Her hands shake against her thighs.
She can do this. She can.
Red holds his hand out to her. “We should go now.”
Casey’s eyes trace the length of the circle. Big enough for two. “And those things—the obsii—they’ll be there, too?”
“It’s hard to say. Limbo is vast and distracting, even for creatures like them. But I won’t let anything hurt you, Casey. Trust me.”
She takes a steadying breath, reaches out, and lays her palm in Red’s outstretched hand, allowing him to pull her into the space. Then he closes the circle with the dagger.
Immediately, Casey feels the lurch beneath her feet, tearing her from one world and into another like she’s been sucked into some sort of dark vacuum.
When she sees the light on the other side, she’s already moving. Falling, really. She rolls over herself, arms and legs twisting, down the side of a short hill. She tucks her body as she spins, then comes crashing to a stop. Her back takes the brunt of the hit; head spinning, she sits up and brushes grass from her elbows and knees.
At the top of the hill, Red stands, peering down at her. He takes a knee, slams his dagger down, and carves into the ground.
“What are you doing?” she calls.
He slides the blade in an intricate pattern. “Sealing the doorway,” he says simply, like it’s the most logical thing in the world. None of this is logical, she wants to remind him. “We don’t want anything leaving that isn’t supposed to.”
She watches him through squinted eyes, still trying to catch her breath.
Yellowed grass crawls up the side of the hill, weeds bending around Red’s feet as he makes his way toward her. He slides to a stop beside her, though he manages to stay on his feet the entire time—a rather more graceful entrance than her own.
Casey frowns at him, throwing her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun heating the ground beneath her. Red lowers his arm, hand held out for hers.
She reaches for it, yanking herself to her feet. “Next time can we choose a less energetic entrance?”
“That’s not up to me. We were following your tether to Liddy, to the last place she was.”
“And when we leave, is it going to spit us out into the church?”
“If you leave through the same spot you entered; if not, Limbo could spit you out anywhere.”
“’Cause I’m not tethered to anything?”
“Exactly.”
“So, hypothetically, it could spit me out in Europe or somewhere else just as cool?”
“Like the middle of the ocean,” Red suggests drily, and Casey feels herself pale.
“Okay, bad idea noted,” she says, scanning their surroundings. It’s the park from the vision she had. The yellow towers stand like flagpoles in the distance.
“For you, Limbo really only has two rules,” Red says. “Leave where you enter, for already discussed reasons, and always seal the doorway. On both sides.”
“Both sides?” Casey says.
“Once on the inside. And again when you exit.”
Simple enough, she thinks with some uncertainty. Exit where you enter. Seal the door. Keep those dark, shadow things contained.
“This is … I think this is the park behind Main Street,” Casey says, recognizing the baseball diamond where she used to watch Evan’s games. It’s been years since she’s been here and she doesn’t remember the playground ever being this big. Apparently, it’s gotten an upgrade. “That means Liddy was here, in this part of Limbo, right?”
“Yes, it seems she wandered through this death. Perhaps even interacted with the soul it belongs to.”
“Do you think she’s still here?”
“You tell me.” He trudges forward, cutting a deep line through the tall grass. “You’re the one who can hear the dead.”
“Right, yeah,” she says, following after him, “but how do I—”
Red waits expectantly for her question but she’s distracted by the faint sound of singing. It’s pulled to her on the wind, whimsical and soft, like a child humming under their breath.
She follows the sound to the playground where a little boy comes into view. She hesitates upon seeing him.
“What is it?” Red asks. He’s standing so close his arm presses against hers, almost in support.
“He’s so young,” she whispers. “Can’t be more than five or six.”
“Death knows no age, Casey.”
Of course, she thinks. Or else Liddy wouldn’t be here either.
The boy, with his tufts of brown hair and cheeks reddened from the sun, sits in the sand, flicking piles of it into a bucket. He works his shovel until the bucket is full, flipping it over with both arms wrapped around. He lifts the bucket to reveal a castle. Slowly, the sand melts from formation, the small castle collapsing into a tiny lump.
She can’t help but smile at the frustrated turn of his mouth. Wrinkling his nose, he sets out to try again.
“Hello,” she calls, stepping closer. Red hovers a few feet behind her, eyes trained on the street that runs parallel to the park.
The boy turns, staring up at her. “It’s not working.” He huffs. “That girl made this one really tall,” he points to a shaped pile of sand that still carries the designs from the bucket, “but this one won’t work at all.”
“That girl,” Casey says quietly as the boy begins filling the bucket again. “What girl?”
“There was a girl,” he says, “big like you.” He points down the street with the shovel. “She came from over there.”
“And where did she go?”
The boy giggles into his hand. “Not telling.”
Casey glances back at Red. He flips the dagger back and forth, eyes scanning. There’s nothing that feels inherently dangerous here, barely a shadow except for their own. Red must think the same thing because in the space of a single breath, the dagger quivers and into the air floats a feather—far less threatening.
Casey sinks down beside the boy. “What’s your name?”
“Henry.”
“Well, Henry, this is very important. I need to know where the girl went.”
