by Mia Strange
And vibrant.
And powerful.
And scary. Who could forget the scary?
For once, this Traveler Hale did not look scary. This Traveler Hale looked like he needed help.
It was as though what normal color he had was draining from him with each drop of blood dripping into the I V. He looked gaunt and tired and, well, just plain bad.
Which considering that Traveler Hale was an extremely striking guy, was really saying something.
“How are you feeling?” he managed to ask me.
“Better.” Before I could ask how he was doing, Eli walked between us. Traveler was blocked from my line of vision. And for some odd reason that bothered me. It was as if I didn’t want to break the connection we just shared. Wait. A connection with Traveler Hale? What was I thinking? I must still be dying.
“So, you’re better, aren’t you?” Eli said with that trace of lyrical accent that I loved.
I nodded. He knelt next to me and gave me the first real smile of the evening. I boldly reached up and traced his dimple with my fingertip. He didn’t move away. “I’m fine,” I said. And this time I believed it.
“I believe you will be,” Eli said pulling out something from his back pocket. “Here. Let me show you.”
Eli handed me an ornate gold mirror, so tiny it fit perfectly in the palm of my hand. For the first time in hours I saw my reflection.
From a strictly vain stand point, I was sorry I looked. Amber glitter was spread across my face, a glob of it plastered to the tip of my nose. My once perfect kohl eyeliner ran down my cheeks, while the stage mascara smudged and gave me giant raccoon eyes. Dried blood still crusted at my temple, and I could see strands of my dark hair clumping together, thick with oil and blood and dirt.
“Wow.” I was truly at a loss for words. And here I thought Traveler Hale looked like shit. I guess that will teach me to be so damn judgmental.
But tonight? I was way too tired to be embarrassed, or at this point, to even care, much. Still. . .
“Now see, this is what I’ve been trying to tell you guys all night. I needed, need, my soaking tub. How bad does a girl have to look to convince you?”
“You look amazing,” Eli said softly.
“Well, that would be one word for it. I only wish it were true. You are selling the stage hyperbole of Dr. Dark. And I’m not buying.”
“No. You look wonderful. You do. Health looks good on you.”
“Excuse me. Are we looking at the same girl here?” I narrowed my eyes and looked again. “What am I missing?”
“Look closer.”
I did. “I don’t…”
And suddenly, there it was. Underneath all the crusted mud and glitter and blood, and all the smeared theater makeup, was color. Full on, rosy color.
Brightness bloomed in my cheeks. My lips once again looked full and pink and healed. Gone were the dry chapped lips. Gone was the split lip. I remembered seeing my purple and bruised black eye forming in the reflection of the Cornucopia on The Madison. I gingerly probed the delicate area around my eye. Everything felt perfect, normal, right. “Wow,” I said again. This time in a reverent whisper.
“Wow is right. And this, I think you’ll agree, for you? Is the best part.” Eli reached over me carefully so as not snag my I V line, and pulled my hair up. I followed his movement clutching the little mirror.
And there it was. I gasped in amazement.
The zombie—inflicted bald spot was gone. Just gone. Instead of a red raw patch of my scalp showing, shiny long locks had filled in the blank. I dropped the mirror and fingered my new hair in wonder. It felt as soft as one of Turk’s cats. As thick as Onyx’s tail. “How? What? Who? I mean, how?”
Eli laughed. “You should see the expression on your face. Hey, Traveler. For once our Skye is at a loss for words.”
“I can tell.”
Traveler. His voice, always silky smooth, was somehow changed. He sounded weak. He sounded— wrong. Then I remembered. He looked wrong, too.
Something deep within me snapped, and I bolted up with such urgency, that Eli barely dodged a head—butting. I was on my feet, and before I realized what I was doing, I yanked the I V from my arm and twisted away from Eli’s iron grip on my shoulder. The snaking plastic tube dropped to the floor, and the coppery smell of blood filled the air as the contents escaped to pool on the floorboards.
