“No!” said Sir Alec. “Miss Markham, don’t-”
Ignoring him, Bibbie tossed the hexed book. “Here, Monk. Instant memories!”
He reached for it. Fumbled it. The book thudded to the carpet, the impact knocking it wide open. He bent down to pick it up… and his eye caught a random line of hexed writing.
And then he said, “Trust me, I have everything under control. You’ve got nothing to worry about, Monk. The world will never have to fear a Lional of New Ottosland again.”
He blinked, startled, as a bright light seemed to explode before his eyes. And then his breath caught, and his heart slammed, and sweat started pouring down his spine.
Oh, bugger. Oh, bloody hell. I remember.
A firestorm of images swirling sparks and flame inside his skull. Sights and sounds and memories that weren’t his… and yet were.
Horrified desperation. No, Gerald-don’t do this. It’s wrong. You know it’s wrong. Please, mate. Let me help you. It’s not too late, we can — The death of hope. Betrayal and torture. It’s a shame, Monk. You mustn’t think I’m not sorry. But I can’t do this without you and we both know that’s not the kind of help you meant. Searing pain as the shadbolt took hold. Disbelief and defeat and a sister lost to the dark. You’re so stubborn, Monk, I could slap you. Why didn’t you say yes? What Gerald can do? It’s marvelous. I’m having so much fun. If you’d only said yes we could’ve had fun together. Pity and horror. My God, Gerald, oh my God, what have you done? Heartbreak at yet another casual cruelty. Mel, Mel, I’m so sorry. I’d help you if I could. Defiance, so fleeting. Forget it, Gerald. You can’t ask me to do that. I won’t-I won’t — Pain beyond bearing. Craven capitulation. But at its battered, beating heart-a seed of revolt. I’ll stop you, mate. I don’t know how, but I will. I owe it to the Gerald you used to be. The Gerald you killed.
Other memories, tumbling. Bursts and snatches of the other life he’d never lived. Chaotic. Disordered. A nightmare patchwork quilt. Fading now, fading quickly, the thaumic power was dwindling. His tongue raced to keep up. The other Gerald’s crazy dreams. His wicked hopes. His terrible plan. And then one final, heartbroken thought.
He’ll help me. I know he will. Or I don’t know myself.
Monk felt the hexed book slip from his nerveless fingers. Heard its papery bounce on the carpet, and Melissande’s alarmed cry. The dead man wearing his face lay so still upon the bed. No-one would guess, looking at him, what terrible things he’d seen and done.
A shocking pain jolted through him as his knees hit the floor.
It was Sir Alec who crouched beside him. Sir Alec who took hold of him and lent him some strength. “Steady now, Mr. Markham,” he said sharply. “We’ve no time for histrionics.”
The hand painfully gripping his shoulder gave more comfort than he could ever have expected. And Sir Alec’s clipped voice and cool gray eyes helped too, far more than warm soft womanly sympathy. Or tears. They would’ve undone him.
“I’m all right,” he said, after a short struggle. “Sorry. It just-it was-it hit me a bit-I wasn’t expecting that.”
“No,” said Sir Alec, removing his hand and standing. “It does come as a shock.”
Something in the way he said it, some odd note in his voice… Ha. I thought so. He’s used the device too. “I’m all right,” he said again, looking at Melissande. She was holding the hexed book gingerly, as though it might bite. Or explode. “But Sir Alec’s right. We have to get cracking on this, now, we have to-”
“No, Monk, don’t listen to him,” said Bibbie, shoving Sir Alec aside without hesitation. “We can’t rush this. We can’t even be sure you can cobble together a shadbolt that will fool the other Gerald. Not if he’s as awful and powerful as-as you said the other Monk remembered. And-and what about his portal opener? I know you’ve both got the same thaumic signature, but what if you can’t make it work? What if-”
“Bibs…” Sighing, he hung his head for a moment, then let her pull him to his feet. Briefly touched his forehead to hers. “Don’t. Of course we have to rush this. The fate of two worlds depends on us rushing. That other Gerald could come looking for me- his me-any tick of the clock.”