His lips twist mischievously, but the look melts when his sand castle falls apart again.
“How about we make a deal?” Casey says. “I’ll help you make a perfect sandcastle if you tell me where she went.”
“Okay!” Henry agrees eagerly, handing her a scoop.
If this is what it takes to get Liddy back, Casey thinks.
“The trick to sandcastles is that they work better if the sand is wet,” she says. She looks around until she spies her prize. Picking up his bucket, she carries it to the water fountain at the edge of the playground and fills it. Then she brings it back and pours it down into the sand between them.
Henry reaches into the hole, splashing in the water with a giggle. His eyes are curious as he leans around her shoulder, looking at Red who waits patiently, sitting on a bench, puffs of breath keeping the feather dancing in the air. Henry’s lips break around a gap-toothed grin.
She wonders if he can sense what Red is.
“All right, hand me that shovel,” she says.
Together they fill the bucket with moist sand, and Casey bounces it on the ground a few times to get the sand to firm up. It’s been years since she’s made a sandcastle, but she’d spent most of her childhood on the beach with Evan and Liddy. Before teendom had consumed them, they had spent hours by the water together, carving entire cities out of sand. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed it—the gentle rush of the waves, the warm breeze, the quiet focus required to place the castle exactly right. Evan would certainly be jealous if he could see her now, stealing back some of that unknowing innocence.
“That’s a good one!” Henry shrieks, clapping his hands together as Casey lifts the bucket and reveals a much sturdier castle.
“I told you, water does the trick.”
Henry starts to fill the bucket again. “You must have built lots of castles.”
“Is this where you live?”
She pauses halfway through helping him fill the bucket. “No.”
“Oh.” Henry makes a fish face at her. “Then why do you have so many toys?”
She glances beneath the play structure, noticing for the first time all the abandoned toys covered in sand, some buried like ancient relics, others neatly laid out.
“I—” she starts. “They’re not mine.”
“You must have lots of friends then, but I’m the only one here right now.” He sighs, almost grumpily, looking down the street.
“Now will you tell me what happened to the other girl?” Casey asks him.
He tilts his head to regard her, like he’s still considering it, but then he nods. “She said she couldn’t stay. She had to get back.”
“Get back to where?” Casey asks.
He shrugs. “Home, I guess.” He climbs to his feet and dusts the sand from his knees. “I’m ready to go, too.”
Go where? she wonders. She looks to Red. “Liddy’s not here anymore.”
“She’s already moved on,” Red agrees. “Before we even got here by the sounds of it.” He watches Henry.
“We can’t just leave him here,” Casey says. “I want to help him. I can do that, right?”
“You’re a Limbo-walker. You can navigate these paths better than I can.”
“Right. Okay,” Casey says, turning back to Henry. “Do you want your toys?”
“No,” Henry says. “I’ll leave them. Maybe someone else will come later and you can play with them.”
“That’s really nice of you.”
“Mommy says I have to share.” He skips a little as they walk toward the street. On the way, he fills his pockets with rocks, his shorts making a click-clack sound as they walk.
When Red joins them, Henry hands him a smooth white rock that glitters when it catches the sun.
At the crosswalk, Henry hesitates, looking around nervously. “I’m not supposed to cross the street by myself.” He wiggles his fingers at her. “You have to hold my hand.”
His palm is soft and warm, his small fingers curling around her larger ones. There isn’t a car or a person in sight, but Henry looks diligently back and forth, back and forth.
Holding his hand, Casey is struck by something so powerful it almost doubles her over.
Accident in the crosswalk, she hears the teen say on repeat inside her head.
Had Henry been that accident?
With a steadying breath, Casey leads them across the road and through the seemingly deserted neighborhood. Each house stands boxy and colorful, but as silent and still as a picture. She watches the windows for signs of movement. For a sign that they’re being watched or pursued. She doesn’t know if it’s her imagination that moves the window drapes or one of those strange, mindful breezes, so she focuses harder, but all she can hear is the tread of their feet. Until—
“Stop,” she says. “Wait a second.”
“What is it?” Red asks.
She shivers, and like it’s alive, a gust of wind rips toward them, carrying with it the hollow shrieking sound of the obsii.
Red looks around for the source of the sound, feathers melting to daggers in his fists. The sound moves though, twisting and shifting, until it’s hard to pinpoint the source.
Henry drops her hand and slams both palms over his ears. “I don’t like this house,” he cries.
“This is wrong,” she agrees, grabbing Henry under the arms and hauling him up on her hip. “We have to keep moving.”
They do, hurrying along the sidewalk, the sun beating down in hollow rays between the massive trees that line the road.
“I like this one better,” Henry says, wiggling out of Casey’s arms suddenly and hopping in place when she slows in front of a gated property. “It’s nice.”
She draws closer and squeezes his shoulder encouragingly. “Me too.”