Taking the few steps over to where Traveler Hale lay, weak and listless, I knelt beside him, locking into his glassy gaze. His eyelids fluttered shut, and long black lashes shadowed on his pale cheeks. He looked ashen, still. Dead.
Without asking I gently pulled the needle from his arm as quickly as I had my own. “I think he’s given enough,” I whispered.
Eli was right behind me with a mesh patch to press into the crook of Traveler’s arm. He undid a row of brass buckles and yanked free the leather strap holding the torturous cuff in place. The canvas and metal cuff fell to the floor, leaving a ring of raised angry marks that circled Traveler’s arm.
“I don’t disagree,” Eli said. “I was waiting for Traveler to tell me. I should have realized he won’t. What we attempted tonight, is not an exact science.”
I knelt, watching and waiting for the rise and fall of Traveler’s chest. “He’s not—”
“He lives.”
With that, Traveler opened his eyes. “Worried about me, lovely?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. If he could call me lovely, he was fine. Just fine. And yet, I hardly recognized his voice.
“You’ll live,” I said. But I wasn’t sure I believed it. And like a street kid pulling at my father’s trench coat, worry nagged at the edges of my mind.
“As you will,” he said in a voice barely audible. “Although—”
“Although?”
“Although you might find you sunburn more easily now.”
I didn’t believe it. Not for a minute. “Yeah. Like that’s a worry. We get so much sun, here in the Bahamas of the Pacific NW.”
“Don’t be too sure. You might find you prefer the night, and end up at the poker table with Darius.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“Aw, play with us, Skye. I want to show you my all in move.”
“More like I’ll move you all in. Right into the freezing waters of what is left of Puget Sound.”
“You two,” Eli said as exhaustion laced through his voice. “I suggest you both save your strength.”
I shook my head. Eli. The voice of reason, as usual.
Traveler looked at me with eyes that I now realized were the color of fine aged bourbon. I’d seen the liquor a time or two, and yes, that was the color, rich whisky brown. Why had I never noticed the color before? Why had they always appeared black and dark and hollow? Was this where the amber had come from? A trick of the light, reflecting in his eyes?
I looked over my shoulder at Eli.
“It’s okay to let him rest,” he said. “He’s lost— that is— he’s donated a lot of blood.”
“For a good cause,” I heard Traveler murmur. “Another novice poker player to take advantage of. And a lovely one at that.”
“You don’t want to play with me, Hale,” I whispered in his ear before I stood. “I’m not a good sport, I cheat, and I’m a sore loser.”
“I think in the future, it is you who will want to play with me. In fact? I insist. And, Skye? I’m not a good loser either. It would be in your best interest to let me win.”
I stood up, surprised at the strength in my legs, the sureness in my step. Suddenly, I needed distance from Traveler Hale.
The scary in him was back.
I felt it creep back into my bones, and those tiny hairs on the nap of my neck rose once more.
I walked over to the bed, amazed at how I felt.
Solid. Strong. Healed.
Keeping my back to the guys, I lifted Eli’s dress shirt to peek at my belly wound. All that remained was a thin white scar. The frightening spider marks of the black m
agic, the finding magic, had disappeared. I lifted the shirt higher.
Yep. Gone.
Completely.
All that remained was smooth ivory skin, marred with that thin white line.
How was that even possible?
I dropped the shirt and turned to look over at Traveler. Once again, he had closed his eyes, and this time, he appeared to be sleeping.
The harsh planes of his face fell away. A strand of thick mahogany hair draped over one eye, and something new inside me wanted to reach out and sweep the errant lock away. Was it gratitude? Because if it wasn’t, I guess it should be. I owed him my life. But I had to wonder, what would that debt cost me?
In sleep, Traveler looked youthful, harmless, and for once? At peace. It was as if all the ghosts of the dead that Traveler had raised were gone, erased from his memory, so that at long last, he could rest.
This was the curse of a necromancer. The memories and traumas of the raised never truly went away. Instead they lived on in the mind and soul and heart, of Traveler Hale. According to Eli, that was the life of a necromancer. And nothing about it was easy. Or sane.
