“‘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.”
“He probably sedated you,” Ignata said.
“It would have to be a bloody strong sedation,” Murid said, “to dull that kind of pain.”
Ignata frowned. “Do you remember the remedy?”
Her mother grimaced. “Oh, please. It’s the redwort tea. During the last few weeks, he practically drowned her in it every chance he got. That’s probably the only reason she is sane now. That’s what the remedy does—it keeps you from going mad.”
Richard’s clear voice filled the room. “The question is what we are going to do with the journal now.”
WILLIAM tensed. His every instinct screamed in alarm.
Faces turned to Richard.
“We have the journal. It is too late for Genevieve, but not too late for Gustave. Cerise told me that he’s being held in Kasis.”
Richard leaned forward. “The place is a fortress and the Earl of Kasis has a lot of guards at his disposal. Not only that, but the place itself sits on the border between Adrianglia and Louisiana in the Weird. It touches the Edge, but that’s about it. If we attack it, we’ll have people from both countries on our trail. But we must get Gustave back. We must at least try.”
“Blackmail,” Kaldar said. “We trade Gustave for the journal. Spider will do anything to keep us from turning it over to the Adrianglians.”
And it all went to shit. William bared his teeth.
“Spider is too dangerous,” Erian said.
“Screw Spider. That journal is monstrous!” Petunia’s voice cut him off. “It’s the product of an abnormal mind. Brilliant but abnormal. We must destroy it.”