Night Betrayed

by Joss Ware

  She opened the latch and dug out the small jagged piece of pale rose-colored stone. It felt warm to the touch; and for a moment, Selena indulged anger and guilt. If she’d moved faster, not needed to attend to Clara, would it have made a difference for him?

  Use the crystal.

  But how? Even if it wasn’t too late, what could she have done with it? It wasn’t used to heal people.

  The translucent stone, which was about the size of her thumb, had dark red veins deep inside. Selena looked down at it, and the gem seemed to grow warmer as she stared. Because my hand’s closed around it, of course.

  Or not.

  She’d had it for as long as she could remember. According to Vonnie, when Selena was found, the crystal had been wedged inside her swaddling blankets, beneath her arm. By accident or design, no one knew. For years, Selena had kept it tucked away in her personal effects, having convinced herself that it belonged to Lena, the name she’d given to the woman who’d given birth to her during the Change. Whether it was or wasn’t, she didn’t know. But she did know that there had always been a small pink mark under her arm about the size of that stone.

  When she was eighteen, she’d discovered its power and purpose. There were days when she wished she hadn’t—when she wondered . . . Why me?

  Selena glanced automatically toward the window, checked the sun’s position, and a shiver prickled over her. Night would come soon.She forced herself to turn from the window, smoothing her thumb over the crystal. Despite its power, she didn’t see how it could help in this situation. He was a man, not a zombie.

  Gripping the red-veined stone, Selena returned to the dragon man’s bed. He still lay half on his side, having shifted during his last moments of life. One leg, sturdy and powerful-looking, lay sprawled half over the other one, bared by the hiked-up leg of his jeans.

  As before, Selena’s attention was caught by the fierce blue dragon curling down his sleek back, ending in the glint of its eye.

  A little prickle zipped up her arm from the hand that held the rose stone. Almost like a spark. Or a really sharp nudge.

  She gasped, not from pain or even surprise, but from realization. Understanding . . . Oh—

  Huh . . . Really?

  Wetting her lips, chewing on the lower one nervously, she adjusted her grip on the stone and settled it against the dragon’s eye. Closed her eyes. And prayed.

  A fiery shock jolted her eyes open just in time for her to see the man arch, recoil and snap once like a whip, and then collapse back onto the bed. She stared: at the crystal she still held; at the smooth-skinned, heaving chest that was now fully visible; and up along his tense, corded throat to his parted lips and higher.

  He opened his eyes.

  “Bang,” said Selena. “And holy shit.”

  Theo’s brain was filled with mush, like the gray, gloppy oatmeal his mom used to make him and Lou eat for breakfast in the winter. The only way it had been palatable had been when they drowned it in brown sugar, dried cherries, and lots of milk.

  He looked around the room, trying to remember how he’d come to be here. Or even where he was. The place was unfamiliar, with light-colored sheets of fabric hanging from the ceiling as if to cordon off a private space for his bed. The window next to him indicated it was early in the morning or getting toward night. A floral-scented breeze filtered through.

  The low murmur of voices told him he wasn’t alone, but because of the privacy, he couldn’t see anyone. Is this some sort of hospital? An old house that had been made into a hospital? Pretty damn big house, from what he could tell. Ceilings were high and the window next to him was tall and wide. He tried to sit up to look outside and see if the exterior looked familiar, but he was too weak and his head spun.

  So Theo focused on what he knew, closing his eyes in concentration. Memory flashes blitzed through his mind: riding on horseback in the cool, green forest with Quent and Fence . . . the confrontation with the bounty hunter named Seattle, and the unexpected fire flooding his chest and beyond. He’d been shot.

  Then . . . sluggishness and swirling gray behind his eyes. A soft voice, light hands, fleeting memories of daylight and nighttime, of something warm and liquid trickling between his lips.

  Sage.

  He drew her face, her brilliant, fiery red hair and clear aqua eyes into his memory like a comforting blanket. He had books for her in his pack, didn’t he?

