Fragile Remedy

by Maria Ingrande Mora

“Thrilling,” Alden murmured.

  Alden’s grandmother came out from behind a woven curtain. “GEMs don’t grow up,” she announced, laughing like a gull and pointing a knotted finger at Nate. Fran’s face was so wrinkled the folds drooped over her jewel-black eyes. She wore her hair in a neat silvery bun at the top of her head.

  “I’m not grown,” Nate said, unbothered by the sound of his secret. Fran’s mind had gone long before Nate had met her. No one would believe her if she claimed to know a fugitive GEM.

  She poked his ribs and belly as if examining an exotic fruit before turning her attention to a bowl full of faded sequins on the counter. Embroidered robes swayed from her shoulders, hiding the frail angles of her body. Unlike Alden, she had always treated Nate like family—at least when she could remember who he was. His skin stayed warm where she’d touched him.

  Alden locked the shop door. He swept his thin arm out like he was putting on a street-corner play, sizing Nate up with an elegant wave. The movement faltered, and he frowned. “You really do look dreadful.”

  “I need Remedy.” Nate crossed his arms and sagged against the counter. “I’m tired.”

  The weight of his understatement hung between them. This wasn’t normal exhaustion. He stared Alden down, daring him to acknowledge it. Wondering, for a sickening heartbeat, if he had a part in it.

  “But I have guests arriving soon.” Alden curled his long fingers around Nate’s shoulders, his touch icy. “Impatient guests.”

  “They can wait.” Nate didn’t want to think about the stuffy basement or Alden’s guests. Alden didn’t sell the moldy herbs in gleaming canisters or glass jewelry glittering around his shop. He sold high-quality chem to anyone with enough credits to buy a few minutes of peace.

  Most of the time, Alden’s guests were sweaty and thin and haunted by their hunger. The worst were curiously well-dressed and lingered in the shop, touching everything within reach and sneaking glances at every dusty nook and cranny.

  When those people came around, Alden made Nate hide in Fran’s bedroom, surrounded by her silky robes and mildewed books and baskets full of colorful yarn.

  Nate squirmed, tugging his shoulders out of Alden’s grip, already feeling like he’d been here far too long.

  “And what if I’m impatient?” Alden understood the needs of the fiends who stumbled wild-eyed into his shop—he looked the same way every morning.

  His hungry gaze was the perfect cure for nostalgia. Nate fought the urge to storm off. If he did, he’d be dead in days. Maybe hours.

  “You can’t make me,” he said instead.

  “I can be persuasive, darling.”

  “Not as persuasive as you think.”

  Nate only had the upper hand in one way: he’d already left once. Alden’s need, laid bare and tormented, hadn’t been enough to keep Nate around, and he’d finally left him. Nate hadn’t even known if Alden would survive or if his heart would give like the fiends on the street who fell asleep on doorsteps and never woke up.

  He’d leave again before he allowed Alden to sink into the suffocating grip of his own desire.

  “You haven’t even asked what I’m offering.” Alden kissed the top of Nate’s head and sputtered, gagging like he’d tasted something awful. Which was probably true. Nate hadn’t bathed in days.

  The ache behind Nate’s eyes rattled around in his skull with each word. It sapped his anger. All he wanted to do was curl up on the floor and close his eyes before the pain blossomed. He didn’t care how much he sounded like a demanding child. “Just help me, Alden.”

  “How do you explain all these visits to your darling Reed?” Alden asked.

  Nate bristled, but couldn’t work up the energy to stomp across the room away from Alden’s knowing gaze. Couldn’t do anything except tremble. The thought of Reed waiting for him made shame and desire collide in his blood, a hot-and-cold feeling that didn’t do anything for his headache.

  Reed didn’t know what Nate was hiding. Couldn’t know.

  “It doesn’t matter what I tell him.”

  When they’d first met, Alden had seemed like the wisest, most sophisticated person in the Withers. He flirted with Nate relentlessly, but it was just Alden’s nature. He’d flirt with a lamppost if he thought he could get something from it.

  Now they both knew Nate had something to give.

