Dreams of Shreds and Tatters Part 8

"Want some?" she asked, holding up a tiny gla.s.s vial. The woman smiled, white and sharp. Beneath a veneer of makeup, her face was sallow and hollow-cheeked, her eyes black and bright as gla.s.s. Like the maenads in the painting. Liz's pulse sped. "Wait," the woman said, leaning closer. "I've seen you-"

The door opened before she could finish and Antja stepped in. She frowned when she saw the women. At her glare, vials and droppers vanished back into purses and the pair fled.

"Are you enjoying the show?" Antja asked. Her smile was thin and tight, and strain showed in the set of her shoulders. She was fighting to keep her own bright face intact.

Liz nodded, swallowing against the desert in her throat. She ought to say something polite; she ought to ask about the mania. She couldn't find the words for either. Her courage broke and she retreated with a mumbled excuse.

Rainer was waiting for her by the drowned sailor, and she didn't see Alex or Antja again as they spiraled further into the labyrinth.

They pa.s.sed through a narrow room that was a sculpture of its own. White plaster arches lined the s.p.a.ce, joined by sharp-edged vertebrae overhead. A leviathan's ribcage. Crabs and starfish clung to the ribs, and smaller paintings were carefully hung between them. Light fell between the bones in bright stripes. The effect was striking, but Liz had no desire to linger in the belly of the beast. She quickened her pace until Rainer had to hurry to keep up with her.

Her breath slowed when she turned a corner into the safe planes and angles of another room, and she surrept.i.tiously dried her palms on her purse. She'd never spent much time worrying about being swallowed alive before, but after the last few nights' dreams it seemed all too possible. If Rainer noticed her nerves, he was tactful enough not to show it.

She searched for something clever to say, something funny and light, but found nothing. Then they turned another corner and she saw the painting waiting in the heart of the labyrinth, and forgot everything else.

At first it was simple: a picture of a door. Anticlimactic after the rest of the exhibit. But the longer she looked, the more it grew. The door and its wall were stone, or ivory, or bone. Rough-hewn in places, in others polished and carved in elaborate reliefs: vines dripping fruit, cavorting figures; faces transfigured in pa.s.sion or horror. The more she studied it the more she found, some of it changing when she tilted her head, details emerging from and vanis.h.i.+ng into brushstrokes with every glance. Which were real and which pareidolia she couldn't say.

But more unsettling than the changing stone was the s.p.a.ce beyond. The door stood ajar-swinging open, not closed; of that she was certain. The view through the handspan gap was dim, out of focus, blurred by clouds or distance. Liz saw a suggestion of towers through the haze, ivory spires against a plum-black sky. Inky waves broke on the sh.o.r.e beneath them. Winged shapes circled in the clouds.

Liz's vision greyed and the room dipped and swayed around her. Static filled her ears as a sour metal taste washed over her tongue. She took a step back and regretted it as her narrow heels wobbled. Her right hand was numb to the wrist.

She was about to faint-the idea left her strangely calm, even as her knees buckled. She waited for the impact of the floor.

It never came. When the fog rolled away she found herself pressed against Rainer, his arm tight around her waist, her hands knotted in his jacket. Her face had gone cold with shock; embarra.s.sment seared it now.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, cutting off his worried questions. She unclenched her hands, putting a few vital inches between them, but he didn't let her go.

"What happened?" he asked. Their faces were unnervingly close, thanks to her heels.

She swallowed, scrambling for an excuse. Dizziness. Too much champagne. But when she opened her mouth, what came out was, "What is that place?" She felt curious stares as other people drifted into the room, but couldn't pull away.

His electric eyes narrowed, calculating. "Carcosa."

She stiffened. Rainer's arm slipped off her waist, but his gaze held her all the same. The cold had spread from her hand through the rest of her limbs. "Blake is there." She'd meant it as a question, but certainty filled her when she said his name.

His hand closed on her elbow, hot as a brand in the chill of the painting's shadow. "How do you know?"

"I dream of him. Every night since your accident." She caught whispers from across the room; they were making a scene. For once she didn't care. Her skin tingled, but not just with nerves- she felt her masks peeling away.

Rainer's face sharpened. His grip on her arm tightened, and she braced herself. Then he released her and took a hasty step back, straightening his jacket convulsively. The sudden raw need in his face eased into polite curiosity.

They both paused for breath; the air between them tasted of ozone. Rainer's throat worked.

Before either of them could speak, they heard the first scream.

8.

Terrible Angels

AS ALEX FOLLOWED Antja through the gallery, he wished more of the work would catch his interest. He wasn't curmudgeon enough to deny the talent on display, but his knowledge of art dropped sharply after the Gothic, and he didn't think anyone here wanted to talk iconography or Marian devotion. Even worse, they'd wandered into a room dominated by heavy s.e.xual symbolism. If he wanted genitalia in art, he'd crack open an anthropology textbook. He sighed under his breath as they pa.s.sed a statue of a woman and serpent entwined.

"How much longer do you have?" Antja asked dryly.

