The Partisan Chronicles [Dystopia | Supernatural | Mystery]

Andrei & Rhian

For everything we knew about The Trio and their operation, there were as many unknowns. We couldn't be certain the one room Michael remembered was the only room in the The Studio or what else might be in store for us when we answered Avis's invitation.

As to the operation, it was clear: The Trio had created a community of docile Anima by stripping them of their identities prior to reanimating them. They had, too, created a population of compliant Barrens and Partisans in this way, all in an effort to create a utopia whereby all three subspecies could exist together in harmony.

We had reason to believe not all Barrens had been experimented on, however. Within Michael Reider's family, Sinclair suspected mother and father had been tinkered with, but that Marta seemed to have not been. We had no way of knowing about the younger siblings.

Zacharias suggested that including variables among the subjects, such as Barrens who had not been tampered with, or had been tampered with differently, may be part of the experiment itself—to test the limits of the erasure, or perhaps to identify the effects living in a purely peaceful society could have on an untampered individual.

Regardless, it seemed The Trio had achieved what they'd intended; disturbing and incomprehensible on so many levels, but yet on another—impressive.

Primed for the main entrance, we had Sebastian, Zacharias, Jakob, myself, Sinclair, and Adeline. In the preparation days leading up, Michael and Finlay had been given another tour of the underground, the route to Leberecht, and the instructions once they arrived on the other side. They would have their own roles to perform during our stay. Michael, donning his Iron Hand uniform, was to be our insider, doing his best to blend in—back at the garrison, on patrol, or at home—while Finlay would be somewhere, doing something—watching, waiting.

For what? Who knew.

We neared the gate as dusk waned.

By then, we believed the Barrens would be safe inside for the night, and we hoped to get a sense of how many Anima there really were churning through the mountain city. Moreover, we did not expect hostility from Avis and the others, at least at the onset.

Now, we had the permissions for myself, Sinclair, and Adeline to enter the city, but the Vonsinfonies? Well, they'd require no such thing, evidently.

A squeak when the gate guard raised their visor, followed by the sound of armor clanking. A reverberation against the ground. They were kneeling.

"Mister and Mister Vonsinfonie. We are blessed by your foretold return."

"What a strange sentence," Sebastian said.

"And a completely unnecessary one," Zacharias followed. There was an edge to his tone, a forced staccato I had begun to recognize as a defense in times of uncertainty. "Compose yourself, please, and open the gate."

We endured another noisy interlude from the Iron Hand as she rushed to oblige, Jakob positioned between the Vonsinfonies at the front, and Adeline, Sinclair, and me at the rear.

With a collective breath in and breath out, we made our way into the city.

No turning back.

And our grand entrance was met with a grand explosion. Followed by another, and another, and the smell of black powder. Instinctively, I ducked, as if that would help at all if we were under attack. Sinclair gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, but why? I attuned to the air and felt the heat of each explosion rise and fall, as if being shot through the sky. What's happening?

As if in direct response to my question, a moving picture formed in my mind's eye: for every boom, colourful streaks and blooms filled the night sky; blues, reds, greens, all brightening at the highest point, until they finally fell and fizzled into puffs of smoke. The upper ramps were filled with people; Anima, Barren, and Partisan alike cheering and waving.

The visual faded just as soon, and I whispered a quick thank you to Adeline for sharing.

"Why, I haven't seen fireworks in—" Sebastian trailed off into a quiet, comforting conversation with Jakob.

The glorified ruckus echoed off the mountain walls as we moved along the ramps on our way to the lowest level. From what I'd seen, the crowds were blocking access to the lifts, and to take them, besides, we'd be forced to split the group in two.

Boom after boom as we descended further into the city.

The fireworks were pretty, but I wished they'd bloody stop. Not only were they obnoxious as all hells, but they weren't exactly subtle. Right about then, half of Amalia was learning something interesting was happening in Leberecht. But never mind. There was no stopping them, or the thousand-some people screaming and throwing confetti.

The Vonsinfonies smiled and waved. Sebastian, in pale bluish-grey, bright and animated. Zacharias in white, measured, but still flamboyant as ever. They forced us to stop about a hundred times along the way while they soaked it all up. Entranced by their over-the-top fans as if it couldn't be bloody helped. To my right, Strauss trudged on as Strauss does, and to my left, Adeline grinned ear to ear, delighted as we walked to our deaths, probably. Good on her, though. It was a once in a lifetime experience. Lass had it right.

Jakob seemed a bit twitchy.

Through the chaos, we worked our way to the bottom tier, finally, stopping in front of the door with a sign I knew how to read: The Studio.

Zacharias knocked twice.

Nothing happened.

"Try three," I said.

Sebastian knocked three times, and just as we thought nothing would happen again, the door clicked open, barely. Zacharias nudged it along with his cane, opening up the way into a plain looking corridor. And seeing as going inside is what we were there to do, that's what we did. The door slammed shut behind us.

At the end of the path was a massive chamber with a ceiling so high I wasn't even sure there was one. Most of the walls were stacked with copper and blue shelves filled with books. Wrapped around the perimeter were ramps and lifts, each one of them leading to a new level. On each level, as far as I could see, there seemed to be a handful of rooms built straight into the mountain. The Studio was a small-scale replica of Leberecht.

