dump the rest back into the body. But!” Petunia raised her finger. “As it returns liquids to the body, it will add the miracle algae to it.”
“It would hurt,” William said.
“Oh, yes. It would hurt like hell, but if you’re dying or getting old, you wouldn’t care.” Petunia grimaced. “Keep going, Ceri. I’m guessing your grandfather experimented with putting creatures into the casket.”
Petunia proved right. Vernard had designed five test subjects: a cat, a pig, a calf, someone he called D, and E. Before he could stick them into his coffin, he made them drink some sort of herbal concoction he called the remedy. Cerise’s face jerked as she read the ingredients.
“ ‘One-quarter teaspoon crushed redwort leaves, one tube of fisherman’s club in full bloom, one-quarter teaspoon minced burial shroud, one cup water. Let steep for twenty hours.
“ ‘Today I’ve taken the cat, subject A, and slit its side to cause massive bleeding. I’ve placed it into the Box and shut the lid. I will check on it tomorrow. Tonight I must go fishing. I promised Cerise, and one must always keep a promise given to a child …
“‘The cat is alive. The gash has healed completely, and a new pink tissue marks the location of the wound I had inflicted. I’ve beheaded the cat, and upon dissection, found its heart still beating. The pulse continued for nearly six minutes and stopped, I suspect, because the body ran out of blood.’ ”
The cat wasn’t the only victim. William growled in his head. He could see where this was heading. Once Grandpa started putting things into the damn Box, he would crawl into it himself eventually. First, the cat, then the pig, then the calf …
“ ‘The calf lives. The bones of its broken leg have healed. It stands renewed in the back corral, together with the piglet. It is time for a true test. Tonight I enter the Box.’ ”
Ignata buried her head in her hands. “Oh no. No, Vernard, no.”
“ ‘Words fail me. At first I felt the agony of each sting puncturing my skin. My world shrank to a red daze and I floated in it, buoyant in my pain, twisted, battered, mangled by it, and yet somehow supported and made whole. The pain tore the very fabric of me, unraveled it strand by strand, and wove it back together anew. As it consumed me, I found deliverance in its red mist. I found strength and vigor. The universe had opened like a flower to my mind, and I saw its secret patterns and hidden truths. I stand before the Box now. My mind is clear, but the insight has left me. The secrets gained have slipped away, beyond the veil of consciousness. I can feel them, yet they pass through the fingers of my mind like smoke coils. I must return to the Box …
“ ‘It’s easier to breathe. The budding arthritis in my hands troubles me no longer …
“ ‘I ran three miles in the morning to test myself, and discovering myself free of fatigue, I ran three more …
“ ‘The visions of the red daze haunt me. I must enter the Box again …
“‘I shall speak nothing of what I glimpsed beyond the red curtain. I must understand it before I commit it to the page …
“ ‘ The scar on my shin is gone. I’ve had it since I was a child …
“ ‘And then I picked her up into my arms and danced across the house, danced and danced. She laughed, throwing her head back … Gods, I haven’t seen her laugh like that since we were twenty …’ ”
Cerise’s voice kept on, flat and steady, reading Vernard’s thoughts as he slid deeper and deeper into delirium. The Box was addictive, and the addiction came with a price. It unhinged Vernard’s mind.
“ ‘I’m becoming violent. My moods, my rage are growing difficult to control. I screamed at Genevieve this morning when she brought us drinks. She had spilled my mug of tea. I didn’t mean to lash out, yet my body did it seemingly on its own, while I watched it act from the depths of my consciousness. It is as if I’m steering a boat with a broken rudder …
“‘The remedy failed me. The toxin proved too potent …
“ ‘ Too late. It’s too late for me.
