bit and explained.

“It’s a book Bryan and Grace Conroy made for Lian and Thaniel. Bryan wrote it, and Grace illustrated it, and it’s one of Thaniel’s treasures, and-” Reluctantly, Pandy sat the rest of the way up, though somehow her hand lingered in Augustus’s.

“In the story, Alex is a little boy with Dark magic,” she explained. “His dog dies, and an evil mage teaches him how to use the life force of one creature to bring back…” Her voice trailed off as she realized just how spot-on the story really was. It was possible to kill someone and give their magic to someone else. If you swapped the dead dog for a dying little girl, made Alex a few decades older, and cast a Dark god or a Demon Queen in the role of the Magician, you’d have Pierce Avington’s story, just with a happy ending.

“But in Alex and the Dark Magician, Alex’s parents figure out what’s going on, and stop him before he can do anything unforgivable. The story’s about grief, and learning to let go, and depending on your family and friends when you’re sad.” Except that in the real-life version, nobody stopped ‘Alex’ in time, did they? What had Pierce done to warrant being locked up in a place like this, and had his story begun the descent of the Avingtons into the crazed, obsessive people that they became? 

Augustus stood, then helped Pandy to her feet. “What does the book have to do with what you saw?”

Pandy shook her head, turning to look at the chair, with its ancient bloodstain. “Pierce Avington’s daughter, Pandora, was sick. Though,” her eyes flickered as she put the pieces of the puzzle together, “I wonder if… if Zhery-wery was behind that. That would have been when he and Asparagus lost track of the stone. Whatever Pierce’s mother did to hide the stone from him must have hidden it from Zhery-wery, too. It has to have something to do with the necklace.” Which was upstairs, hanging around the throat of Preston Avington’s corpse.

“You know we have no idea what you’re talking about, right?” Empress Glory said. Even she looked uneasy, and her knife was out again. The others might not have shared Pandora’s vision, but they certainly had seen Pierce’s macabre specter.

“Did you get any clues to where Lian might be?” Isidor asked. Beside him, Tempest was sparking quite a bit more than she had been, and she was almost the size of a Labrador Retriever now.

Pandy felt her stomach sink. She’d been so sure this was the right thing to do. Not that they weren’t still planning to head east as soon as possible, but there was a big difference between essentially hoping to stumble over Lian through sheer Magical Plot Shenanigans and actually knowing where they were going. Miserably, she shook her head.

“It explained more of the Avington family mystery,” she admitted, “but nothing as far back as I’d hoped.”

She was still convinced that if Preston Avington himself could see the room where Lian was being held, he’d instantly know where it was. That was how games worked. Unlike real life, they were never truly random. They had patterns, and cycles, and places that had been important once were often important again. Keros’s magic might be gaining some sort of sentience, or at least awareness, but it was also trying to force real-world events into a game-like format. That meant reusing content as much as possible in order to reduce overhead.

Augustus bent down, then straightened again and pressed something into Pandy’s hand. It was the box containing the Dark stone. Almost against her will, Pandy flipped the lid open and stared at it. It really was pretty.

“Pan- Eurydice?” Augustus asked, snapping the lid closed again. Pandy’s head jerked up, and she blinked.

“I…”

“You should replace the stone in the necklace, my lady,” Nox said, appearing just behind Pandy. She spun, bringing up her fists before relaxing again when she realized who it was. When had her default response to surprise become ‘punch first, ask questions later’?

“Don’t do that,” she said, and would have sworn one side of Nox’s mustache twitched.

“Of course not, my lady,” he said, which was a bit too ambiguous for her liking, but before she could call him on it, he gave her a Meaningful Look and repeated, “You should replace the stone.”

Pandy opened her mouth to tell him she couldn’t do that, then realized that he hadn’t told her to return the stone to Preston’s body, just to put it back in the necklace. Which wasn’t a bad idea, actually.

Nodding, she gave one last look around at the moldering basement. With the lights on, it really was more sad than terrible. Preston had obviously made every effort to make sure his son was comfortable, while also making certain Pierce would never again be a free man.

How many years had Pierce spent down here? How long had it taken Ascyra and Zheraphon to corrupt him? He must have succeeded in healing Pandora. Or maybe that was why the Dark stone had ended up with the Conroys. Had the first Pandora been forced to wear it for the rest of her life? There were still so many unanswered questions, and Nox had assured her that she would see the rest of…

She paused. Had he, though? She hadn’t asked if the rest of whatever memories Pierce had left for his successor would be revealed if she brought the stone down here, only if they could. Could and would were two very different things.

Glancing at the patiently hovering elemental, Pandy said, “I need to put the stone back in the necklace.” This time both ends of the mustache turned up, just before Nox flattened into a paper-thin wisp and curled away through the ceiling.

Everyone was far more enthusiastic about going back up the stairs than they had been about going down. Pandy practically leaped up, skipping over the wobbly step – which might actually be a non-lethal trap, now that she thought about it – with a quick reminder to those behind her that it existed. No one replied, but she could practically feel Isidor and Glory rolling their eyes at her back.

