Chapter Seventeen

A blast of wind with the strength of a hurricane lifted Shirley, Griffin and the many workbenches and pieces of equipment not nailed down flying in every direction. With a cry of pain, Shirley landed on top of a pile of broken glass beakers and bottles, the glass lancing through her skin and into the meat of her back. Bleeding and in agony, she lifted herself off the ground and searched for Griffin. She found him lying a couple meters away, trapped underneath half a broken workbench.

“Griffin!” Despite the pain in her back, she ran to his side and attempted to pull the workbench off, but it was too heavy. Underneath the heavy planks of wood, Griffin moaned and pointed behind her.

“Look,” he whispered, pointing back at Console Seven.

Shirley looked and wished she had not.

The top of Console Seven looked like a volcano had exploded from within its shell, and beautiful white light spilled forth like lava, running down the sides of the machine in rivers and forming vast pools on the floor that spread outward and towards them. But it was what was rising out of the top of the machine that terrified her: a huge, growing mass of darkness, of negative space, reaching towards the ceiling and spreading outwards. And within that negative space, although she could not see it, Shirley sensed it. Something old, alive, and malevolent. It was able to see without eyes, to hear without ears, and to think without a mind.

It was the Pure Terror, and it knew her fear.

“My God.”

Shirley glanced to Sir Joseph, who stood leaning against Console Eleven, his clothes ragged and his hair in disarray. A long trail of blood ran down from his forehead and dripped off the edge of his cheeks, making his haggard appearance even more ghastly than before.

But it was the horror in his eyes that struck Shirley. He’s regained his sanity, she thought. He knows he’s done something he should not have.

And then Sir Joseph asked the obvious next question: “What have I done?”

No sooner had he finished speaking than the hazy outline of a figure appeared in front of him. Shirley and the baronet stared as the figure became defined and took on the appearance of Sir Joseph. Only this version was broken, twisted, bent, and full of hate. The Sir Joseph-copy glared at the real Sir Joseph, who shuffled back in terror.

“Everything you’ve ever done is a failure,” the copy growled. “You have failed everyone who ever knew you. Especially your own children.”

“No!” Sir Joseph cried. “I-I did not! I did this for them!”

“And yet you still failed your only living child.” The copy gestured at Shirley.

Sir Joseph and Shirley’s eyes connected, and she saw tears were welling up in his.

“Forgive me, my dear,” he said. “I should have told you the moment I realized. And I never should have brought you into this—!”

Before he could finish apologizing, the copy reached out, grabbed Sir Joseph by the chin and back of the head, and twisted. Shirley winced as Sir Joseph’s neck made a sickening crack, and then watched as he fell to the floor, his eyes glassy and trapped forever in an expression of apology. The twisted copy of Sir Joseph smiled wickedly before dissolving in a cloud of holy ash.

Despite all the crying she had done lately, Shirley felt fresh tears spring to her eyes and her chest seize with pain. Once more, she had lost someone important to her. Only she had not realized how important he was until it was too late. Whether or not he had been her father like he claimed, Sir Joseph had been like a father to her. And now, like Nellie and Lucinda, he had died right before her very eyes.

“What on Earth is happening—my word!”

By the doors to the laboratory, Milverton, Hilly and Beth had arrived, and were staring at the Eden Engine and what was rising out of it with abject horror. Shirley felt her heart skip a beat as she realized what would happen if they stayed any longer.

“Run!” she screamed. All three heads turned to face her, shock and confusion mixing with their terror. “Run! Before it kills you too!”

“My goodness, is that Sir Joseph?” Milverton shouted, pointing at the baronet’s body.

“He’s dead!” Hilly yelled.

Beth crossed herself. “Lord protect us.”

From the depths of the negative space, something let out a noise that reverberated through the laboratory and in Shirley’s mind. She winced as the noise, something between a roar and a foghorn, shook her skeleton and her mental equilibrium. A second later, three forms rocketed out of the darkness and towards Milverton and the maids. One was of an old woman with a rolling pin; another was a spider as big as a mastiff, with long legs and giant fangs dripping with venom; and the third was of a woman wearing a blue robe and veil, anger literally flaming out of her eyes as she pointed forward with one accusatory arm and held a flaming sword aloft with another.

