“H-how…when…Piotr…”
“Quit stuttering, dear, it's unbecoming.” Her mother smoothed her hair, noticeably thicker and less ragged now, and patted Piotr on the top of the head. “Poor boy has been following our family for centuries. None of us had a clue why, but he's awfully useful to have around. Bit crazy, though.” She held up one hand to block her mouth and whispered loudly, “A few screws loose upstairs. Terrible memory problem. Of course, that's our fault too, you know. He gives up a memory for every time one of us sucks him dry. But that's all right, it's what he's here for.”
Abandoning all concern for her own well-being, Wendy darted to Piotr's side and cradled him in her lap. His pupils expanded and contracted wildly, his legs twitched and jerked, drumming against the floor in a slipshod staccato beat.
“You can imagine my surprise,” her mother continued, stepping over Piotr and wiping fastidiously at the front of her soiled robes, “when I discovered that you'd found our little family battery pack. And my further surprise when I learned that you were kissing him.”
“Who was it?” Wendy asked bleakly. “A Walker? One of the Riders? Who is your little stooge, Mom? Who's been your marvelous spy?”
A warm, furry body pressed against Wendy's side as Jabberwocky pushed past Wendy and trotted across the room to twine around her mother's ankles.
“I told you, dear,” her mother said, scooping Jabber up and rubbing her chin against the ghost kitty's head. “I've been watching you quite closely. Hello, darling. Did you miss me?” She made kiss-kiss faces at Jabber before setting him down. The cat vanished into the darkness gathering at the edge of the room.
Wendy blinked. Darkness? Her head felt woozy suddenly, and weary. Spots danced before her eyes.
“Oh, don't worry, dear, that's just the blood loss,” her mother said. “Time passes differently here, when you're fully in the Never, in a place as strongly bound with emotion as this hotel. You've only been dying a few living seconds, but you'll finish bleeding out soon, I promise.” She tsked. “Though if you want to catch your Light, I suggest you hurry. It's looking a little weak around the edges.”
Wendy glanced over her shoulder and shrugged. “What's the point? I came to get you and Eddie. You've gone off the deep end, what's to say Eddie hasn't, too?”
Her mother burst into merry laughter, wrapping her arms around her waist and rocking back and forth on her heels with mirth. “Oh Wendy, you are a peach! You think I had anything at all to do with Eddie? What kind of a monster do you take me for?”
“You…you didn't?”
“Of course not, dear. Our job is taking souls once they've crossed, not making them cross. Other ghosts can interact with the living world, but you were right all along—I'm not one of them. I was lying to you. The only souls I can bother are people like us, Seers or people with one foot in the grave already. Oh no, dear, a little bird came and whispered about Eddie's condition to me. I just took advantage of it.”
“What happened to him?” Wendy demanded. “What happened to his soul?”
“That, darling, I can't say.” Her mother shrugged. “I wasn't there. Any number of things. Drug use, astral projection…anything can stretch a soul so thin it'll snap. But his cord wasn't rotted, so he's still about somewhere, possibly lost as I was supposed to be. Looking for you, I'd wager. If you don't feel like going into your Light, I'm sure you might even be able to find him. Who knows? Maybe you'll even do a better job saving your best friend than you did your own flesh and blood.”
Her mother stretched and held out her hand. “Your doorway into the Light's grown thin, Winifred. It's time. Give me your Light and be on your way. Or stay here and learn a trick or two. It's no matter to me.”
“You'd do this?” Piotr asked, pushing into a sitting position, still cradling Wendy's ball of Light. “You'd kill your own daughter for this?”
“In a heartbeat,” she said, “if she still had one. I need it more than she ever would. All that power inside and she hardly ever tapped it. Disgusting. Now give me her Light. I'll put it to good use.”
“You are sick,” Piotr hissed. “She is your daughter!”
“Yes, she is, and Momma knows best. Besides, Piotr, you don't have any room to lecture me. Or I suppose you don't remember my mother and what she did to her own sister? It is our duty to pass on our knowledge, our teaching, and our ways. The proper ways.”
“Proper ways?” Piotr spat. “There is nothing proper about what you are doing.”
“Manners, Piotr. Manners.” The White Lady shook her head, tsking. “See, this is exactly what I'm talking about. Wendy learned the Sight at too young an age; it taught her sympathy for your kind. It made her think of you as a person. Why do you think we wait until they're eighteen to show my kind the Light? Otherwise we might think things like you are ‘romantic.’ We might go about kissing you.”
“We're not yours to control,” Piotr snapped, hugging Wendy's fragile ball of Light as closely as he dared. “You don't have any say over our souls.”
“I don't?” She seemed truly sad at that. “Piotr, Piotr, Piotr, after all these years and you still haven't learned? The dead must be sent on—Lost, Shades, Walkers, and Riders alike. No one may stay in the Never, even if they don't think they're ready to move on. No one.”
“That's not your choice to make!”
“Isn't it? Ghosts like you are like children who want to stay up past your bedtime because you fear the monster under your bed, in your closet. An adult, a person with clear sight, knows better. An adult can see what really is for the best and when it's time to move on.”