  “I think I have a right to know what stories you’re telling about me.” Alden clasped an arm around Nate’s chest and held him still while Fran came close again, sniffing the air and cackling softly.

  “He’s sick, my boy.” Her voice rustled like dry paper. “Sick, sick.”

  “Please, Alden. It’s not lasting as long.”

  “He’s dying!” Fran crowed.

  “Enough, Grandmother!” Alden snapped, releasing Nate to shoo Fran through the curtain to her bedroom. He stood in the folds of the blood-red fabric as if wearing a cloak, turning his black eyes on Nate.

  “You’re not dying,” he said. It sounded like a question.

  “If you won’t let me have Remedy, I’ll go to someone else.” Nate’s voice thinned. “I have to.”

  “Do you really think others will go to the great lengths I’ve gone through to keep you safe?” Alden enunciated each word tightly. “Do I need to remind you just how many people would happily snatch you off the street?”

  “You don’t care about keeping me safe. You just want to keep me.” Nate pressed his fingers to the ridge of bone at his cheeks. Even his teeth hurt.

  “One and the same, sweet thing.”

  “Alden.”

  “Anyone who has Remedy will hand you over to the Breakers the moment you ask for it. They’ll never let you go. You’ll go to the highest bidder before you can beg the Old Gods to end it all.”

  “Stop.”

  “You’ll spend the rest of your life strung up in a basement far less hospitable than mine.” Alden’s steely expression faltered. “They’ll take everything, Natey.”

  The echoes of what had passed between them left no doubt in Nate’s mind. If Alden had nearly killed him, a stranger would do far worse.

  Nate grabbed Alden’s cold hand. “Then don’t make me wait. I’ll let you feed next week,” he said, knowing he wouldn’t. Never again. Not when he couldn’t go a solid week before stumbling around half dead. Not when it put Alden at risk of relapsing. “You know my word is good. I can’t be sick like this. I’ve got to move this tech and bring food home for—”

  “For the gang,” Alden spat, shaking off Nate’s hand. His gaze went cold. “Reed’s merry band of orphans and whores.”

  Nate bit back a reply. There was no use talking to Alden once he shut off like a snapped wire. It was all business now.

  Alden led him into the small side room with a locked curio cabinet. “Don’t make bargains you can’t keep,” he said quietly. “It’s not a good look.”

  Nate shied away from Alden’s ornate, rusted mirror and smoothed back the stringy dark hair that had fallen from his ponytail. He hated seeing his reflection—the deep circles under his gray eyes and streaks of soot mottling his golden-brown skin like bruises.

  He knew he looked sick.

  He knew that’s all that Reed saw. Weakness. Illness.

  Secrets.

  Someone quickly becoming a liability to the gang.

  A cramp twisted his body. He sank into the cushions in the corner as the last of his strength gave out, exhaustion snipping the tendons holding him upright. It wasn’t supposed to happen this fast.

  Alden glanced over his shoulder and frowned, his icy gaze softening. “Nate.”

  “Please.” Nate’s teeth chattered. “Hurry.”

  “So pushy,” Alden said tightly as he unlocked the cabinet and shifted aside delicate bottles full of street-meds and chem-laced tinctures. He exposed an antique safe and pressed a cod
e into the switchpad that Nate had installed two years ago. The door creaked open to reveal thin glass vials of pale-blue liquid—Remedy. “If you’re in such a hurry, go back to the city for it.”

  Nate choked on a grunt of laughter. “I’ll pass.”

  In Gathos City, he’d be kept in a chilled box, hooked up to a machine cycling air and waste. He’d sleep forever, fed upon until his body finally decayed. GEMs kept the wealthiest people healthy and happy in the city. But even the poorest in the city had unimaginable luxuries. Soft, clean beds. Climate control. Fast cars and motorized bicycles. Bright lights that gleamed night after night across the sludge-channel. Beautiful music that drifted toward the Withers when the wind shifted on a quiet day.

  I can’t remember.

