Girl on a Tombstone

by Mia Strange

  “Hang on.” Calling Dagger into the railcar, Eli kicked a heavy brass weight and the door slammed shut with such force the entire railcar shook. Dagger trotted over to my side, sniffed my burning back and growled.

  “Dagger,” Eli yelled. “Sit.”

  I watched as Dagger reluctantly retreated to the corner, never once taking his narrowed eyes off me. His hackles rose and a low growl still reverberated deep within his throat. I wanted to cry again. Not only because of the excruciating pain radiating across my back, but because Dagger had never once growled at me. We were buddies. Weren’t we?

  I sucked in my breath and watched as Eli snapped two thick leaves from an aloe plant grown from his rooftop greenhouse. Stopping to grab a mortar and pestle, he pulled up a stool and went to work breaking the stems and dripping the sappy, sticky fluid from the plant into the earthenware cup. Sliding on the stool, he grabbed an eye dropper from his curio cabinet of a million drawers and shelves, and grabbed a jar crudely marked with a symbol I recognized.

  Hey. I knew what that was. Laudanum. Some guy named Paracelsus, an alchemist in the 16th century came up with his own version. And Dark of course made ours. Staying awake in rail—chem class had just paid off.

  A mix of opium, morphine, codeine, and more, Laudanum was an illegal black market drug and forbidden by The Gov. Unless of course, it was theirs. Aw, what did I care? My back was on fire and I knew with this stuff I’d be feeling better in under a minute. So Gov? Arrest me. But give me an A in Chem—class first.

  “Open.” Eli stood over me with an eye dropper full of Laudanum. “Two drops on the tongue.”

  I stuck my tongue out. The syrupy liquid hit my taste buds. Sweetened with honey, disguised with whisky, the bitter liquid slid down my throat. I immediately felt better.

  “Roll over. On your stomach.”

  I did as Eli told me, and I listened as he ground something else into the plant residue that smelled like mint. As soon as his hands smoothed across my back, I sighed with relief. The murmur of magic from his fingertips skimming across my flesh, along with the slick, gooey mixture, soothed and numbed my hot skin. The Laudanum trickled into my bloodstream, and I went limp.

  “How are you doing now?”

  “Mm, better.” My eyes refused to open. I felt spacey again. And dizzy. “Dagger hates me,” I murmured.

  “Good,” Eli said.

  “Good?” Good? Okay. Now I would cry. I loved that dog. I swiped at an escaping tear. Eli noticed.

  “I mean good. That you’re doing better. And no. Of course, Dagger doesn’t hate you. He just hates that you’re injured. Now, I’m going to unhook your bra. You okay with that?

  “You’re sure?’

  “Yes. I can’t get to your entire back with—”

  “Dagger. You’re sure he doesn’t hate me?”

  “I’m sure. Now concentrate, Skye. The bra. I’m unhooking it.”

  “Mm. Yep. Okay. Wait. Unhook what?”

  “Your bra.”

  “No peeking.”

  Eli sighed. “No peeking. Now sleep.”

  “Kiss Dagger for me?”

  “Done. You’ll be fine by morning. The healing has already begun.” He continued to massage more aloe into my tender skin.

  “It is morning.”

  “Mid—morning.”

  “Kay. And Eli?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t stop.”

  I heard a soft laugh. “Okay.”

  I thought I felt him brush his lips against my bare shoulder. Could be my imagination. I hoped it wasn’t.

  “Eli?”

  “Mm?”

  “Traveler’s back was on fire.” My voice slurred and my eyes were way beyond wanting to open.

  “What?” Eli’s hands stilled.

  “Traveler. He’s smoking.”

  “Smoking?”

  “Mm. Yep. He’s smoking. But not like smoking hot, like you know, Pilot.”

  “Well I don’t know, but if you say—”

  “Although Traveler’s not bad. If he just wasn’t so scary and would smile mor—”

  “Skye. Concentrate. Are you sure? Smoke? It wasn’t just steam? Or sea fog?”

  I was almost too out of it to notice the change in Eli’s voice. All business, no nonsense Dr. Dark, had once again made an appearance.

  “Nope.” I twitched my nose and the lingering smell of burning leather filled my nostrils. “Yep, smoke. And I was just wondering? He might need this gooey potion. And drops. Don’t forget the little magic drops.”