“You'll be killing your own line!”
“Hardly. I still have two very smart, very dedicated children besides Winifred. I'm willing to sacrifice her in order to keep our legacy strong. Now give me the Light!”
Wendy wrapped her arms around her waist and ducked her head. She hated to say it but what her mother said made a sick, disheartening sort of sense to her. The pillar to the afterlife was here—maybe it really was time for her to move on. “Mom's right, I guess. Do it, Piotr,” she whispered. “Do what is best.”
“Listen to my daughter, Piotr.” Her mother said. “Give me her Light, boy.”
“Da? Or what?” Piotr asked, eyeing the hungry, starved Lost. Wendy was no longer at their mercy, but her mother might be. “What will you do to me if no, hmm? You feed me to your beasties?”
“Or watch as I have my Walkers rip my daughter to shreds.” The White Lady held up a threatening hand, deadly calm and completely serious. “So what will it be, Piotr? Winifred? Or the Light?”
In his flickering vision Piotr heard a scream, faint and far away, and sensed a trembling as footsteps pounded up a flight of stairs. In the basement, in the living world and in the living time, someone—a maid, or a custodian perhaps—had discovered Wendy's body.
“How about you go to hell?” he said and pushed away from Wendy's lap, dodging past the White Lady's goons, and sprinting for her bleeding body. Long-fingered, bony hands gripped his ankles, pulling him back, draining him, but Piotr struggled, thrashing his legs and kicking over and over again until the hands let go with a brittle crack. Then, Wendy's body only a few feet away, Piotr shoved forward with all his might. The White Lady was screaming, the Walkers howling, but all he could see, all he could feel, was the pulse of her Light sliding out of his grip.
The orb balanced on the tip of his fingers, about to fall, about to break…
Piotr shoved forward…
…and thrust her orb of Light deep into Wendy's gut.
Behind him Wendy shrieked and her pillar's song cut off, the glittering ray winking out.
“You stupid boy,” keened her mother. “Oh you idiot! Look at what you've done!”
Across the ballroom Wendy's soul burst into brilliant Light, filling the room like phoenix fire, and a pulse of silent white exploded through the room, rocking the ghostly Palace at its very foundation. The Light burned everything it touched to a crisp�
�the White Lady, the Walkers, the Lost, and the Riders—bellowing Light and heat and an immense, billowing flame.
Piotr closed his eyes as the shockwave reached him, prepared for the bitter end.
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
—Pablo Neruda “Sonnet XVII”
TWO WEEKS LATER
The Palace Hotel was empty for repairs. An earthquake had rocked the historical monument to its very foundations two weeks earlier, and though any contractor would have sworn the grand old hotel would have easily withstood a powerful shock, this quake apparently originated beneath the building itself. Luck was with them, however: a few plates were broken, and a maid sprained her wrist grabbing her cart to keep it from rolling over the feet of a customer, but there was only one serious injury out of all the guests. The Palace would be closed for another month, but residents of the Bay Area counted themselves lucky. It could have been much, much worse.
When Wendy opened her eyes, she found her father slouched at her bedside, head thrown back and snoring loudly, the latest PC World propped open on his chest. Tubes and wires snaked across her body and her sides ached fiercely, itching like fire. There was a plastic cup at her bedside, and a white pitcher brimming with water, condensation sluicing down its sides. Careful of her side, Wendy gingerly reached for the glass but bumped her elbow. She couldn't stop the curse from escaping her lips.
Her father's eyes flew open. He looked at her, saw she was awake; a long, slow smile worked its way across his face. “Hey Pippi Longstocking,” he whispered, “are you up?”
“Up as I'll ever be,” she said and pointed to the pitcher. “I'm thirsty, though. Could you please—”
“Right away,” he said and jumped up to fill her glass, his magazine tumbling beneath the bed. “You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice, sweetheart.” He brushed a kiss across her forehead. “Sip this slowly and I'll go get the doctor.” He wiped a damp hand across her jeans and Wendy spied one corner of Emma's envelope sticking out of the pocket. The sight of that pristine, sharp corner brought back the dreams of the White Lady in one great rush. Wendy forced herself to stay calm.
“Dad, wait,” she said and gripped his wrist with her free hand. “What happened?”
“We were hoping you'd tell us, honey.” He sat heavily down in the hospital chair. “I thought you were going to stay with Nana, but you turned up at the Palace Hotel after the earthquake later that night. Six point two, they're saying, but no one was seriously hurt. Except you. It was like a miracle…for everyone but me, that is.” He wiped the heel of his hand against his face. “I thought I lost you.”
“Oh Dad, I'm sorry.”
“Your mom, honey, she…she didn't make it.” Her father took Wendy's hand in his own. “I know I shouldn't tell you this before I get the doctor, but I want you to know.”
Some memory niggled the back of Wendy's mind. Something important about her mother. “The earthquake?”