It really was convenient that the Secret Lab could now be accessed from the first floor, and as Pandy leaped across the rubble that had been a wall, she decided that there would be no more secret rooms in this house. She might turn this area into a sort of gym or training room, but she would leave it open for anyone to use. Never again would pickled body-parts be part of the Avington House decor.

The three coffins still leaned against the far wall, and the two empty ones remained as much of a mystery as ever. Were they intended for some other Avington relatives? Had they once had occupants, but those occupants had been divided up for some nefarious – and undoubtedly disgusting – purpose? Pandy would likely never know.

The lid had been repaired and replaced on Preston Avington’s coffin, but as Pandy approached, it swung open on non-existent hinges, settling neatly to the side. Preston’s body had been straightened, too – his hair and beard were combed, his clothes clean and tidy, and there was no dust or dirt visible on the crêpe-paper skin.

Pandy only slowed at the last second, skidding a bit on the dirty, damaged floor. It felt disrespectful to just… rip the necklace from Preston’s throat, though she felt a tiny bit vindicated in doing so. Maybe he was Queen Nora’s Right-hand Elementalist, and a general, and probably saved the country and possibly the world by stealing the stone from Lawrence. But from what she’d seen, he was also  a terrible father. Maybe not even a good husband. Exactly the kind of person she’d always imagined her father would turn out to be if she ever found him.

She heaved a deep sigh. Still. He wasn’t a bad person, just a flawed one. She certainly wasn’t perfect. Whatever Preston-as-father had done or not done, it had happened a long time ago, and it was between him and Pierce. Well, and Ismara, probably. Unless all Dark mages went to Zheraphon, like it or not? Her eyes went wide at that thought. She was a Dark mage. Or a Dark elemental. If she became alive, and then died, what would happen to her soul? Would Zhery-wery get to play with it for the rest of eternity? That was a truly horrifying idea.

Ismara? she tried, hoping the goddess could hear her. She was theoretically still in Pandy’s pocket, after all. Can I convert? Is that an option? How do people become, um, Ismaran?

There was no answer, so Pandy turned to her friends. Yes, friends. Because she had those now. “How do I become a follower of Ismara? Is there a ceremony or something? Because I definitely like her better than… the other option.”

She half-expected some response from her corrupted System, but nothing was forthcoming. Instead, Glory said, “You just are. If you say Ismara is your goddess, then she is.”

“You don’t have to make an offering, or go through some wacky ritual? She never turns anyone down? Not even Dark mages?” Pandy persisted.

Glory and Isidor exchanged glances, and a complex expression passed over Augustus’s face. “No one… knows,” the chancellor admitted. “Dark mages enter Her temples, pray, are married in Her name, and are consigned to Her embrace upon death, just like anyone else. But as far as we know, she has never spoken to a Dark mage.”

“Until now?” Pandy asked. She’d definitely spoken to Ismara. A surprising amount, actually. She supposed that was what happened when a goddess had a lot of downtime. Though for someone stuck in a rock for two years, the goddess always seemed awfully busy.

Augustus smiled, his gray eyes warm. “Until now. You break all the rules, Rabbit.”

Okay. Great. Pandy was a rulebreaker. She always had been, just not voluntarily. That was why the police almost always released her after a few hours. There was that one time, with the octopus and the beehive, but that wasn’t her fault. Who expected to find a cephalopod in a ten-gallon hat? The mime really should have known better anyway.

The awkward moment faded into an expectant one, and Pandy turned back to Preston Avington. Someone – hopefully Nox or Nyssa – had helpfully moved his beard aside to display the pendant dangling from the dead man’s necklace. It looked just as it had the last time Pandy saw it; the only part of Preston’s outfit that hadn’t been tidied and polished.

Pandy swallowed hard and reached out her hand. It was time for round two. Or so she thought until the dead man opened his eyes and stared at her, his own eyes black from one corner to the other. She jerked back. “Nox?” she squeaked.

Slowly, the head shook from side to side, and General Preston Avington climbed from his coffin. It didn’t move, though it had fallen easily enough when Pandy bumped into it. Augustus also didn’t move when she bumped into him. She squeaked again, louder this time, but spread out her arms, keeping herself between the dead man and her friends.

He was dead, wasn’t he? Because other than those terrifying eyes, he looked…. No, he looked dead. There was a definite gray undertone to his skin, and he was somehow dry, as if all moisture had fled from his body, much the same way Pandy wished she could.

“St- Stay back,” Pandy warned, wondering why Augustus hadn’t moved yet. She could still feel him right behind her, completely… frozen…

Forgetting that it was probably a bad idea to turn her back on a zombie – or a Bound – Pandy whipped around, staring at Augustus and the others. They were all as still as statues, not even breathing as they stared toward the coffin behind her, never mind the fact that Preston was no longer in it. In fact, Glory’s mouth was half-open, like she was about to say something, but no sound emerged.

“What did you do to them?” Pandy demanded, turning back to Preston. He was standing a few feet closer to her, but he hadn’t taken the opportunity to try to eat Pandy’s brains, so that had to be a good sign, didn’t it? Though the zombies of this world seemed far more interested in Corruption Points than whatever lay between her ears.

To her surprise, Preston sounded exactly the way he had in her visions. His voice wasn’t sepulchral or echoing, just curious. “Who are you?”