“That I can't answer for sure,” Frank said, shrugging. “Who knows the reasoning behind what Elise does? All I can say is that she forced your mother to do the deed.”
Piotr spoke then, quietly, so that Wendy had to strain to hear. “All my information is secondhand, but Tracey had begun to question the Reapers, the way Elise was running the family while Alonya—your Nana Moses, as Eddie calls her—was gone. She…she had great concerns that the Reapers…for whatever reason they were granted their powers…that the reason had grown perverted over the centuries.”
“Does questioning the status quo sound familiar, Lightbringer?” Frank asked lazily. “Sound like anyone you happen to be by any chance?”
“Tracey was like me?” Wendy asked, turning that news over in her head. “You're saying that she didn't want to reap ghosts just because they were dead…she wanted something more? She wanted to know why they had to reap ghosts?”
Frank tapped his fingertips against the tabletop. “Bingo! Award the lady a kewpie doll!”
“Elise must have been pissed,” Wendy murmured. It all sounded distressingly familiar. “Tracey messed up somehow, right? She crossed some mysterious Reaper line way past just asking annoying, inconvenient questions.”
“Keeey-rect!” Frank took a deep swallow of his drink. “So Tracey died, per orders, but before she kicked it Tracey made Mary promise to stay strong and lay low. Mary didn't want to at first, but eventually she went along with it. Revenge kept Mary ticking. She wanted to see Elise suffer.”
“That doesn't sound like my mother,” Wendy protested, though a niggling voice in the back of her mind disagreed. It might not sound like Mom, but it sure sounds like the White Lady.
The Lady Walker had said something similar, hadn't she? That there was more to Mary than met the eye?
As if sensing Wendy's disquiet, Frank shrugged nonchalantly, rasping a hand down the stubble on his cheek. “Mothers have a way of presenting themselves, don't they? Everything has to look smooth and effortless-like. It's only when things start heading south that people notice that Mom's too busy to bother. I don't see why Mary'd be any different from any other momma ever.”
That, at least, did sound like her mom. Wendy frowned. “For you guys it must have come out of the blue, Mom leaving the fold like that. Did you think she was spying for Elise, at first?”
“Of course. Wouldn't you?”
“What made the Council give Mom a chance, then? I mean, if I thought someone was spying for Elise, I'd tell them to hit the road.”
“Ada convinced us to give her a shot. She was head of the Council back then, and she ran the city like one of her labs: tight and secure.” Frank moodily looked out the window. “Mary must've come here every day for a month before Ada'd even speak to her. If it were me, I would've reaped the lot of us out of frustration, but Mary was a persistent little thing—patient, determined. She kept coming back.”
Frank rose and poured himself a drink. “Can I offer you a beer? It's crap on tap, but it's the best we can salvage.”
“No, thank you.”
“Suit yourself.” Taking a long, deep draught of his beer, Frank grimaced at the taste. “More for me.”
“Why did Ada finally cave?” Wendy asked. “Persistence is one thing but…it doesn't seem like her to let sheer stubbornness win the day.”
Drinking the dregs of his beer, Frank closed his eyes and grimaced. “You. Mary convinced Ada that she was on our side by introducing Ada—and later the Council—to you.”
“I don't like the look of those clouds,” Eddie said, leaning against the trunk of the car and crossing his arms. The cold was biting, and a sharp wind scudded across the driveway, bringing with it the scent of wet decay and spoiled vegetation. He shivered. “And that…stuff…that's buzzing around the hole up there. What the heck is it?”
“If we had the answer to that, I doubt any of us'd be hanging out around here, now would we?” Elle replied.
They'd been waiting for Wendy and Piotr for fifteen minutes already and Eddie could tell that Elle was restless. She'd slid through the car door and perched, kneeling, on the roof, bow drawn and arrows lined in a row by her knee.
A gull wheeled overhead. Elle notched an arrow and aimed.
“Be still, Elle,” Lily said, resting a hand on Elle's elbow and settling beside her on the roof of the car. Lily's hair, loose for once, was whipping in the powerful wind. Eddie was tempted to reach out and let the ends brush the palm of his hand but he didn't want to be a creeper and besides, he and Lily still hadn't a chance to talk about the kiss they'd shared before. Eddie loved Wendy with all his heart but he wasn't stupid and he wasn't going to be the pathetic, clingy friend-zoned dude that hung around and waited for his chance—if Wendy's choice was definitely made then he needed to reassess…well, everything. Lily might be a part of that.