“‘Too late … Impatient. Too impatient. Too many visits to the red daze. Had I just waited another month, letting the remedy affect me, had I limited myself to three trips and no more … Had I, had I …
“ ‘ Had I been a husband, had I been a father,
“ ‘I shall die alone, abandoned by my lover,
“ ‘Lay me down gently, I’ll go no farther,
“ ‘Lay me down gently …
“ ‘I found the pig dead in its pen. Its torn body was a mess of blood and bruises. I suspect the calf. I don’t like the way he looks at me.’ ”
Cerise closed her eyes for a long moment and kept going.
“ ‘Today, when I dumped the feed into the calf’s trough, it tried to ram me. I saw it coming, yellow eyes burning with a radiant hunger. It galloped to me, hooves striking a thudding battle hymn from the ground. It meant to kill me. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I didn’t wish to. It reached me, and my body took over. I spun out of the way. My hands closed about its neck and tore into the flesh. Blood washed over my fingers. Its scent … oh, its scent, intoxicating and sickening. It took hold of me and rode me, and I could not escape its grasp.
“‘I buried the calf. The rational part of me is horrified by the sight of the body, by its odor, by the taste of raw flesh on my tongue. But its voice is growing weak. The logical center of my being is fading. It leaves a ravening dog in its wake. And I have not the power to contain its rage. But she did fine. She did just fine. Only once and no more. My gift. My curse. My poor sweet E, carry it in you. I wanted so much for you and have given you so little. I’m just a selfish old man, tired and stupid, sitting on the shards of my tower. I fought against the forces of nature and was found wanting. I should’ve let it die, but couldn’t. I would beg for forgiveness, but I know you’ll have none to give. I love you. Gods, how hopelessly inadequate this simple proclamation feels.
“ ‘The red daze is coming. It will claim me soon.
“ ‘ I’ve hid it. Hid it where the fisherman waits.’ ”
Cerise stopped. “This is the last coherent entry. On the next two pages he has written ‘poor Vernard’ over and over, and then it dissolves into scribbles.”
She slumped in the chair, exhausted.
William’s mind raced. That’s what Spider wanted. The Box.
If the Hand’s freaks got cooked in the Box, they would come out more psychotic than they were before. They would regenerate their wounds in seconds, and they would kill and kill and kill, never stopping.
Louisiana wanted a weapon against Adrianglia. This was it.
Vernard never died. The thought dashed through his mind, illuminating the fractured pieces of the puzzle. Of course, Vernard never died. Not after that many trips to the Box. It would make him nearly indestructible.
“This is the day the secrets get told,” Grandmother Az said.
William looked up. She stood in the middle of the room, wizened and ancient as ever, and deep sadness pooled in her small dark eyes.
“You’re awake,” Ignata said and rose to offer her chair. Grandmother Az ignored it. She stared at him, and William felt a pull of magic.
“Tell them, child,” she said. “Tell them who you’ve seen in the woods.”
“Vernard never died,” William said. “I’ve seen him. I fought him in the Mire.”
“The monster? No.” Cerise shook her head. “No, it can’t be.”
“He prowls the night,” Grandmother Az said. “He stayed away from the house for many years, but he’s come back. He knows something is wrong. He is a monster now, but some memories still linger. The thing he did, the unnatural thing, it changed him too much. The magic was too strong.”
Silence fell, tense and charged, like the air before the storm.
“Who is E?” Ignata said. “A was the cat, B was the pig, C was the calf. D was Vernard himself.”
Kaldar rose. “The Box. It speeds up the healing, yes?”
He crossed the room. A dagger flashed in his fingers. He took Cerise by the hand and glanced at her. She nodded. Kaldar cut at her forearm. Blood swelled. He wiped the crimson liquid off with his sleeve and raised her arm high. A thin line of red marked the wound but no more blood came.
“Sweet little E,” he said. “I’ve wondered about that for years. She never got a cold. All of us would be down with flu or some other crud, but she would be up and chipper.”
Cerise studied her arm as if it were a foreign object. “I don’t remember it. The Box. I don’t remember it at all.”