  Theo opened his eyes, staring at a small crack in the ceiling as he concentrated . . . and then another wave of memory flooded him, followed by a crash of pain. Dull and heavy, it settled in his belly.

  Sage had chosen Simon.

  Right.

  Theo squeezed his eyes closed, turning his head to the side as if to avoid the knowledge. That was why he’d been so eager to go with Quent and Fence on the mission. To get away from Envy, away from Sage and Simon and the intimate glances between them. And the passing touches, so casual and easy. And, most of all, the underlying glow of happiness on her face.

  He became aware, suddenly, that he wasn’t alone. Something shifted in the air and the change brought a flowery scent with it. Theo opened his eyes and found a woman standing near the edge of the bed, looking down at him.

  He couldn’t really consider her old, because she was probably younger than he was, although he didn’t look any older than thirty. He guessed her to be about sixty, based on the delicate lines crisscrossing her cheeks and the bit of sag in her jawline. A young sixty, but still, eighteen years younger than he was in actual years.

  And such long, long years they had been, these last fifty. Living in a world that had been fairly razed to the ground and slowly rebuilt.

  The woman, who was soft and rounded with age, had heavy dark hair liberally streaked with white that curled in a crazy mop around her face and jaw. Her green-brown eyes danced with energy and her mouth formed what seemed like a perpetual smile. She was holding a cluster of silvery green leaves in one hand and a mug with a spoon sticking out of it in the other. “You’re awake,” she said, stating the obvious, then turned away to call to someone in the distance. “He’s awake again!” The spoon clanked.

  Then, as if she hadn’t just split his eardrums, she drew up a chair, pulling it close and settling on it with enthusiasm. The spoon clattered in the mug again as she shifted even closer. “You’ve been in and out of consciousness for the last three days. But this is the clearest I’ve seen your eyes, so maybe you’ll stay awake for a bit, hm?”

  Theo wasn’t ready to try his voice yet, so he nodded once. The smell coming from whatever was in that mug made his stomach convulse. He was damned hungry and he hoped it was for him.

  To his disappointment, she put the mug on the table next to him and gestured with the bundle of pungent leaves. They were oblong and slender, with a pebbled texture and smelled a bit musty, almost skunky. “We weren’t sure what you wanted with these,” she said, waving them in front of him. “Do you want us to make tea or put them in that—it’s broth,” she said, jerking her thumb at the cup. “Or do you just eat them? Like a salad?”

  Theo stared at her, trying to make sense of her words. But he couldn’t, so he had to try his voice—which, it turned out, worked pretty well. “What is it?”

  The woman settled back in her chair, surprised. “Why, it’s sage. You’ve been asking for it, haven’t you? Took us a few days to find it, but . . .”

  Theo had already turned away; and if it was possible for a sick man to flush, he was doing it. Oh, Jesus. “Could I just have the broth,” was all he said. “I’m hungry.”

  “Of course,” she told him, and to his relief, she set the cluster of leaves down on the table.

  He’d had three good spoonfuls of the most delicious broth he’d ever tasted when another woman appeared from behind the curtainlike walls. Though he was more interested in the soup than this new arrival, Theo’s first impression of her was one of peaceful energy.

  Which seemed like an oxymoron, but he was going by half-formed first
impressions in a still gloppy-gray brain. Other things filtered through the mush: the fact that she was younger than the first woman, with long, thick dark brown hair; more spare in build, not quite as boisterous and energetic . . . but capable. Capable, peaceful, serene.

  She came up to the bed and stood next to it, staring down as if she’d never seen him before. And maybe she hadn’t; how the hell would he know. “You’re really alive,” she said. Wonder in her voice. “How do you feel?”

  “Hungry,” he said, opening his mouth enough for the spoon to slip in. Suddenly, he felt odd lying there with two women gazing down at him, being spoon-fed like he was a baby.

  “I’ll take over,” she said, turning to the older woman. “Thanks, Vonnie.”

  Vonnie stood with the same alacrity with which she’d sat, bumping against the bed as she moved out of the way to make room for the newer arrival. “I’ll go check on Maryanna.”