As he lay there, defenseless and looking so innocent, I was reminded of two things.
One. Traveler Hale’s blood had saved my life, of that I was sure. And now? I owed him. What it would cost me remained to be seen.
And Two. No matter how harmless he looked as he lay deep in slumber, I knew. I just knew.
The scary in Traveler Hale was not just back.
It never went away.
Blood Brother, my ass.
24
Traveler Hale sat at the end of his cot with his elbows propped on his knees. His head was bowed deep in thought. He ran his hands through his thick hair.
His black leather duster? On.
His black shirt? Buttoned with precision.
His black Athame? Once again, attached at his hip.
His black leather boots adorned with inverted crosses. On the right feet.
If Traveler Hale had a theme, it would be the color black.
He looked like a man ready to get up and go.
He looked like a man that could barely stand up.
Reaching out with those long fingers of his, he absentmindedly spun Eli’s old—world globe in slow circles. As the sphere twirled, the magic of Dr. Dark unleashed. In a series of crisscrosses and loops, the Troupe’s well—traveled ley lines rose to the surface tracing our train’s route across what was left of the U.S.
I recognized these routes, some successful, some not. Some were no more than a wild, chase of missed opportunities and missing clues. The result? A colossal waste of time.
Others, like the Santa Fe, run?
Pure gold.
Each trip had taken us in search of clues, in search for our never—ending puzzle pieces. Obscure, imperfect pieces that, once collected and put in their proper order, would reveal to us the picture. Which was quite simply, how to save our dying world.
The puzzle was complicated, huge in scope, and like any puzzle, it was almost impossible to see the ‘big’ picture as we assembled it. It’s not like we had the lid of the box to go by.
And how did we know to search and collect and assemble?
We knew this because Dr. Elijah Dark had shown us.
One by one, Dark had taken us in. Some of us, like me, were recruited. Some of us were found crumpled in drainage ditches, curled up abandoned in tunnels, hitching a ride at the side of a road. Discarded, beaten and thrown away by the cruel and corrupt Gov, Dr. Dark had ridden in on his symbolic ‘Dark Horse’ and in one way or another, had saved us all.
Once together, we had been shown the naked, frightening truth of our situation.
Together, we would either be successful with our quest, or we would succumb to the dangers and evils of our world— and perish.
And it wouldn’t be just us. But all of humanity too.
The throngs of humanity had no idea how much was riding on our train carrying our little Academy of magical Misfits. But it seemed obvious to us that we needed more than just a hope and prayer and a symbolic thumbs up for good luck.
So together, we brought the full force of our magic to the party.
We were an Academy of higher learning, an Academy of thought and analysis and hope.
The rescue of our world, the rescue of mankind, had somehow shifted to our shoulders, this ragtag group of magical people and creatures alike. And under the leadership of Dr. Eli Dark, we believed we could get the job done. I believed it.
Because Dr. Dark had shown us all that we were running out of time.
Talk about a ticking clock.
You know? A little help might be in order.
“Eli,” I asked from the bed I had been ordered to stay put on. “Why didn’t The Gov believe you? Why won’t they help?”
Eli put down a thick book he was reading, walked over, and stretched out next to me on his bed. He yawned and looked at his pocket watch. The three of us were biding time, waiting for Traveler to regain some of his lost strength. Strength that had gone to me.
I could feel the heat radiate from his body and the wonderful scent of musk and old— world incense that was uniquely Eli, fill the space around me. I didn’t care that Traveler was right across from me, I nestled next to Eli and rested my head on his shoulder. He put his arm around me, once more our magic connected, stroking me in secret dark places.
I didn’t know if there was a heaven, but if there was? Eli, with his arm around me, must be what it felt like.
“They’ll never believe me, Skye,” he said. “Never. But I have to say, it wasn’t for lack of trying on my part.”