Milverton, Hilly, and Beth spotted the two women and the spider and let out horrified screams. They immediately turned and ran out of the laboratory, while the women and the spider, their worst fears, chased after them.

“Terrifying, isn’t it?”

Shirley jumped as Cutbush and the revenant of Mr. Avondale appeared before her and Griffin, satisfied smirks on their faces.

“Y-you’re not real,” she stammered.

“But we are,” said Cutbush. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Shirley realized she was speaking not to the image of Cutbush but to the older, more primal entity that had created the image. “We are very real. We have always been real. And we shall always be real.”

“And this world is so new and beautiful in its ugliness,” the revenant added, again speaking for the force that had created it. “So full of fears. We will ride forth and fill this world with their fears. It will be glorious.”

“And now that our pawn is dead,” they said in unison, gesturing at Sir Joseph, “no one can send us back!”

Shirley’s mind filled with horrible visions. Whether they had been placed in her head by the monsters in front of her, or they had risen organically from her own imagination, she could not say. Whatever their origin, they were vivid and terrible: London on fire as people ran from their own worst nightmares; the countryside full of families and military forces fleeing the carnage, only to be slaughtered by the thousands as their fears manifested from above and fell upon them; and a black cloud of negative space floating over the British Isles, sending out its avatars of terror towards the continent and America to wreak further havoc.

Shirley’s chest tightened with panic. I can’t let that happen.

“But it will happen,” Cutbush and the revenant promised her, still speaking in unison. “It will happen, and you cannot stop it.”

Trying her best to ignore their voices, Shirley’s eyes darted around, looking for something—anything!—that she could use to stop the Pure Terror. She could not turn the Engine off, not as it was now, but if she could just find another way to keep the Terror from leaving the Lodge—

And then she spotted Sir Joseph’s revolver lying at the foot of Console One. And an idea formed crystal-clear in her mind. It was perfect.

Out of the corner of her eye, Shirley caught the glint of a knife being raised. The Cutbush image was going to stab her.

With a cry, Shirley jumped and dodged the descending knife. She rolled across the ground, over the broken glass again, and came to a stop a few paces from the doors. Ignoring the pain, she rushed to her feet and ran towards the Engine and the revolver.

“No!” screamed Cutbush and the revenant. The figure of Cutbush manifested between Shirley and the Engine, its knife held high. Shirley bent as she ran and, elbow out in front of her, rammed the figure in the stomach.

“You’re not him!” she screamed. “You’re just a copy!”

The Cutbush figure fell to the ground with a groan of pain. Shirley jumped over it and scooped up the revolver. Then she ran at full speed to Console Seven, dodging the Mr. Avondale-revenant as it tried to scoop her up in its arms and stop her. When she was close enough, she dove into the glowing lake of pure energy that had formed at the base of the console, one thought in her head.

Make it the ultimate killing machine. And make me strong enough to wield it and get out of here.

She landed in the thick of the glowing white light and immediately felt a change overcome her body. The pure energy swirled around her and into her, clearing all the glass and debris and infections from her wounds before healing them. Even the bandage on her neck fell away as the wound sealed itself, leaving behind only perfect skin. At the same time, a vortex of energy swirled around the revolver like a tornado, causing the metal to glow and shimmer.

Reenergized and feeling more powerful than she ever had in her life, Shirley stood and brought up the revolver in front of her. As the figures of Cutbush and the revenant bore down on her one more time, she fired two shots. Both bullets found home, and the figures dissolved and blew apart, holy ash spreading to every corner of the room.

Satisfied that she could do this, Shirley raised her head and arms towards the ceiling and the mass of darkness that was growing there like a cancer. From within the depths of that negative space, she heard, or thought she heard, something roaring and wailing in fear as it tried to muster a response to protect itself. A gigantic head appeared, a mix of Thomas Hayne Cutbush and a dragon with horns curving forth from its skull and flames escaping its nostrils. It roared menacingly as arms and wings formed behind it.

Shirley fired two shots into it.