  Nate hugged his middle, trying to banish the memory of what his aunt Bernice had always told him about the fate of GEMs in Gathos City. He didn’t want to think about the horror, only the short time he’d felt safe in the city’s skyscrapers—the snatches of patchy memories. Ivy greener than anything in the Withers, clear water that tasted sweet and clean, and playing in the sun-warmed dirt of his mother’s greenhouse, lungs full of damp air thick with the rich scent of growing things. Her voice, sweet and babbling like running water, filling every silence with words he couldn’t recall.

  “Don’t vomit on my upholstery.” Alden decanted the Remedy into a smaller vial. The liquid gleamed vivid blue, as if lit from within.

  “Where do you get it?” Nate asked, not for the first time.

  Alden prided himself on carrying the rarest, most expensive chem, but Remedy was something else altogether—medicine that wasn’t supposed to exist outside of Gathos City. The med clinics didn’t have it. The Servants didn’t have it.

  “That’s not for you to worry about.” Alden locked the safe and hid the entrance with dusty bottles. He quieted. “You can’t tell anyone you’re getting it from me. You can’t let anyone find out.”

  Like Bernice with her spotted hands and her gaze as sharp as a live wire. Never tell them what you are. Never let them know.

  Nate was so tired of keeping secrets. He had to sleep so he wouldn’t feel the sick coming on, like his lungs were filling with cold sludge. He needed to rest. He didn’t want to think about the haunted sound of Alden’s words. He didn’t want to think at all.

  He closed his eyes.

  “Natey.” Alden pushed Nate’s hair behind his ears with trembling fingers. “You have to wake up, honey. I didn’t know it was that bad. You know that, don’t you? Open your eyes and drink this up. Be sweet for me and take your medicine.”

  “I know what you’re really worried about.” Nate groaned and welcomed the clink of glass against his teeth. He didn’t want to be awake, but he didn’t want it to hurt anymore either.

  Alden tipped the vial onto Nate’s tongue and made soft, clucking sounds. “Don’t fuss, Nate. Drink it all.”

  Nate didn’t need encouragement. He swallowed the acrid liquid, Remedy burning down his throat, and licked his lips to catch every drop. A cool, pleasant sensation seeped through his chest. Whatever it was made of, Remedy chased the sick out of him like the chem people took to heal rotting wounds and ward off fevers.

  “Alden, you’re a prick.” Nate opened his eyes. “You could have killed me.”

  “Me? If I hadn’t spotted you wandering like a lost kitten, you would have died on my doorstep. What did you think you were doing, waiting to see me when you felt that bad?”

  “I lost track,” Nate said, cross. He didn’t want to admit the truth.

  It’s getting worse.

  Alden’s voice was close. “Your life isn’t something you should lose track of.”

  With the pain gone, Nate’s senses returned to him gradually. The dry, musty scent of old cushions flooded his nose. Alden clutched Nate to his narrow frame, sharp elbows stabbing him with each breath and long hair tickling his nose. Nate batted at the blue-black strands, and a rush of fondness chased away the last of the hurt. Though he knew he should hold on to anger, his falling-out with Alden still gnawed at his heart.

  Before Alden’s relentless hunger had spoiled everything, he’d been Nate’s only friend.

  “I’m sorry I can’t feed you.”

  Alden’s eyes widened a fraction before he recovered with a bony shrug.

  “I mean it,” Nate said. Normally, he wouldn’t feel bad about denying Alden the chance. Alden’s habit made him feel used at best and disgusted at worst. But woozy with relief, Nate wanted to share the peace he felt. He wanted to smooth away the tension that never left Alden’s face.

  Feeding on Nate used to give Alden the flushed glow of health he normally lacked. It had been over a year now. And it showed in the shadows beneath Alden’s dark eyes. Nothing on the street came close to the properties of a GEM’s blood.

  “We can’t have you starving your orphans, I suppose.” Alden’s voice was poison, but concern pinched his brow.

  “I’m happy with Reed and the gang, you know. They’re . . . it’s a family.”

  “A family you lie to.”

  “I—”

  “You know they only want you for your tinkering,” Alden said.

  Nate tried to tell himself that Alden was only being cruel, but it was probably true. Why else would they want him around? “That’s no better than what you want me for.”

  A muscle at Alden’s throat twitched like a plucked string. “That doesn’t make it untrue, dear.”