At the center of the property is a small house, surrounded by the kinds of wildflowers that stretch almost to her elbows. There’s a tire swing and potted window plants. Birds chirp, bursting from the grass, and the flutter of honeybees makes the air around them buzz. Casey stops at the low, white iron gate that surrounds the property. From inside, she can hear the swell of voices. Warm, rich timbers and airy sopranos. There are too many voices to break up the conversation, but it’s the kind of sound that draws you in. Laughter, mostly. All right behind the door.
Henry stands on the swirling metal loops at the bottom of the gate, studying the house. “Can I go in?”
She looks to Red but says, “Yes. If you’d like.”
“Okay!” Henry shouts excitedly. He jumps off the gate and pushes inside, running down the path to the porch. His clumsy hands pull on the doorknob until it opens and he turns back to her once, smiling before heading inside.
His disappearance is sudden, here one second and gone the next. And though he should be just beyond the door, Casey senses he’s somewhere much farther, the voices that greeted him gone now.
“He’ll be okay, right?” She wraps her hands around the gate, which is warm beneath her palms.
“You don’t have to worry about him,” Red promises.
She lets go and turns away from the house and the white iron gate, heading back down the sidewalk.
Red catches up with her. “What’s wrong?”
“He saw Liddy,” Casey says. “Talked to her. We were so close.”
“And we’ll get close again.” They reach the park, crossing the field to the gently peaked hill. “I know we didn’t find Liddy, but you did a really good thing here today.”
“Yeah,” she sighs, looking back over her shoulder. The sun crawls across the playground, casting the castle they built in shadow.
“What is it?” Red asks.
She tips her head back so she can see him. “There are a lot of toys down there.”
* * *
THEY ARRIVE IN the church in a gust of wind that sucks all the oxygen from her body. Casey collapses in a heap above the marble steps, gasping and clutching her head like she’s just been shot through the air dryers in one of those drive-through car washes.
Red bends, carving those strange symbols into the ground, then offers her a hand. “It gets easier.”
“Says the angel-boy.”
He stands above her, tall and strong against the backdrop of the altar. For a moment, he looks like a warrior, some heavenly being sent down to defend the earth. The image breaks as he pulls her to her feet, and dissolves as he rubs at the back of his head with a look of indecision.
Casey reaches into her pocket for her phone. It flashes at her once, then the screen goes dark—dead battery. She sighs. “I need to find Evan. Let him know I’m okay.” She’s already heading for the exit, eager to be outside, when Red catches up.
There’s a second set of tire tracks outside the church, like Evan had come back despite her telling him to go home, to find that she’d disappeared. Literally into thin air. The truck is gone now, though, only the marks of where the tires spun left behind.
“Guess we’re walking,” she says to Red, starting onto the shoulder. They walk the same path they’d run earlier, eventually past the place where they’d been stopped in traffic. The fire trucks have cleared out, but a few cruisers remain. Yellow caution tape surrounds the scene of the accident. Casey nudges Red and they cross the road, eerily quiet now.
But when they pass that playground, with its swings and towering yellow spires, Casey averts her eyes, a sick feeling rolling around in her gut. She can still feel the weight of Henry’s small hand in her own and it makes her want to fold over onto the sidewalk. Whether she wants to cry or throw up after that is still undecided. The thing that comforts her is knowing Henry is safe on the other side of that gate now. At least he’s not wandering like Liddy.
The closer they get to downtown—a stretch of road sandwiched by brightly painted restaurants, decorated glass shop
fronts, food stalls, and picnic benches—the busier it gets. Casey figures all the drama this morning has scared most of the tourists away from the park and the beach and into the shops and restaurants.
Red looks left and right. “Are you hungry?”
“Is that a question,” she asks, “or a subtle way of telling me you are?” She’s still disoriented by it all and food seems like the farthest thing from her mind. On one hand, she’s shaken by the realization that, like Liddy, Henry is no longer a part of this world. But on the other, she’d held Henry’s hand in hers. Talked to him. Sat under the playground and built sandcastles with him.
Casey had helped him find his way across Limbo. She knew he was okay, even if no one else did. Now if she could just get to Liddy as easily. It seemed they were no closer to finding her than they were before Casey knew about Limbo and angels and everything else.
“The business of saving souls works up an appetite,” Red says.
Casey glares at him. “Don’t put that on the business card.”
He’s not wrong, though. She should eat something even if it’s bound to taste like sandpaper in her mouth. She fishes in her phone case for some cash, then they join the line in front of a food truck parked by one of the art galleries.
“Not very catchy? What about as the slogan on a food truck?” Red says, reading the menu painted on the side of the truck.
“Do angels even cook?”
“It’s not a foreign concept,” Red says, studying the menu. “We were human once. Though only those who have fallen are required to sustain a corporeal form.”
“Why is that?”
“Because without my wings, you and I share more in common than I would like—the need to eat and sleep for starters.”
“Think highly of humanity, don’t you?” She steps up to the order counter and asks for two hot dogs.
“It’s not that,” Red says. “It’s just harder.” He brushes his finger along the side of one of the feathers that hang from his neck. “Everything about what I am is tied to my wings. Without them, I’m weaker. That’s not a feeling I like.”
The Dark In-Between Page 9