  “Just sleep.” Eli started to rub the mixture into my skin once more. “Let me worry about Traveler Hale.”

  Now how could I argue with that? I let go, and completely relaxed.

  I welcomed sleep. Craved it. And just before I reached that blessed moment where peace and darkness settles over you like a favorite blanket, I saw a fleeting image of Traveler Hale in the back corner of my mind.

  He sat on a makeshift bunk of tangled sheets and blankets. His coat was thrown in a heap next to him where it smoldered and smoked. The flesh on his bare, muscled back was blistered and red. His arms were wrapped around his knees, and he rocked back and forth, writhing in pain. Darius, decked out with his massive horns and crimson sweat—soaked skin, sat in a corner twirling a card, the ace of spades. He shook his head, narrowing his winter white eyes with disgust.

  I tried to open my own eyes. I tried to speak. To move. To help.

  My body wanted none of it. Whatever Eli mixed in with those Laudanum drops was powerful. No wonder I only got two drops.

  I hope she is worth it, Dark One. I heard Darius’s voice tiptoe into my mind.

  Not your business. Traveler’s smooth, but strained voice followed the demons.

  As darkness overcame me, a name slipped through my lips in the form of a whisper. “Traveler.”

  Eli swore. “Damn you, Hale. You and your black magic blood. Damn you to hell.”

  He’s already there, Dr. Elijah Dark. Darius answered in my fogy brain.

  The Vampire is already there.

  26

  I stood on top of my railcar and watched the shrouded sun climb upward into yet another gray, depressing sky.

  Noon.

  From the placement of the sun, it had to be approaching high noon. In theory, I should have had my goggles on. The UV rays were always strongest about now. But I also knew that this exposure wouldn’t hurt me, not with the sun being held captive by the layers and layers of sea fog and steam.

  I’d been standing here for the better part of an hour trying to make sense of well, damn near everything.

  Eli and I had slept for a few short hours, the two of us curled together like stacked spoons. I remember I dreamed . . . about smoking coats and creatures that go bump in the night.

  I dreamed of Dr. Elijah Dark.

  Of Eli.

  When we awoke, Eli escorted me home, which entailed walking the length of seven railcars back. With a formal hug for goodbye from him…so typical, I’d finally slipped into my claw—footed tub. I’d soaked away all the dirt and oil and blood. I tried to soak away the fear of being knifed with black magic.

  I didn’t hold the curt goodbye against Eli. From the strained and veiled look on his face, I knew I had lost him to contemplate the burdens of the long nights ahead. That and the mystery of THE MERMAIDS TEARS, our next clue, weighed heavy on his mind.

  Eli had wanted to believe I could see the Seattle Ley line, but I could tell, he just didn’t. Not his fault. His bloodline, running centuries upon centuries behind him, would never allow it. Because they hadn’t seen it outside the family.

  Not once.

  Not ever.

  The alchemist in Eli wouldn’t believe it. After all, it was written, that only an alchemist could find Ley lines. And only a Dark alchemists could find them all.

  There was nothing written about a girl with unstable Chaos Magic and a bad attitude to match, one that could read a Ley line. One that could see a Ley line.


  But I knew differently.

  Eli was open minded enough to see my theory through. The theory, that after my near—death experience, after the discovery of steam magic, everything had changed for me. And may change everything for the Academy.

  He was skeptical.

  I was not.

  I was sure.

  After our goodbye conversation, I soaked. For over an hour. Sheer. Heaven.

  My skin looked pink and bright from all the vigorous scrubbing. Everything washed away, everything except a stubborn speck of glitter that remained at my temple. Everything except a large amount of fear that still coiled in my gut.

  I knew it would take a while for the fear to subside. Too much had happened last night. Too many unknowns were ahead.

  And yet? I felt refreshed.

  Healed.

  Whole.

  Optimistic even. I think I even hummed as I threw on my clothes. And that last one? For me? Not normal.

  That gorilla sized chip that was always on my shoulder felt surprisingly lighter, it felt more like the size of Jin’s partner in crime and mischief, Kong.