  “I’m the best Tinkerer around.” He wasn’t too sure about that, but it felt good to say. Felt good to show Alden that he was needed, even if it was only for what he could do. “Of course they want me for that.”

  “You’re as modest as ever.” Alden slipped away from Nate and pulled his hair into a quick, twisted braid. He gave a delicate shrug. “Go sell your tech and bring the bread home for the family. Does that make Reed your brother, then? How titillating.”

  “Stuff it, Alden. It’s not like that.” Ducking his chin to hide a blush, Nate stood slowly. His legs didn’t wobble. “I’ll be back next week, when I have time to stay. Not a market day, all right?”

  “And stay you will, my love,” said Alden with a toothy, sharp smile.

  For now, they could both pretend it would be for more than tinkering around the shop and keeping Fran company.

  The front door chimes rang out, and Alden blanched, taking Nate by the sleeve with a wrenching grip. “Go out the back, Natey. Get moving. You’re not the only busy one around here.”

  Ushered into the dank alley, Nate jumped at the sound of the door slamming behind him. The smell of sun-ripe piss flooded his nostrils. Unease settled in his bones like sludge, but he didn’t look back.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Nate dug into his deep pockets and drew out handfuls of tech-guts. He turned over bolts and uncoiled wires until they glittered like treasure on Judy’s table, where she sold odds and ends under a patchwork awning. She held a bundle of red wires to her magnifying glass and squinted. When sunlight caught the polished handle, hazy memories crowded the edge of his awareness. Cold glass. Smooth metal.

  Pain.

  “Gods watch you!” someone called out—the cheerful close to a transaction.

  His gods had an ugly name.

  “Your mice have been at play, I see.” She tapped the glass against the table and eyed him impatiently.

  He blinked, inhaling the stench of the market to clear his head. Every layer of rot and grease rooted him here in the Withers, far from the hurt. “I came by this honest, ma’am.”

  They both knew better, but it didn’t hurt to follow the script. He didn’t want to find another buyer. Judy didn’t pay as well as others, but she didn’t sell to the Breakers. Nate was willing to sacrifice credits to keep the gang’s tech out of their violent hands.

  The Breakers had come into power three y
ears before, after the two most influential street gangs decimated their own ranks in an ugly turf war. Life in the Withers didn’t change much when regimes changed. People stayed hungry. Food continued to make its way into the markets—diverted from the rations given to those who registered as workers.

  They’d started out harmless enough, doing all their business by Courier and paying off A-Vols. They cleaned up the worst of the pleasure houses and pulled aggressive trappers off the streets. But then they started driving families out of perfectly good housing to set up shop behind locked doors and shuttered windows. They rerouted the power lines and made entire neighborhoods pay for electricity with food rations. When small-time gang leaders stood up to them, those leaders ended up dead—with their bloated bodies on display in their own territories.

  And then they’d put the word out: They wanted GEMs, and they’d pay in Gathos City credits for them. While Nate didn’t want his tech to end up in their hands, he wasn’t much interested in catching their attention either.

  Judy arched a silver brow as she adjusted her glasses. “I’m sure you’re honest as the dawn. I can give you fourteen credits for the lot. Not a half-credit more.”

  “All right,” Nate said.

  “All right?” Judy snorted. “You’ve never taken my first price before. You in a hurry?”

  Nate tried to offer her a reassuring smile. “It’s been a long day.”

  “No trouble, I hope.” She passed him a crust of bread.

  He took it and ate with quick bites, his stomach twisting gladly, despite the mold that stuck to his tongue. “I’d never bring trouble to you, Miss Judy.”

  How bad do I look that Judy’s feeding me?

  “I’m not worried about trouble,” Judy said. “Go on home to your mice and get some rest.”

  Nate shook her strong hand over the table covered in tech-guts and broken toys and dodged around tables to the center of the market. Food stalls carried fruits and vegetables ripe with an oversweet, half-rotten smell and street meat simmering in enough spice to blast away the taste of decay. Gathos City sent food onto the island through the tunnel gates twice a week for registered workers with vouchers. Most of it ended up in the market, trading hands a dozen times.