Magic and Loss

As I waited for the protective wards inked onto my body to finish drying—it wouldn’t do to have the symbols smudged—I noticed a jumble of old photographs mixed in with the arcana littering Lady Syra’s workbench. The one on the top of the pile showed a five-year-old boy with purple hair and gold eyes, dressed in a Star Wars T-shirt, sitting on the lap of a dignified older Kymeran with dark blue hair, golden eyes, and a closely manicured German goatee. With a start, I realized I was looking at Hexe and his grandfather, Lord Eben.

The next photograph was in black-and-white and showed a much younger Syra seated at a table in a restaurant, enjoying a cocktail and the company of Lou Reed and Andy Warhol. I flipped the picture over and read the notation: Elaine’s. Reed, resplendent in black leather, had one arm about Syra, and the two seemed to be sharing a laugh while Warhol stared directly into the camera, looking far more otherworldly than the teenaged witch seated at his elbow.

The third photograph was also in black-and-white and showed three Kymerans—two men and a woman— gathered about one end of the formal dining table in the boardinghouse. It was strange to see Esau as a young man, as he was almost unrecognizable from the person I had come to know. It was not so much his youth that made the difference, but the fact the Esau in the photograph was . . . happy. Seated opposite him was a young man with a Beatles haircut and pair of tinted Ben Franklin glasses. It wasn’t until I saw his long, elegant fingers that I recognized him as the drug-addled, alcoholic Dr. Moot. However, the real shock came when I looked at the woman, seated between them. Although she was a little younger in the photo, I had no problems identifying her. I flipped the photo over and saw it was dated forty-five years earlier.

I turned to look at Lady Syra, who had just finished inscribing the last protective sigil on her son’s body. “Who is this woman in this picture?” I asked.

“That’s Nina,” she replied with a sad little sigh. “She was my brother’s wife.”

“But that’s impossible,” I said as I handed the snapshot to Hexe. “That’s Madam Erys.”

“Tate’s right,” he said excitedly. “This is the woman who gave me the Gauntlet of Nydd. But how can it possibly be the same woman—? She’s dead—isn’t she?”

“Oh—Nina’s not dead,” Lady Syra replied. “Well, not exactly, anyway.”

Chapter 27

The Golden Years was located on the corner of Pearl and Hag, and, from the outside, resembled a Gilded Age hotel more than a nursing home. A twenty-foot-tall marble statue of a hooded and berobed figure leaning on a staff in its left hand while holding aloft an hourglass in its right stood in the center of the spacious lobby. At its foot was a reception station, manned by various Golgothamites in nurse’s whites.

I glanced around the handsomely appointed lobby and noticed that most of the older people seemed to be Kymeran, their once-vibrantly colored hair now faded to pastel. A large knot of them where gathered about the flat-screen TV hanging over the fireplace, watching Wheel of Fortune, while smaller clusters were scattered about reading books, talking among themselves, or playing board games like Parcheesi and the Game of Thirty. As we approached the front desk, several of them stopped what they were doing to watch us, with expectant looks on their faces, only to return to their pastimes once they realized we weren’t family members. But I also saw flickers of confusion, fear, and mistrust in some eyes as well, and I wondered if a human had ever set foot inside the facility before.

“Yes, may I help you?” the cyclopean receptionist asked, rising from her seat to greet us. Like most of the cyclopes living in Golgotham, she stood nearly seven feet tall and was built like a linebacker. A name tag affixed to her blouse identified her as Polyphema.

“We’re looking for a certain patient who’s supposed to be here—”

“We don’t have patients here at Golden Years, Serenity,” she replied. “We have residents. But I should be able to help you locate who you’re looking for. May I have the resident’s name and your relation to them?”

“Her name is Nina, and she’s my aunt,” Hexe explained. “She was placed here by her husband, my uncle, thirty-five years ago.”

The receptionist blinked her solitary eye, revealing a preference for dusky purple eye shadow, and typed the information into her desktop computer. “Ah, yes. She’s one of our Perpetual Care residents in the Eternal Rest ward. Please follow me, Serenity.”

As we followed Polyphema through the lobby toward the elevators, we were approached by a Kymeran nurse pushing a very old warlock in a wheelchair. Although he was bald as an egg, he had a long, flowing pale green beard and bristling brows to match. His hands were encased in what looked like a cross between children’s snow mittens and boxing gloves that were laced tightly shut. As the old warlock was rolled past us, he turned his head to stare at Hexe with glaucoma-clouded eyes the color of mutton jade and said something in Kymeran, his voice a rasping croak.

“This place reminds me of my grandfather’s last days,” Hexe muttered to me under his breath as we waited for an elevator to arrive. “He succumbed to the gazing sickness toward the end—it’s not unlike what your people call Alzheimer’s. He became unstuck in time, unaware of when and where he was—we had to bind his hands to keep him from casting spells against threats that didn’t exist. His mind was gone, but the magic was still there. . . .”

“The old man—what did he say to you?” I asked.

“‘My king,’” he replied grimly.

* * *

The Eternal Rest ward was located on the sublevel of the facility. As the elevator doors opened we were greeted by the sight of a scarlet-haired Kymeran dressed in orderly’s whites with his feet up on his desk, reading a Louis L’Amour paperback. Around his neck hung a large, old-fashioned key, like the ones used to unlock treasure chests.

“Sorry, Nurse Polyphema,” he said as he awkwardly righted himself.

“As well you should be, Hark,” she replied frostily. “I have two visitors for the Eternal Rest ward. I need the manifest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the orderly said meekly as he removed the key from about his neck and handed her the clipboard from his desk.

At the end of the hallway was a large, featureless metal door. Upon the orderly unlocking it, the door swung open with a squeal of rusty hinges, revealing absolute darkness beyond its threshold. The orderly then flipped the light switch next to the door and rows of fluorescent lights flickered to life, illuminating a vast chamber filled with row upon row of glass caskets, all of them occupied.

I stared in stunned horror at the various figures in repose. There were men, women, and even children from all the various races that comprised the citizenry of Golgotham, as well as humans, dressed in everything from pantaloons and knee-hose to the latest in modern fashion. I noticed that while some of them had long beards, hair, and fingernails, others were neatly coifed and manicured. Seeing the look on my face, Hexe took my hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“A-are they dead?” I whispered.

“Yes—and no,” Nurse Polyphema replied. “All the residents in the Eternal Rest ward have been placed under a sleeping spell, balanced forever between life and death. They neither age nor decay, but instead exist in a perpetual state of suspended animation. However, their hair and nails do continue to grow. Those whose loved ones have paid for perpetual care are groomed by our staff every six weeks, as you can see. While most of the residents in this ward were cursed, the others were dying, and put to sleep by their loved ones in order to keep them from breathing their last breath.”

“Why would someone want to do that to someone they loved?” I frowned.

“Some simply have a hard time letting go, especially if the sleeper was taken from them too soon,” the cyclops replied, gesturing to a nearby casket that contained the sleeping form of a small Kymeran boy still dressed in knee socks and a sailor suit. “Many lift the spell when they, themselves, are close to death, so that they and their loved one will pass on at the same time.”

“That’s the saddest and sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” I said, forcing down the lump rising in my