Simon rose on one arm, and shouted, “Finish it!”
Hogarth had found the box behind Kate, and she snatched it from his hands. Her desperate voice rang through the church as she uttered the final words of the spell. The box in her hands snapped open. The very air filled with sand. A howling wind swept across the Skin of Ra. The linen was trapped in the whirling storm and dragged back toward Kate. The body of Barnes slipped free of the cloth and fell heavily to the ground, nothing but a decayed husk. The linen flew into the ebony box in a seemingly endless trail. When the final yard of cloth slid inside, the lid shut and locked on its own, sealing the Skin of Ra inside once again. Silence yawned in the wrecked patch of London that had been a church.
Kate gasped once in the eerie silence. Hogarth took the box from her stiff grip. She ran for Simon, who staggered up in time to gather her in a weakened embrace.
“Good work,” he said to her through hisses of pain. His left arm hung limp. “And you’re right, watching someone you love die is a horrible thing. Never again for either of us.”
Kate kissed him hard. He relished the feel of her in his arms. She was alive. That’s what mattered. The terror that had gripped his heart when her breathing stopped was the worst he had ever experienced. He let his head rest against hers.
“I’m fine too,” came a creaky brogue from a pile of rubble. Malcolm pushed himself free, trailing a stream of dust. “In case you were wondering. But just go about your business. Don’t mind me.”
Simon helped him up with a slap on the shoulder. He then turned to find the rest of the group. Hogarth and Charlotte were tending a badly beaten Penny. The engineer turned her head, blood dripping down her bruised face. She winked, then fell back in unconsciousness. They were all still alive although the blood and agony were plentiful. Malcolm tossed Charlotte his long coat, which she donned with a broad grin, wrapping herself up in its warmth.
Simon squeezed Kate hard with a grunt of pain, then released her. They both looked down at the desiccated body of Barnes. It was a crumbling wreck now, with no animation. Simon prodded it with his foot and the jaw fell loose to the floor.
Kate asked, “What’s became of Ash?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps she managed to abandon Barnes’s body in time, or perhaps the Skin of Ra ate her. Given her centuries of survival, we can safely assume she has slipped back into the shadows again.”
“If she’s alive, don’t you think she’ll come after us?”
Simon put his arm around her shoulder. “Who isn’t coming after us?”
He felt something cold in the palm of his hand and looked down at the key. It felt different. He spoke the ancient word for miracle, but there was no response. The magic was gone.
The same could be said for himself. They were all alive. After such a battle, he should be laughing, enfolded in aether intoxication. There was only a hush from the realm of aether. He wanted to touch it, but it was not there. Not even a ghostly whisper of it.
Kate turned to Simon and he kept smiling although inside he was petrified.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Jane Somerset sat quietly in the small front parlor. The only sound was the click of her knitting needles. She paid little attention to the work; she had done it so much it required none. The mere activity, the constructive repetition, gave her solace. Creation of those little objects satisfied some need in Jane. It was as if she felt the warmth they would give a poor, cold soul.
Her father sat in a chair near her turning the pages of the newspaper. He didn’t truly read much of it, but the act of turning pages made him feel productive and knowledgeable. He was still a part of society if he sat with the news every day, even if he had no memory a few hours later of what he had just read.
The sound of the door knocker surprised Jane. She heard Mrs. Cummings pass by, heading for the door. The old clock read 9:00 in the evening. It was late for visitors.
Except perhaps Mr. MacFarlane.
Jane fussed with her frock to tidy the simple lace and puff the sleeves. She put her knitting aside. Then she snatched it up again. Best to look industrious rather than just staring off into space.
Mrs. Cummings appeared at the parlor door with a strange look on her face. She seemed both surprised and judgmental of Jane’s frivolous new society of late-night guests. “You have visitors, Miss Jane.”