Alex looked up from the reflection of the track lighting on his wingtips. "Excuse me?"

"Until you die of boredom. It looks like a terminal case."

He snorted. "Am I that transparent? So much for my dreams of the stage." He was being rude, and it wasn't her fault-under other circ.u.mstances he would likely have found her charming company. But his lungs were still unhappy, and talking only made it worse.

Her dark eyes slitted in amus.e.m.e.nt. Amethysts glittered in wire cages as she c.o.c.ked her head. "Let me guess. Coming here tonight wasn't your idea?"

"I couldn't make Liz come alone." Though he hadn't seen her in nearly an hour. He looked down at his empty champagne flute. Was this his third, or fourth? He hadn't eaten since breakfast, and the combination of alcohol and Antja's perfume left him lightheaded. A headache tightened slowly around his temples.

Antja's smile faded. "No. I'm not really in the mood for it either. Not after-" She made a vague gesture. "Would you like another drink, at least?"

He swallowed the lingering metallic taste of champagne. "Do you have anything less bubbly? Like scotch?"

"Of course. I'll be right back."

He scanned the crowd for Liz's red dress, but saw nothing. He should find her. They could come back on Monday during the public showing, when there might be fewer people, less brittle laughter and forced witticisms. Instead he found a bench in a corner and slumped, elbows on his knees. The polished tiles threw back the light, and he squinted against the glare. His headache eased when he tugged the elastic band out of his hair, but not enough. What the h.e.l.l were they looking for, anyway?

The room in front of him was lined with ribs like flying b.u.t.tresses. Peering over the tops of his gla.s.ses, Alex had the unsettling feeling that he'd been swallowed by Jonah's whale.

A woman wandered past, her eyes gla.s.sy and unfocused, tongue flickering wet across her lips. Was that mania? Maybe he should ask for a sample. In the interest of informed judgment, of course.

Footsteps and voices approached. Antja and a man, their conversation low and serious.

"-losing his grip, and you know it," the man said. "He's a disaster waiting to happen, whether it's the police or your monsters."

Antja's voice could have cut gla.s.s. "You don't need to stay if it worries you so."

"You're the one who should leave. He lost three of his artists in one night, not to mention his protege. Do you think you'll end up any better?"

They paused at the corner. The man was blond and sleek, his voice veined with smugness under the veneer of concern. Antja stared at him, her face an ice sculpture, a gla.s.s of amber liquid in her hand. Neither of them noticed Alex.

"And where would I go, Stephen?" Anger made her accent stronger, deepening her rich contralto.

"I'm sure you could find someone else to appreciate you."

She gave him a disdainful laugh. "Someone like a backbiting street-corner pusher? Or one of your gangster friends?"

Stephen's smile chilled. "At least I wouldn't throw you over for the first pretty boy with a sob story who wanders by."

A second of frozen silence followed, before Antja flung the contents of the gla.s.s full in his face. Ice rattled against the floor.

Stephen wiped his eyes with a steady hand. "Sorry. Did I touch a nerve?"

"Get out," she spat. "You can't buy your welcome here any longer."

"Whatever you say. Just remember, when everything's burning down around your ears, that I offered to help." He turned, dripping, and stalked away.

Antja looked up and caught Alex's gaze. She drew a sharp breath, then started to laugh. "I'm sorry," she said, setting the empty gla.s.s on the bench. "I seem to have spilled your drink." Her shoulders shook and the stones of her necklace threw off sparks. "It was the cheap stuff, anyway."

Alex arched an eyebrow. "As long as it went to a good cause."

She laughed again, low and rich. "Believe me, that was an excellent cause." She tried to school her expression, but her eyes were bright. "We have better scotch upstairs, if you'd like. I think I could use some too."

It was better than anything else he could think of, besides finding Liz and getting the h.e.l.l out of there. "Why not?"

Antja led him through an emergency exit in the corner. Winter chill coiled in the stairwell, and darkness puddled beyond the reach of the white LEDs on the landings. Her heels echoed on the concrete steps as she climbed. Her dress left her back bare, and muscles s.h.i.+fted under smooth skin with each step; fabric s.h.i.+mmered with the sway of her hips. Her perfume trailed behind her, poppy and narcissus and bitter myrrh.

Perhaps this was an adventure better had sober.

As they neared the top floor, they heard a soft scratching noise. Antja stopped, and Alex nearly collided with her. His hand closed over the cold iron railing.

Shadows gathered at the top of the stairs, black and liquid. As he watched, a shape coalesced from the gloom. A man, tall and gaunt. Then it moved, and it wasn't a man at all. Cold air gusted over them as the shadows flared. Alex couldn't move, only stare, trying to make sense of what he saw. Lean limbs, tenebrous wings, a faceless horned head snaking toward him...

Antja screamed and the darkness shattered. Alex clapped his hands over his ears, certain his eardrums would rupture. The thing on the stairs retreated from the onslaught of sound.