  “I feel reborn,” I shouted into the November wind. I spread my arms and twirled as if on stage. I stopped, breathless and dizzy. “Okay. Agreed,” I said to absolutely no one as I bent, grabbed my knees, and lowered my head between them to catch my breath. “That was beyond hokey.” I stood once more and chastised myself. Reborn? Come on. That’s a bit much. Even for me.

  Still. . .

  I chewed my bottom lip and thought about it harder. There had to be a word for it. Not quite a miracle, but. . .

  Something.

  Something had happened to me. Well, something besides being beaten, stabbed, chased by Shades, attacked by zombies and, of course, the most important, hair loss. I laughed out loud at the last one.

  Still, I was somehow changed, and I’d been standing here for almost an hour trying to figure it out.

  I put my hands on my hips, breathed in the salt air blowing in from the sound, and watched the sea fog swirl. The wisps of vapors mixed with the steam, made it easy for my imagination to take over. I saw lingering figures, one I decided, looked like the Grim Reaper. He even had a scythe clutched in his boney hand. A skeletal finger beckoned me, and then the image faded away.

  Mm. Maybe it had been the promise of death, being so close to it, having it whisper in my ear, and tap me on the shoulder with icy, boney fingers. Maybe it was the escape from that skeletal clutch, the close call that accounted for this aftermath of euphoria. Was this how it felt when death came knocking at your door? When you almost, almost, let it in?

  I closed my eyes and once again breathed in the biting air. The tang of sea salt tasted sharp on my lips. Damp mist danced around me, tangling my dark hair into messy, long curls.

  My hooded sweatshirt was off, dropped carelessly at my feet. I had on fuzzy socks that didn’t match. I’d pulled on an old pair of Doc Martin boots with funky orange laces, and thanks to Eli’s pancakes, a pair of low riding jeans that were a size, ‘too—damn—tight.’ With just a T—shirt on, I shivered in the wind. Yes, I was cold, freezing even. I sighed and rubbed my bare arms. Well, at least my toes were warm.

  A small consolation.

  But I wasn’t quite ready to put on my sweatshirt. Because I wasn’t ready to stop.

  Stop watching my skin.

  I opened my eyes and looked once more.

  Again, I didn’t believe for, how did they say it in my pop culture rail class? Ah. For “A New York Minute.” That was it.

  I didn’t believe for a New York Minute, that my skin would burn and blister and peel under the filtered rays of the noonday sun.

  Traveler Hale had been pulling my leg. Yanking my chain. Trying to get under my skin and, what else had I learned about pop culture lingo? Ah. Trying to get my goat. Like that made any sense at all. I didn’t have a goat. But I kinda wanted one of those little ones.

  And as for a New York Minute? Well, I didn’t really understand that one either.

  I’d passed through New York. Or what was left of it. The once magnificent city had been one of the first to collapse, crumble and die. How did Jin put it? Oh yeah.

  The bigger they are, the harder they fall, baby.

  After the dead began walking, the people of New York left in throngs. The dense population couldn’t handle the demand on a dying infrastructure. And where there were people, there seemed to be a proportionate number of zombies as well. The resources dried up, the people fled, and the zombies remained to shuffle and bite and infect.

  New York City, once a shining jewel of humanity and culture and wealth, had become our first true, City of the Dead. Even Bishop East had given up on it. It had earned the gruesome nickname, New Corpse City.

  Just a trickle of life filtered in and out of the ruins. The only exception was the heavily guarded, heavily fortified Grand Central Train Station, a vital link to keep the rail system running, the heartbeat of New York City slowed to resemble molasses trying to pour in winter. The vibrant, fast—paced lifestyle had died, and I guess, the New York Minute had died with it, too.

  I clenched and unclenched my fists. I felt strong. Ready. Ready to have my blades back in hand. Ready to snatch back my beautiful clockwork that Eli had made me. The thought squeezed at my heart. I knew my knives were out of reach. Clutched in the hands of The Ignored that cut me the night before. The good news? I knew just where to find him. And I would get them back.

  As Traveler Hale’s unusual blood mixed with mine and flowed through my veins, I rubbed my arms and watched as my pale skin stayed the same.

  No change.

  No raised welts or blisters. No angry, burned, crackling skin, like I had seen in a drug induced dreams crawling over the flesh of Traveler Hale. That had been just a dream. Right? Induced by laudanum and exhaustion and injury.

