The Mirrored Shard

Draven tightened his grip on the trigger of the shock pistol, and I felt a cry rise in my throat. I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but I knew I couldn’t give in to him, couldn’t agree to become the Brotherhood’s weapon without dire consequences for this already shredded world of iron.

Before Draven could do more than inhale, the door banged open, nearly smacking him off his feet.

“That’s enough,” a voice said.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding when I saw my father standing in the doorway, and a small cry escaped. Just a ghost of the scream I would have given if the shock ray had pierced Dean’s skull.

Dean slumped in relief. “Never thought I’d be glad to see you, Mr. Grayson,” he muttered.

“Likewise,” my father said, and came over to me, wrapping his arms so tightly around me I could barely speak.

“Y-you’re all r-right …,” I stammered.

“I am,” he agreed. “A few days ago I came to. I’d been having the strangest dreams, Aoife, but suddenly they receded, and I was back to my old self. Conrad had left word where he’d gone, so I came here with Bethina. Conrad’s been bringing us up to speed on … everything.”

“That’s all well and good,” Draven said, “but I think you’ll find that I’m in charge here, Grayson, and you’re a traitor.” He raised the pistol again. “It’s amazing what people will do when they’re desperate and in need of a strong leader. It was ridiculously simple to take over from Crosley and get everyone loyal to me.”

My father turned on him, and the expression on his face was the coldest I’d ever seen. His mouth was a thin line and his eyes could have cut glass. “Maybe this cell of the Brotherhood, yes. But not all.”

He advanced on Draven, who backed away, pistol wavering. “You think Crosley is the only one who escaped the Bone Sepulchre? He wasn’t. The others remember what you did to them, and the friends you threw into your Proctor prison. They want nothing to do with your little freak show. They’re loyal to me.”

“No,” Draven said. “You’re a traitor, Grayson. You left the Brotherhood when they most needed you, left them vulnerable to the machinations of the Fae. Hell, you reproduced with one of those silver-blooded monsters. Nobody trusts you or your offspring.”

“Better to leave than to be a part of this sideshow,” my father said. “But I’m here now, and the Brotherhood is going to start doing some things differently.”

He snatched the shock pistol from Draven’s grip with an economical move. “And if you ever threaten my daughter again …”

I saw Draven’s hand flash down while my father’s anger had him distracted. I saw it grasp a small black handle in his waistband and the flash of the blade as he pulled it free. I saw all this in slow motion as my blood roared through my ears like a crashing zeppelin, propelling me across the room and into Draven with my whole weight. We staggered together, caught in a rough dance, until his foot tangled in the rung of Dean’s chair and he stumbled.

The knife blade lowered a fraction and I took the opening. I slammed my fist into his nose with all my strength. Broken noses hurt, and it was no less than he deserved. So much less than he deserved. But it would have to do for now.

Archie kicked the knife out of Draven’s reach and I rushed to Dean. I unbuckled the cruel leather straps and massaged his wrists, and he let his forehead fall against mine. “You have a hell of a left hook, princess,” he said. “Remind me never to get you mad.”

I pressed my lips against his, tasted blood and sweat, and felt relief swell in me when I did. He was alive. He was bleeding, and alive, and I hadn’t lost him again.

Archie cleared his throat, and we pulled apart. I felt my cheeks flush slightly, and then really focused on my father for the first time. He still didn’t look very well—he was thinner and pale, and stubble coated the bottom half of his face.

“Thank you,” I said. He smiled at me.

“No need to thank me, Aoife. I’m just doing my job as head of the Brotherhood.” He took a step, all he needed with his long arms, and enfolded me in an embrace. “And as your father.”

I looked up at him, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “Are you really in charge?”

“Valentina is, technically,” he said. “Crosley was her father, and most of those simpleminded sheep are just happy somebody else is making all the hard choices for them. But she’ll do what’s right. She won’t make backdoor deals with the Fae, and she’ll teach them to really fight in the face of what’s coming.”

I pulled away from him and looked down. “I’m sorry. For my part in everything. I’m sorry I ran away and I’m sorry I let Crow release the Old Ones. I was just trying to fix things.”

“You can’t fix the world, Aoife,” my father said softly. “The world was broken long before you got here. And the harder you try, the faster it turns to dust in your hands.”

I did start to cry then, long, heaving sobs that were humiliating. I wished I could stop, but it all became too much.

Dean came to me and held me, but that did nothing to stop my tears. “Will you look at what you did?” he snapped at my father. “She’s hysterical.”

“She’s tired and angry and she feels guilty,” my father said. “Just let her cry it out.”

He was right—I was guilty. And I knew from his last words that he blamed me. “I’m sorry,” I choked. “I let you down.…”

“I didn’t mean that,” Archie said sternly. “You made a mistake, Aoife. We all make them. But the Old Ones were going to break through whether or not you made that mistake. Even if you’d turned your back on them in the dream realm, they’d have found a way through. The barriers between their world and ours are too weak to hold them any longer.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I think that’s why you were born, Aoife. Because unlike Tesla, you have no doors to open, only doors to guard. The world needed your Weird to fight off the influence of these things, and that’s what you’re going to have to do.”

I swiped at my tears, and as I did, my father turned me from Dean and looked into my eyes. It wasn’t his usual vaguely irritated look that said I was an annoyance he was trying to shape into something useful. It was a dead-serious look, one I’d only seen him give other adults.

“You are our protector, Aoife,” my father said. “You are the one who balanced the spheres, and you are the one who can keep the darkness at bay. It’s not fair to ask such a thing of you, but I must. I’m your father, and I love you, and I will stand by you, but from now on, this is your calling. Tell me now—can you do it?”

I returned his look, this new one that said I wasn’t a disappointment, his renegade daughter who was nothing like he’d expected her to be. He was regarding me as an equal for the first time, and in some ways that thought was more terrifying than the idea that I would have to take up the mantle of Gateminder once and for all, to stand alone against the forces, out there among the stars and here on earth, that crawled out of the mud and the mist and my dreams themselves to bedevil the human world.

I had come this far, I thought. I hadn’t destroyed the Iron Land. I had fought back against Nylarthotep. I had conquered the nightmare clock.

I was Aoife Grayson, and I was no longer just a scared little girl from Lovecraft. No longer a changeling who didn’t have a place in any of the Lands. I was myself. I was the Gates, and the Gates were me. How it should have always been.

I nodded at my father. “I can do it,” I said. “I can be what I was always meant to be.”

My father gave me a slow nod and smile. “Of course you can,” he said. “You’re my daughter, after all.”

17 At Home in Arkham

THE JOURNEY HOME was almost comically uneventful. We picked up Conrad and Cal in Chinatown and flew back across the Rockies under the cover of a river of stars wide and broad as the Mississippi. My father’s personal aircraft, the Munin, was much smaller and faster than the zeppelin Cal and I had crossed on, which was made of wood rather than metal, so the trip took a matter of a day.

When we got home, however, the good mood had largely ceased. Arkham was still under quarantine, but