“Even when you tried to warn them?” I asked. It was unbelievable to me that The Gov, for all their greed and want of power, for all the magic they chased and horded, could still not see our dwindling future. “How can they not understand that the resources are going, that the rotting dead multiply, that—”
“Evil is at play. Everywhere.” Traveler had once again taken up the story. “And these are evil men, who thrive on power. Men and women who thrive on controlling the magic. In their arrogance, they refuse to acknowledge what is right in front of them. Let alone accept it.”
“Magic—” I began.
“Out of fucking control,” Traveler interrupted again. The bitterness in his voice was hard to miss. So was the swear word. Hale was always so measured. So, in control. I wondered, in a perverse way, if some of my blood had found its way into him.
Eli sighed. “There is no one to help us. No one will listen. And now? With the Academy, we don’t need them.”
His voice trailed off, and that faraway look wandered into his blue eyes. A lock of dark hair fell across his face, draping him in shadows. It was like a veil had just dropped, and I couldn’t see through it.
“I gave up years ago,” Eli said looking past Traveler at an old sepia—toned print of Ireland that hung on the far wall. “It became too dangerous to go against The Gov and their policies of greed and terror, of their gross misuse of magic.” His fist clenched, and his knuckles turned white. “I tried. And they almost killed me for it. And had they known about my magic, my pedigree, they would have done much worse.”
I shivered. I knew what he was talking about. I knew what was worse. Gov—care.
“They won’t stop you know,” Traveler said. “Not until they have complete domination of our bleeding, steaming world.” He shook his head. “Hardly seems worth the effort. I’m not sure the world will be around long enough for any of it to matter.”
He sounded, bitter, disillusioned, angry. “Don’t say that,” I said. “Surely there is something—” I thought of Emma, “or someone, worth fighting for.”
Traveler paused and met my gaze. After a moment he shrugged. “Maybe.”
“If The Gov is not stopped, if the four Bishops of Direction continue on using magic so black, spilling oceans of blood, and underestimating the growing numbers of the rotting dead, there will
be no world left to dominate.”
Eli’s statement was so detached, so matter of fact that I wanted to cry. Surely our future was brighter than that. Wasn’t it?
“Tell us how you once tried,” said Traveler.
“You don’t want to know,” Eli said. “It’s old news.”
“I want the truth. I’ve heard only rumors.” Traveler sat up straighter on his cot and leaned forward. “Eli. Tell us.”
I’d heard the rumors too. For years. And the rumors were the stuff of nightmares.
Eli sighed, and after a pause, he spoke. “I was alone, my grandfather had died in the first wave of the plagues, and I had disguised myself as an old sideshow barker. I was all of fifteen.” He paused and looked over at the photograph of Ireland again.
“Go on,” said Traveler in a voice so gentle, I almost didn’t believe it was him.
“When The Gov, and Bishop West to be precise, got tired of my, in his words, ramblings and insanity and public disorder, West ordered a mandate. I was to be beaten, robbed of anything valuable, and murdered. Simple. A one, two three, rhythm of crime.”
I gasped. “Bishop West will be at our next Seattle show. Eli. What are you thinking?” Now I was the one sitting straight up.
“I’m aware. Very. I was the one who sent the invitation.” Eli smiled. But the smile wasn’t genuine. Or even real. It was dangerous. Traveler smiled back. What in the hell did these two have planned? Foreboding and fear crawled along my skin.
“They thought I was a frail old man,” Eli continued. “They threw me into the filthy streets, leaving me to die in a pool of my own blood. They left me to rot, using me as bait for a band of zombies they purposely let off chain. But,” he paused and shook his head, “they made a crucial mistake.”
Traveler smiled. “They didn’t stick around to watch you die, did they?”
“No. They didn’t.”
“Lazy bastards.”
“Thankfully so.”
I held my breath. Eli never talked of that night. Why would he now? And if he went on, did I really want to hear it? Did I really want to know what Dr. Elijah Dark, the man who sat here so casually with his arm around me, was truly capable of?