  “She seems to be in pain. Maybe you could burn a little for her? She’s not ready to go yet.” Her voice sounded a little taut, but how would Theo know what her voice normally sounded like? “And Sam’s complaining about being hungry.”

  “So what else is new?” Vonnie said, bustling from the sheet-enclosed carrel. She gave a little laugh and a toss of her hand as she passed by the outside of the area, making the fabric billow a bit. “I’ll handle it. Take your time, Selena.”

  Selena had lifted a spoonful of broth, but Theo, feeling ridiculous and also a bit like an insect pinned to a corkboard from the way she was looking at him, hauled himself into a more upright position. “I can feed myself. Thank you.”

  She handed him the mug and spoon without comment and watched silently as he ignored the spoon and sipped from the mug.

  “You died three days ago,” she said after a moment.

  Theo’s head hurt, and so, suddenly, did his chest. His everywhere. Surreal. That was all he could think. This was surreal. Sitting in a place where he didn’t know anyone, having no idea how he got there, being nursed by a woman named Selena, being told he died. Three days ago.

  With a fucking bunch of sage sitting on the table next to him.

  He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

  “Am I dead now?” was the only thing he could think of to say. He could be in heaven. Or wherever you went before you went there—because, God knew, he wasn’t perfect. He certainly wasn’t in hell. Because that had been back in Envy, watching Sage and Simon.

  Selena shook her head. “No. I brought you back to life.”

  Theo slammed the mug back too hard and choked on a healthy gulp of broth. Being brought back to life was an impossibility in this world. It might have happened before the Change, back before June of 2010, when there were shock treatments and defibrillators and emergency rooms . . . but not here.

  Although . . . didn’t Lou claim he’d resurrected him when he found him in the subterranean chamber during the Change? He’d made jokes about bringing Theo back to life by waking him from what had been a comalike sleep.

  Theo swallowed. “How did you do that?” he asked, keeping his voice as nonchalant as hers had been.

  “I’m not sure,” she replied, and her eyes crinkled a bit at the corners. A little smile, a bit rueful and even bemused, it created a few more delicate lines near the corners of her mouth. Not dimples, not wrinkles . . . but life lines. He realized suddenly that she could be in her forties, even.

  “It was a sort of miracle,” she continued. “A definite miracle. It’s never happened before. But you were definitely dead. For a good . . . five, ten minutes.”

  Theo found he didn’t really like that idea after all. He hadn’t actually died last time, had he? He closed his eyes, then opened them again—and noticed that her eyes, focused on him, were a light, rich brown. The color of caramel or brandy.

  “Maybe you want to tell me your name so I don’t have to call you Miracle Man? Or Dragon Guy?”

  “Theo.”

  “Well, welcome back to the living, Theo,” Selena said. She shifted in her seat and Theo revised his guess at her age. Definitely no older than forty. Not with a golden body that tight and curvy. Maybe even early thirties. Look at those arms.

  “How do you feel? Besides hungry?” she asked.

  “Tired and sore,” he replied, pulling himself up a bit more. “Fuzzy-headed. Where am I, by the way?”

  She’d picked up that damned bunch of sage and was smoothing her fingers over the long oval leaves. “Near Yellow Mountain.”

  Yellow Mountain. It rang a distant bell, but the gloppiness prevented him from focusing. “I’m from Envy. Do you know where that is?”

  Selena shrugged and flapped a hand. “That way? I’ve had people come from all over, Envy included. I don’t ask the details; it’s enough that they’re here.”

  Theo smelled something, and it distracted him for a moment. A familiar smell, sweet and unmistakable, wafting in the air. He sniffed again, just to be sure. “Is that marijuana?”

  She nodded, taking the empty mug from him. “Yes. Would you like some?” She smiled, then added, “I meant, would you like some more soup? Unless you’re in pain, and then I’ll have Vonnie bring the bong over when she’s done with Maryanna. It seems to help her; and if there’s anything I can do to make things easier, I will.”