“It's probably a spy for the Reapers,” Elle protested, but relaxed her draw, allowing the arrow's tip to point down.
“Perhaps,” Lily murmured, drawing one of her blades and eyeing the honed edge, testing the sharpness with the edge of her thumb. “But we have other troubles.”
“Walkers!” Jon yelled from the driver's seat, the sudden noise from below making Eddie jump. His door slammed as he rushed around the side of the car and pounded the roof with one hand. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy; Jon had taken the opportunity to doze while they were parked. “Walkers, six o'clock! Where's Chel?!”
“She went in to the ladies—probably powdering her nose,” Elle replied coolly. “This is more like it!” Elle crowed, sighting the first Walker. “Good, old-fashioned monsters. I was getting so sick of thinking Walkers!” Eddie could see the bright glee in her eyes as she fluidly straightened and drew. Her arrow whizzed past Jon's left ear and embedded itself in the closest Walker's chest. The Walker staggered back a few steps but then continued forward, dragging a mutilated leg behind. Its face was sloughing off, its right arm was half-gone, but still the Walker shambled toward them with a mindless efficiency.
“Nice to know you prefer a zombie over a dude you can reason with,” Eddie growled, wondering if Piotr had left a knife or stick or something he could defend himself with.
“You can't reason with Walkers,” Elle retorted, letting the arrow fly. It drifted due to the wind but still shot the Walker through the left eye with a slick, wet pop. “All you can do is put ’em out of their misery!”
“These are not entirely mindless,” Lily noted, dropping down from the roof of the car, her knives drawn. “They are still traveling in packs.”
Moving to take her place, Eddie hauled himself on the trunk to get a better view. “There's like a dozen of them,” he moaned, squinting through the dark. “Jon! Go get Chel! Hurry!”
Jon only got three steps toward the front door of the hotel before the Walkers closed rank. There was no way to get past them without one of the Walkers grabbing him.
“I can't!” Jon yelled, weaving side to side on the balls of his feet like a forward looking for an opening. “They're too close!”
“Here,” Lily said, slapping Eddie on the shin. She held up a blade. “Take this.”
Glad that she had his back, Eddie nodded and took the weapon, holding it inexpertly. Lily's blades were heavy and sharp; he felt as if he were going to slice his own fingers off. “Thank you.”
“Be careful. Our business is not complete,” Lily said and with a flash of heat Eddie remembered the brief feeling of her lips pressing against his, the pulse of her essence pouring into him and healing him. Lily's aid had been temporary—Eddie knew he'd already begun to fade at the edges again—but it had been given freely.
“Thank you,” he said again, meaningfully.
Lily spared him a bare nod, but the closest Walker was upon them and she had no time to talk. Lily leapt forward, knife slashing, and Eddie felt a chill bloom behind him. He spun and spotted the Walker who'd snuck up on them, using the bushes of the hotel's landscaping as cover. This one was not nearly as
ugly as the others; the Walker had been young when he'd died—no more than twenty, possibly twenty-two—and through the rot Eddie could make out the ghosts of acne the Walker had died with spattering across its cheekbones and chin.
He stabbed it in the face.
“I'm sorry?” Wendy frowned. She hadn't been alive during the time period Frank was referring to. “What do you mean, Mom introduced the Council to me?”
“Mary had a brain, a beef, and a baby on the way.” Frank looked Wendy meaningfully up and down.
Wendy flushed. “She was pregnant with me when she came to see the Council.”
“There was this crotchety old ghost on the Council back then—some Chinaman brought over when they built the railroads—who refused to listen to Mary unless she could prove she had something to lose by teaming up with those of the dead persuasion. She let him stick his face into her gut. He went in up to the neck.”
Wendy shuddered. “You're kidding me.”
“Not in the least little bit. It was enough to get that old coot's attention. Ada's too. So we listened to the plan…and it was a good one.”