She smoothed his collar with trembling fingers. “Well, yes, maybe, but-”
“And if he’s not where he’s meant to be-if I’m not there, being him?” He captured her fingers with his. “Bibs, there’ll be no hope of stopping the mad bastard. He’ll find a way to make our Gerald finish that bloody machine and once it’s finished-once it’s working-well. That’ll be it. We can kiss each other goodbye. Because if he succeeds there’s no wizard anywhere strong enough to stop the kind of power he’ll have at his fingertips.”
Pulling away from him, Bibbie turned on Sir Alec. “So you’re just going to stand there, are you, and say nothing? You’re going to let him do this? It’s not enough that you’ve probably sent Gerald to his death, now you want to send my brother after him? Well, I suppose that’d solve a few problems for you, wouldn’t it? No more embarrassingly powerful Gerald Dunwoody and no more inconveniently brilliant Monk Markham. That’d save you a lot of money in headache pills, wouldn’t it?”
Sir Alec’s lips tightened, just for a moment. “Miss Markham-”
Monk cleared his throat. “Excuse me? She’s my sister, Sir Alec. Let me talk to her.”
“Talk quickly, Mr. Markham,” Sir Alec snapped. “Or I’ll have no choice but to seek out Lord Attaby and apprise him of everything-which isn’t something either of us wants, is it?”
No, it bloody wasn’t. As Sir Alec took the hexed book from Melissande and started leafing through it, he tugged Bibbie over to the old mahogany wardrobe. That left Mel stranded-so she occupied herself by putting the bedroom chair back where it belonged, beside the window. Her expression was forbiddingly self-contained.
“I know what you’re going to say, Monk, and I don’t care,” Bibbie muttered, her expression mutinous. “Not after what I just heard. Sir Alec’s lost his marbles if he thinks you can handle this on your own. This is the kind of thaumaturgic catastrophe that needs all the help it can get. He just wants to keep it quiet to save his own skin.”
Not since she was a baby had he seen her so upset. “Come on, Bibs-that’s not true and you know it,” he said gently. “Sir Alec’s right. If we can handle this situation discreetly we should. We must. My God, can you imagine the uproar in parliament if what’s happened here got out? And it wouldn’t stay a secret, either. News like this would spread around the world. And mass panic would only make it easier for the other Gerald to come in here and take over.”
“Maybe, but you don’t know that’s what he’s planning, Monk,” Bibbie objected. “The-the other you didn’t even know his Gerald was going to kidnap our Gerald.”
“No,” he said, after a moment. “But if he’d had the time, he would’ve figured it out.” He managed a small, painful smile. “He was pretty smart, you know. Okay, not as smart as me but-”
“Oh, Monk,” said Bibbie, and slapped his chest. Suddenly her eyes were full of tears. “Monk… you died.”
“No, no, no, Bibs,” he said, and held her tight. “ He died. And that’s not the same thing.”
She pulled back. “You don’t believe that.”
He didn’t have time to work out what he did or didn’t believe. “Bibs, please,” he said, catching hold of her small, cold hands. “It may only be a theory but we have to assume it’s fact. If we don’t he could win. I can’t let that happen.”
“But Monk-” Blinking back her tears she tugged her hands free of his grasp. “You’re not a spy, you’re a theoretical thaumaturgist. You aren’t trained for this.”
“Trust me, Bibs, I know.” Then he pointed to the body on the bed. “But the moment he crossed from his world into ours, that was it. None of us stood a chance of not getting involved.”
She looked at him with enormous eyes. “No. I don’t accept that. Let Sir Alec send one of his janitors. This is their business, not yours.”
“Oh, Bibs…” He tucked a strand of her glorious golden hair behind her ear. “I wish I could. I wish it was that easy. But even if I could doppler hex one of Sir Alec’s people into me, I can’t doppler my thaumic signature and the rest of it, can I? I’m the only Monk Markham we’ve got. That other Gerald will accept no substitutes.”
Her face crumpling, his little sister flung her arms around his neck and burst into tears. “Promise me you’ll come back, Monk,” she sobbed. “Because if you don’t come back that means I’m stuck with Aylesbury and if I’m stuck with Aylesbury I won’t care if that horrible other Gerald takes over the world! I might even help him just to end the pain!”
“Oh, Bibbie,” he said, voice breaking, and held her tight again. From the corner of his eye he caught