The first bullet hit the dragon-Cutbush monster, which dissolved in a flash of light. The second flew into the depths of the darkness, leaving a tiny pinprick of white light where it had entered. A moment later, the dark mass of negative space roared and writhed as if it were in pain. It bubbled and expanded, filling up the entire ceiling, before exploding like a hot air balloon. Some of the darkness retreated back into the top of Console Seven and out of sight, while the rest of it caught fire that blazed briefly before dying out.

Shirley sighed and threw the spent revolver away. She did not devote any time to celebrating her victory. Now was not the time to. Now she had to take care of the next big task, which was to—

The Eden Engine rumbled.

Glancing quickly around her, Shirley checked the gauges and saw something was wrong. Two uses of pure energy in a row, the explosion at Console Seven, the death or defeat of the Pure Terror. Any or all of it had overloaded the Engine. And she had a fairly good idea of what was going to happen now that the Engine was overloaded.

Running across the laboratory, she searched and found Griffin, lying unconscious under the remains of the worktable. With a mighty scream, she grabbed hold of a leg and pulled it off him. Whereas before it had been too heavy for her, now it was as light as a basket of sheets for the laundress. Throwing the broken table away, she bent down, tossed Griffin over her shoulder like a burlap sack, and ran out of the laboratory. She had barely time to pause and readjust to the change of light in the hallway before she turned and leapt through the window, crashing through it like a cannonball.

Landing on the grass with catlike grace, Shirley continued running. When she was several meters away from the Lodge, she glanced back behind her. She was just in time to see the north end explode.

An invisible hand composed of heat lifted her off the ground and sent her flying several meters across the lawn. When she hit the ground again, she somehow managed to keep from falling over and instead continued sprinting, putting as much distance between her and the Lodge as possible. Stealing another glance behind her, she saw a great, white light rising into the air before dissipating, leaving behind only flames and smoke, which quickly proceeded to spread along the north wing of the Lodge.

After a while, Shirley noticed how exhausted she was and how heavy Griffin was becoming. Whatever had given her strength and kept her running was leaving her now. Panting, she stopped by an old oak tree, laid Griffin against its trunk, and sat down beside him to watch the distant conflagration consume the Hunting Lodge, lighting up the night with its fury.

Night. When did it become night? So much had happened in the course of the day, she had completely lost sense of time. But that was fine with her. She was happy it was night. Night was the close of day, and she wanted to put a close on this whole experience.

From far away, she could hear the church bell in the Closer Village tolling, alerting the villagers to the fire. Good. Let them deal with it. She was too tired.

From beside her came a groan. Griffin opened his eyes and looked around him in confusion. “Where are we?” Then he started. “The Pure Terror! The Eden Engine! We have to—argh!”

Griffin had tried to stand, only to fall back with a cry of pain. “Something’s wrong. I can’t move my legs.”

“Just rest for now,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I stopped the Pure Terror. The Engine’s destroyed.”

“It is?” he asked. “What about my uncle?” When Shirley did not answer him, he said, “I see.” Then, “Hey, your eye!”

Shirley’s hand shot straight to her eye, even though she knew she would not be able to feel any difference. “Is it changed? I had so much pure energy in and around me—!”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Griffin assured her. “It’s the same as before.” He cupped her cheek with his hand. “It’s perfect.”

He leaned towards her. Relieved, Shirley leaned towards him as well, ready to throw practically to the wind for once.

Suddenly something small and white hopped into Shirley’s lap. She cried out, startled, only to calm down as she recognized the tiny creature that had found them. “Albedo!”

Albedo mewed and rubbed her head against Shirley’s hand. Shirley smiled and laughed. In all the insanity since Nellie had died, she had somehow forgotten about the cat she had adopted. And now, after all that had happened, the one good thing the Eden Engine had produced had made its way back to her.

Scratching behind Albedo’s ears, Shirley leaned against Griffin’s shoulder, beyond tired. He wrapped his arm around her and said, “What happened after I fell unconscious?”

“Just give me a few minutes,” she said. “I’ll tell you all about it. But first, let me rest a little while.”

So, they rested, and watched as the Lodge burned to the ground.