“So the Council gathered every ghost they could get their hands on and hid,” Wendy said. She knew this part by heart. “Mom made the entire city a—pardon the pun—a graveyard. No one to do Elise's dirty work, no one for the other Reapers to send into the Light.”
And, Wendy thought, smirking, if there were no Shades to send on, no ghosts to banish into the Light, then all the Reapers in the city would start to have a nasty buildup of Light, just like the one that landed me in the hospital. The Council would have no way of knowing that side effect of reaping, but Mom would have, certainly. What better way to send the Reapers running for greener pastures than to hide all the cows?
“Every mother-born-and-died of us. If you think herding cats is hard, try organizing Walkers.” Frank stood and walked to the bar. Slipping through a thin space, he reached down and pulled out a shot glass. “Sure I can't convince you to join me?” he asked, waving the glass. “The beer we scavenge is terrible, but there's fantastic harder hooch. Lotta bourbon and wine snobs in this town.”
“No, thank you,” Wendy replied.
“More for me,” he said amicably, and gathered up his glass and a tall, amber-colored bottle from beneath the bar before returning to the table. Though she itched to keep the conversation flowing, Wendy waited for Frank to pour himself two fingers of the spicy-scented liquor and down it. His Adam's apple bobbed as he drank; when finished, he set down the glass and poured himself another glug, but instead of drinking this shot he held the glass and swirled the liquor.
“Tell me about Elise,” Wendy urged as Frank stared into the glass. “Tell me about the Reapers.”
Jon, lost and scared, had closed himself in the car. He frantically texted Chel but the ‘No Bars’ signal blinked at him. Blink. Blink. Blink.
Hitting the side of the phone with his hand, Jon turned the cell off and on again. It took forever to power on and then…blink. Blink. Blink.
“Come ON!” Jon yelled, pounding the phone against the steering wheel. “Come on! Come on! Please? Please! COME ON! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT, FUCKING WORK!” The screen cracked on the last yell, sharp shards jamming themselves into the meat at the base of Jon's thumb. Cursing, Jon yanked his hand back, letting the cell fall to the floorboards, and sucked his wound reflexively.
His head felt strange—hot and heavy and pounding. Jon licked his lips, his tongue rasping over the dry, cracked flesh, and wished that he'd eaten more with dinner, gotten a shake, a larger soda, something. He felt shaky, weak, his heart was thudding painfully in his chest, and Jon could actually feel the thrum of blood rushing through the byways of his body.
That's when he noticed it…
His hands were glowing.
Jon raised first his left hand and then his right, holding them up at face level. White light glimmered at the edges of each fingernail.
“Wendy?” he whispered, forgetting that his big sister was upstairs playing politics with a bunch of dead guys. “Chel?”
No answer. Jon was on his own.
Holding his hands out as if they were dangerous weapons, Jon twisted in the driver's seat and shoved the door with his shoulder. He was a big guy and the latch on that side had never been much good; the door popped open.
On the ground near the trunk of the car Eddie, wrestling with a Walker at least a foot taller than he was, was the first to spot Jon's glow.
“ELLE! LILY! Back up!” Eddie let go of the Walker, Lily's knife embedded deeply in the creature's chest, and the Walker fell back a step and then turned, facing Jon, arms hanging against its sides.
Jon couldn't see what the girls did but he was surrounded in seconds, his butt pressed against the car door and his hands outstretched. The Walkers stumbled toward him, forming a sloppy half-circle. Many of them were utterly silent but two or three were sobbing.
Above the sad sobs the air began vibrating with the strangest, sweetest sound.
“RUN!” Eddie yelled to the girls and Jon saw, out of the corner of his eye, both Lily and Elle take off in the direction of Lombard Street, hands pressed over their ears.
“Eddie?” Jon said. He could hear his voice cracking somewhere beneath the siren song and Jon loathed himself for his weakness. Chel hadn't been shaking when wielding the Light. Chel had been fully aflame by now, laying waste left and right. “Eddie, please don't leave me.”
“I'm here, Jon,” Eddie said, voice steady and soothing, somewhere to the left and behind him. Jon felt rather than saw Eddie climb back up on the car. His welcome voice whispered from above. “I'm not leaving you.”