  All righty, then. It wasn’t as if pot was illegal anymore. The laws in this world were fairly nonexistent, especially outside of Envy, which was the largest known settlement of humans.

  “I’m not in pain. But I could eat some more.”

  And then all of a sudden, the murkiness slipped away enough for him to realize who she was. “You’re the Death Lady.”

  A little humorless smile twitched her lips, and she nodded. “Yes, that’s what they call me.”

  He’d heard of her, this woman who spent her life sitting with people as they died, caring for and helping them. Like a post-Change hospice, he guessed. And since there weren’t any real doctors and certainly no hospitals, let alone drugs or surgeries, Theo knew just how busy she must be. And how important her role was. He’d heard about her back in Envy, and on his missions beyond those safe walls as he tried to add members to the secret Resistance movement and set up network access points to build their version of the post-Change Internet.

  “How the hell did you ever—” he started, then realized his tone made him sound like an ass, so he amended, softening his voice. “How did you get started doing this?”

  Selena put the mug down and settled in her chair, folding her arms under the breasts that filled out her T-shirt quite nicely. “Most of my patients—I guess you’d call them that—don’t talk much, and certainly don’t ask me such pointed questions. But then again, everyone else who’s ever come to me has left this world and crossed over to the other. So I guess you’re just different all around.”

  “So, yeah. Since you brought me back to life, you’ve only yourself to blame. You coulda let things alone, you know.” He cracked a rueful smile.

  She looked at him thoughtfully. “I sure could have,” she replied, nodding as if some great mystery were revealed in his eyes. “But I was told how to save you, so I did.”

  “You were told to save me. Dare I ask by whom? And how?”

  Selena rose and picked up the mug, the spoon clinking once more. “You can ask, but I think I’ll keep that to myself. I’ll get you more soup, and if you’re really nice, I’ll tell you how I got to be named after a female wizard.”

  With that, she turned and walked out of the area before he had a good chance to really check her out.

  Nothing surprised him more than the vague disappointment that he hadn’t.

  Guess I’m not dead yet.

  Selena scooped up the broth, which had been made from peppers, carrots, and onions, roasted then simmered in water and wine and flavored with celery, parsley, and garlic. It smelled delicious and set her mouth to watering. And Theo had certainly enjoyed the soup if the way he slurped it down was any indication.

&
nbsp; But being brought back to life . . . not so much.

  Not a bit of gratitude.

  He didn’t come out and say it, but she sensed it. There was some reluctance to return to this world, this plane.

  There were some who fought death, and some who went easily—it depended upon whether they had unfinished business here or not. But this one . . . this dragon man . . . he’d done neither. He just seemed ready. Tired.

  Why did you tell me to save him? She looked around, reflexively up toward the ceiling, even though the guides usually sat or stood at eye level. As if there’d be an answer. She’d been asking why for forty years, and she’d never had a clear one yet.

  But occasionally, the guide she’d come to think of as her own guardian angel would appear. Not giving answers to why, of course . . . just guidance. Just as she had the first time she had experienced the death cloud—or at least the first time she remembered doing so.

  Selena was five years old, sitting next to an old woman out in a field and making daisy chains while Vonnie picked raspberries with the old woman’s daughter. The old woman seemed dry as an old stick, ready to blow away in the breeze, shriveled into herself in peaceful silence. Her eyes were watery but bright, and she spoke very little, but mostly not at all. Her hair was white, with a bit of gray threading through it.

  Selena remembered chattering on and on to the old woman when the blond-haired woman who often came to help her and Vonnie appeared, sitting on the grass. At that time, she thought little of the fact that the mysterious Wayren often materialized like a puff of air; it was just the way she came and went. As Selena had come to learn since, children were much more accepting of the presence of guides and angels than their older counterparts.

  “Watch,” Wayren had told her, her pale blond hair shining in the sun. She always seemed to have a happy glow around her, but that day it seemed to grow larger and larger . . . and eventually encompassed the elderly woman.

  Selena saw the glittering in the sunlight, the little sparkles around the woman. Silver and gray, and then bluish, spinning, whirling, spiraling up.