  With the prickling memory of the dream, Darius’s voice passed through my brain. The word escaped from my lips, barely audible. “Vampire.”

  You may be right, a voice floated in, hiding in a swirl of sea fog.

  I looked around and glared. Great. Fucking Darius. “Go away,” I said. “You’ve seen too many horror movies.”

  Have I?

  “Oh. I forgot. You can’t help it. You star in one. ‘Darius. The Life and Times of a Pain—In—My—Ass Demon.’

  Not nice, Skye.

  “Not caring, Darius. Now go away.”

  Just trying to help.

  “Well? Don’t.”

  Would you like to know how Mr. Hale is? If he breathes? Lives?

  Lives? Damn Darius. He knew Traveler lived. Eli would have never sent Traveler away if he was in any real danger. Plus, I knew he lived. I knew it. I could— feel it. Like I could feel the beat of my own heart. Weird but true.

  Well?

  “Well nothing. Traveler lives. We both know this. Now again? Go away.”

  Darius laughed. Smart girl. Indeed, he does. The demon paused as if thinking. And then? He’s dangerous you know. Darius’s voice wrapped around me like the coils of a snake.

  “Oh. And you’re not?”

  Would you like to borrow a turtleneck? Some garlic earrings perhaps? One of my horns for a stake? I would give you holy water, but, alas, I seem to have trouble handling it. I suppose I could steam it—

  My temper flared. “Darius! Shut. The fuck. Up.” Damn it. Darius was getting to me. These were supposed to be my private Zen moments. Who invited him anyway?

  I slammed my Doc Martin clad foot at a ball of leaves on top of the railcar in anger. The forceful stomp against iron sent an echo across the station, sending mildewed leaves and bits of flakey red rust into the air. An unpleasant smell of rot and mold filled my nostrils.

  Temper. Temper. Whispered Darius.

  I shook my head. Whatever Traveler Hale was, I was damn sure he wasn’t some fictional creature of the night. One that preyed on women with big boobs who ran around at midnight in cemeteries wearing flimsy, see—t
hrough nightgowns. Woman who, when he caught them and sunk his fangs into their pale skin and started to drink. . .

  I looked at my own pale skin.

  Then down at my chest.

  I sighed. Naw. I had nothing to worry about. Pale skin or not, I was so not a vampire’s type. Plus. I didn’t own a see—through anything. That had to count for something.

  Still there, Skye?

  In anger, I turned to face the back of The Dark Horse that housed Darius. Shrouded in steam, the black iron of the engine loomed into the gray sky, looking like a threatening thunder cloud. I squeezed my eyes shut. Traveler Hale was not a vampire. Vampires do not exist. Not in my world. Not in Dr. Dark’s Academy. Hale was one of us now. And I was pretty sure membership would stop at, as Jin would say, bloodsuckers.

  Are you sure, Skye?

  What? Darius could read my mind now? Or had I said that last part out loud?

  “Make yourself useful, demon.” I yelled at him. “Go boil some water.” I pulled on my magic and slammed a mental door on Darius just as I heard his scream of outrage. Good. I had insulted him. And you know what? He deserved it.

  Today? I was stronger. Maybe stronger than I had ever been. Today? Flicking the off switch on Darius? Had been surprisingly easy.

  Different. Almost . . . fun.

  Maybe we could play poker after all.

  This was new. My fear of Darius had been tapped down to a reasonable level. I felt like I could hold my own with him. Almost.

  I fingered a tiny silver key I’d pinned in the lining of my pants pocket. I could not have foreseen that my beautiful watch that housed the key would be stolen, but given how relentless The Gov searched for me, well, it had been one of my greatest fears. Against Dark’s instructions, I kept the key hidden in a loose wall panel in my railcar. Close to me, but more importantly, close to Darius. A demon key in the wrong hands. . . I couldn’t imagine.

  I traveled with it tonight only because of that lingering, nagging, suspicion that Dark and Hale were up to something. Something big and bad and bloody that just may require backup. Even if that backup came directly from Hell. I shivered.

  I turned my thoughts back to Traveler, and how he teased me about sunburns and midnight poker games. I wanted to know why.