“I…I don't know what to do…”
“I don't know what to tell you.” Eddie's voice caught on the last words and he coughed. “Wendy says…Wendy says to just let go.”
“But…I can't…” Jon wanted to. His hands were burning now, his entire body felt like it was alight; his fingers were splayed, his palms open, but still…nothing. Just the slow, painful heat growing hotter by the second.
“Eddie?” Jon whispered. “I can't turn it off. It hurts, Eddie. It hurts.”
The Walkers were in his personal space, crowding close. The nearest was inches away from touching him, the rot overpowering, the gaggingly sweet-sour scent of death permeating every breath.
Jon shuddered when the Walker touched him.
Its arm blazed white fire. The Walker didn't scream or cry or writhe. It simply stood there, the brilliant blaze eating up its arm, over its torso, engulfing its head and licking down its legs, cooking the rotten skin in a charred, sickening corona like burned bacon and melting plastic. Within seconds it was a shining skeleton, lit from within and without.
Then, and only then, it did a shuddery dance, the last remnants of scorched sinews and tendons jerking in an epileptic jig until the bones alone remained.
The Walker crumpled to the ground and the next nudged forward to take its place.
“I'm gonna puke,” Eddie whispered. “Jon…Jon that thing's not dead…”
Jon, horrified, looked down. The bones of the first Walker were shivering as if whatever spark of life that connected them together still existed in the pile of broken bits.
Then the next pair of hands descended and the next Walker lit up.
“Tell me about Elise,” Wendy urged. “Tell me about the Reapers. Tell me what Tracey had planned and what my mom did for her. Everything you know.”
“What do I get in return, kid?” Frank's eyes crinkled as he took another sip. “You don't seem to have a lot of salvage laying around.”
Wendy's hands closed into fists. “My undying gratitude?”
He chuckled. “Undying. Funny word choice there. You know, considering.”
“Reapers can concentrate on an item in the living lands,” Piotr pointed out from the doorway, “and make it appear in the Never. Given time.” He gestured at the table full of guns. “Like gunpowder, perhaps. Flint. Or mor
e useful items of salvage…say, tents? Items that the living take for granted but don't pour much energy or thought into. Crowbars. Hammers.”
Smile widening, Frank leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers. “Now we're talking.”
“So it's a deal?” Wendy said, trying not to think too hard on the repercussions of arming the Council with working weapons in the Never. “I promise to make a couple items solid for you when I get back and you tell me what's up?”
Frank nodded and ran one hand through his hair. “Keep in mind, Lightbringer, that Mary kept most of her plans close to the vest. She learned a lot but she didn't share much.”
Scowling, he poured himself a third shot and tipped the booze back. “You, girl, have your mother's eyes, you know that? It's nice, seeing those eyes…sane. Er. Saner.” He laughed. “In the end, Miss Mary quite contrary turned out to be crazier than a…a…bunkhouse rat, didn't she? Nuts, the both of you. Deep down where it counts, where the crazy can save you.”
“I don't think being unbalanced can save you,” Wendy replied stiffly.
“Oh yeah?” Frank slammed the shot glass on the table with such force Wendy was surprised it didn't shatter in his hand. “You're here, aren't you? Here, but completely powerless. At our mercy, if you will. A Reaper just busting with Light all locked up so she can't get at it. Some people would call that downright stupid—right now you're essentially walking Walker-chow, yeah? But me? Me, I think you're just whackado enough to be brave. Elise isn't stupid. She knows you're here, visiting me. Eyes and spies, Wendy, eyes and spies. Back then, now, always, that lady's got people everywhere.”
Wendy nodded, shivering at the idea of being fed to the Walkers. “I know.”
“What I know about the Reapers,” Frank mused aloud. “What do I know, what do I know…well, Elise likes to get her fingers in something important of yours and squeeze.”
Grimacing, Frank tipped the bottle again. It clattered, empty, against the glass. He strode over to the bar and grabbed another bottle. “Reapers don't have to send you on, you know that? They can just burn all of your essence away until you're a pile of quivering bones. You're not in the Light. You're still in the Never. But you're…raw. Bare. Exposed. I'm told it hurts like a bitch. And then, if they've a mind, they can build you up again. If they're talented enough.”
Never Page 12