"Strauss," I hissed, and after getting his attention, I told him what I just told you.

Stolen novel; please report.

Jakob scampered to our side.

Zacharias tap, tapped as he limped around the room. "Avis!"

I took another quick look around and noticed the doors to all the rooms had nameplates, just like the doors to the homes around the city. They were at too odd an angle for me to read. But then there she was—the Artist, standing on the ramp looking down. The day we'd met, she'd been wearing work clothes, but that night she wore a brown corset over a frilly white dress. The length cut off mid-thigh in the front but trailed long in the back. Her boots were about as tall as I was. It was too late to look away—she'd seen me see her.

She lifted a finger to her lips.

"Enough with the games, Avis," Zacharias tried again.

On the ramp, the Artist laughed without a sound before disappearing and reappearing in front of her husband.

And then…

…and then, nothing but the song. Nothing but the feeling of a thousand promises made. Nothing but the feeling of one true love reclaimed…

We all stood frozen while The Artist and Zacharias put on a rather uncomfortable public display, coupled with the sappy song, the whole affair had me feeling in ways I should not have been right at that exact moment.

Poor Jakob.

We were all still frozen, but the song came to a stop.

"You're both ridiculous," Sebastian said, suddenly able to move. Whatever he'd done to break the effect, Zacharias didn't look thrilled. "You're making everybody uncomfortable."

The Artist peeled herself off Zacharias and made her way over to Sebastian.

"You're in big trouble, Bastian."

"From you?" Sebastian answered.

The Artist leaned in and kissed her brother-in-law's cheek. "Much worse."

"We'll discuss the Six another time, Avis," Zacharias interrupted.

The Artist shrugged and shimmied her way over to the lot of us. Her ink black hair was styled rather fancily and whatnot, not a strand out of order.

"Don't you all look fantastic." Avis gave us all a once, twice, three times over. She gave my belly a little tickle, and there was nothing I could do about it.

"Zacharias, was this your doing?"

Zacharias, now looking a lot like a man not sure why his wife wasn't angry with him when she ought to have been, cleared his throat. "Of course."

"Zacharias," she said.

"Yes, darling?"

"Unfreeze them. You're being impolite."

"Yes, my love," Zacharias answered.

Sebastian snorted.

Soon as we were able to move again, Jakob darted forward at full speed, pinning Avis up against the furthest wall. She retaliated straightaway by sending him flying across the room in a gust of wind, but Zacharias reacted quickly enough to break his fall. Sebastian responded with a flourish, and The Artist's white sleeve was sliced clean across. Air-blade.

Jakob rallied to our side.

Avis adjusted her dress. "I knew we'd be hosting children tonight, gentlemen, though I'd expected they'd have manners and I didn't expect them to be you."

"I don't understand." Strauss put his arm around Jakob who, even with the blindfold, looked just like his mother. "Why aren't you acknowledging your son?"

Avis disappeared in a blur and reappeared in front of Strauss. "I don't have a son."

Avis Adler's son seethed at my side, his heat signature burning red hot under my hand.

"I swear, the pair of you—deny, deny, deny," Sebastian said. "It's no wonder you're still so in love despite hating each other's guts."

A gust as Avis dashed toward Sebastian. "Why would you say that, Bastian?"

Either The Artist was portraying The Actress that night, or she truly didn't remember Jakob or any of their tainted family history. Given the nature of the Trio's experiment, the latter was reasonable to fathom. The Trio—I wondered where the others were.

"Nothing," Zacharias replied. "Bastian doesn't know what he's saying.

"All right, enough of whatever this is. Where are our mates?" Sinclair asked.

"Could be at the inn where I put them up, unless they're still celebrating outside."

"You put them up at the inn?" Adeline asked.

"Of course," Avis replied. "There aren't enough bedrooms here for everyone. What else would I have done with them?"

The silence spoke volumes.

"Wait—you don't think I'd hurt them, do you?" Avis wondered. "What have these boys been telling you about me?"

"So, what, you just asked them to come along for a free stay at the Mount Inn, and they thought, aye, sure, that sounds all right?" Sinclair asked.

"Of course not. They were terrified of us—cosmos knows why. We had to put them in timeout. But, seeing as you were going to be heading this way inevitably, I thought it might be nice to save your friends the trouble and have them wake up at the Mount Inn instead of your dusty relic of a home."

"They've been here in the city all this time? Enjoying the sights?" I asked.

"Well, as far as I know," Avis said. "There's been so much to do, what with the preparations for the brothers' foretold return. But I'm sure they're fine. Not only is it a privilege for them to be permitted within our walls, Leberecht is one hundred and seventeen years crime-free. I assure you, no one will so much as sneeze on them."

She was sure they were fine—

Markus, Bells, and Maryse were somewhere outside The Studio, and if we were to locate them, I wondered which versions of them we'd find. Furthermore, judging by what we'd witnessed so far of Avis Adler, we would need the exact right moment to deploy The Idea.

It would be delicate.