He nodded. “Yeah, honey. Some tubes must have jiggled loose or something. Chel and Jon were with her though, at the end. Nana too. They said it was peaceful.” He brushed a stray lock of hair off Wendy's forehead. “We buried her yesterday. It's just that you were showing the same symptoms your mom had, before. They told me you might not wake up. But if I'd known you were going to wake up today we could have waited, or—”
“It's okay, Dad,” Wendy said. “I don't blame you. Go get the doctor, okay?”
“Okay, honey,” he said and quickly left the room.
“I'm glad you're awake,” Piotr said. He was sitting on the empty bed beside her, one of Dora's sketchbooks in his lap, a package of Prismacolor pencils at his side. He held up the sketchbook; he'd drawn the rough outline of her face, only slightly lopsided, a brief oval surrounded with curls like red fire, tinged black at the tips. “Your soul took a long time to heal.”
“Mom really was the White Lady, right?” Wendy's fingers curled into the blanket. “I didn't imagine that?”
He shook his head. “Net, you did not. I'm sorry.”
“I'm the one who should be apologizing,” Wendy said bitterly. “I should have known, but it just didn't seem possible—”
“There was no way for you to have,” he said. “Wendy, it's not your fault.”
She wiped her eyes. “My dad'll be back soon.”
He nodded. “I know. I just wanted to let you know that none of it—not your mother, not what happened to me, and what happened at the Palace—none of it is your fault.”
“The others?”
Piotr sighed. “Elle and Lily survived. While the White Lady and her Walkers were occupied with us, Dora had enough energy to crawl over and cut them loose. They were trying to free James when I…when I did what I did. Elle dragged Lily out a window before the shockwave hit.”
“James? The Walkers? The Lost?”
He hung his head. “All gone. The explosion sent them into the Light.”
Wendy nodded once. “I see.” Her fists opened, releasing the bunched bedspread. “And you? You were at ground zero.”
“Da. Somehow, I don't know know, I survived.” Piotr shrugged. “The Light destroyed everything around me—even the ground at my feet—but I was left alone.” He laughed. “I guess it really isn't my time to go, da?”
“I'm sorry, Piotr.”
He shrugged. “I'm not. All this, everything that's happened, made me realize that it's time to travel on for a bit. Backtrack where I can, find my roots.” He glanced out the window. “Lily's known me the longest—centuries, and centuries again. So Lily's agreed to come with me, and Elle…she doesn't wish to stay here. Too many bad memories. She's coming along for the ride.” He smiled. “I believe she's looking forward to the adventure.”
“So you're leaving.”
“For a while. See what I can learn about being me. See what memories were siphoned away.” He hesitated. “You…could come with us.”
“I can't. I'm needed here.” Wendy sighed. “I still don't know what happened to Eddie, and I've got a feeling that I'll be cleaning up my mom's mess for a little longer than a while.”
“I understand.” Piotr brushed a finger along her face. “I do not wish to leave you like this. I want to stay but…honestly, Wendy, I need to get out of this place. I need to give this thing—this strange thing between us—a little space. I am not being fair to you.” He grimaced. “You are alive. I think…I think that you need to be with someone who is also alive.”
“All of that doesn't matter to me. I don't care that you're dead. I mean, hell, I'm the Lightbringer often enough that I might as well be—”
“Shhh!” Piotr put his hand over her mouth gently but urgently. “Do not say that! It matters to me. You matter to me. Do you understand?”
“Yeah. It sucks, but I get it.” Wendy shifted in the bed, grimacing at the pain in her side. “I'm going to miss you.”
He ran shaking fingers through his hair, his scars standing out in stark contrast with the unblemished skin of his hand. “I will miss you too. Very, very much.”
“I wonder how many memories I took,” Wendy whispered. “While we were kissing.”
“Maybe some, maybe none,” he said. “But even so, I think it was a fair trade.”
“Right,” she said bitterly. “Sure.”
Fingers, cool and strong, lifted her chin, tilting Wendy's face up. Piotr was only the barest breath away, eyes looking intently into her own. “A kiss for the road?” he asked and, before she could answer, his lips slanted over hers.
When they drew apart, the monitor at her bedside was beeping wildly and Wendy could hear the quick pounding of feet in the distance, nurses running for her room.
“I'll see you around, Curly,” Piotr said, blowing her a kiss as he backed through the far wall. “Good luck finding Eddie.”
The doctor skidded
into the room, a nurse and Wendy's father at his heels. He found Wendy sitting up in the bed, cheeks wet and a hand pressed to her lips, staring at the wall. The monitor, which had only moments before been protesting at a high-pitched whine, was dropping its tempo into a steady, pulsing beat.
“Winifred?” he asked, approaching her carefully, worried that his sudden appearance might shock the girl into another series of heavy heart fluctuations. “How are you feeling?”
“I think I'm a little lost,” she replied, eyes never straying from the wall. “But I think I'd like to go home.”
K.D.MCENTIRE is a mom and animal lover currently living just outside of Kansas City with her husband, son, and two cats. K.D. spends her miniscule free time reading, writing, and battling her Sims 3 addiction. She loves Wil Wheaton, Stephen King, Joss Whedon, gaming, comic books, and all things geeky.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
About the Author
Back Cover
Lightbringer Page 31