She spun, grabbing Alex's arm as she pushed past, dragging him down the stairs. In the aftermath of her shriek, an ocean-rush echoed in his ears. The exit sign writhed like red snakes. The door opened and the flood of light washed his vision white.

Antja released him in her haste, and his head and stomach churned too badly for him to follow. He groped his way down the wall to the bench and sank onto the cool plastic, cradling his head in his hands. If the monster wanted to eat him, it could d.a.m.n well come and find him.

No, not a monster. A trick of the shadows. Too much to drink- His vision darkened from white to grey and back to color, and no shadow-creatures appeared. Eventually his ears stopped ringing, and he heard the approach of high-heeled footsteps. He looked up to a crimson blur that resolved itself into Liz when he blinked.

"What happened?" she asked, crouching in front of him.

His eyes burned, a bruised and bloodshot ache. "I'm not sure." He winced at the slur in his words.

Liz frowned. "We should leave."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea." He let her pull him up and throw an arm around his waist. As much as he despised leaning on anyone, he doubted he could make it down the hall without help. The room spun, and Liz was the warm stationary center of the universe. A crowd had gathered, and their whispers rippled behind them.

Rainer intercepted them by the main stairs. "Are you leaving already? Antja had a bit of a fright, but everything is fine." The wild look in his eyes belied the rea.s.surance.

"Alex isn't feeling well," Liz said, cutting off his own less tactful reply. "We need to go." With that, she dragged him down the stairs and into the frozen night.

"wHat Happened?" liz asked again when the gallery doors swung shut behind them. All the smokers had fled, and they were alone on the sidewalk.

Alex shook his head, wincing as movement sent pain dancing across his frontal lobe. A car roared by, rattling with ba.s.s. Headlights flashed against the inside of his gla.s.ses and he winced again. "I don't know."

"How much did you have to drink?" The glow from the windows warmed her pale face and etched the creases of her frown sharp and black.

He tried to glare, but couldn't muster much force behind it. "Not that much." He considered calling a cab, but maybe the biting air would clear his head. He'd be d.a.m.ned if that much cheap champagne would deprive him of his faculties. He started walking, hunched against the cold, eyes on the icy pavement. His ears still rang from Antja's scream, and he felt as though he were about to give birth to Athena.

Wind whistled beneath them as they crossed the bridge. Liz glanced down at the black water and swiftly looked away. Traffic rushed past, spraying slush from tires.

"Antja said something about monsters," Liz said. Alex shuddered and tried to blame the cold. Whether it's the police or your monsters. He'd imagined something much more metaphorical.

"There was... something there. But I don't know what." He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and clenched his jaw. At least the pain and cold helped strip away the alcohol haze.

One foot slipped on ice and Liz twined her arm through his to steady him. He shortened his stride to match hers, trying not to think of the indignity of it all, or the tightness in his chest.

Wind gusted and something whooshed over their heads. Liz froze, fingers digging into his arm. Alex shuddered again and his chest spasmed. They stood frozen for a moment, searching the sky, but whatever it was didn't return.

"A gull," Liz murmured.

"Just a gull." He tried not to think of black wings in the darkness. Friday night partiers crowded Granville Street, swirling in and out of bars and clubs. Music leaked through doorways, drums and pounding ba.s.s in sync with the throb in Alex's head. Neon bled across the night, ignis fatuus to guide h.e.l.l's revelers.

When they turned onto the hotel's cross street, Alex paused and leaned against a lamp pole. His fingers tightened around his inhaler until plastic creaked. Liz stood close, s.h.i.+elding him from the worst of the wind. "Are you all right?" Her tone was softer this time.

Chemical sweetness filled his mouth as he took a hit, settled heavy in his lungs. Then came the rush of expansion and he sucked in a long cold breath. "I will be."

The alchemy of alcohol and albuterol left him tingling, thrumming with nerves. Paranoia, he thought, when the sensation of being watched slid down his back. But Liz tensed with it, too, eyes narrowing as she peered down the sidewalk.

"What is it?" he asked. Moisture streaked his gla.s.ses, filling his vision with shattered rainbows.

"I've seen that person before."

Alex wiped his lenses on his scarf. He slipped them on in time to catch a glimpse of a figure in a long black coat vanis.h.i.+ng into the crowd. Something familiar about the cut of that coat, the fall of dark hair- "Where?"

"When I was out with Antja."

"I've seen him too."

Her chin lifted. "Coincidence? Apophenia?"

"I won't discount it. But three times in as many days makes me wonder, all the same."

The crowd moved past them, a too-bright glitter of sequins and laughter. When they were gone, so was the man. Liz's cold fingers tightened around Alex's.

"Let's get off the street."

He wasn't inclined to argue.

HOURS LATER, AFTER the guests had departed and the last congealing canapes been disposed of, Rainer circled the loft above the gallery one more time. Three in the morning, said the clock on the wall. Three hours since he'd locked the doors and dimmed the lights, all spent searching every inch of the gallery. None of his wards had been disturbed. Nothing had entered his apartment, or the connecting loft, he was certain.