Lightbringer (22 page)

“That depends,” she said, closing her eyes against the bright sunlight. “Do you want to be?”

Though Wendy couldn't have told how she knew when Piotr leaned over her, she sensed the movement as clearly as if he'd been alive. There was no whisper of fabric, no hush of air against her skin, but one moment her cheeks were hot from the sunlight and their conversation and the next, blessedly cool fingertips slanted over her cheek, brushed her eyes, caressed the line of her jaw. Steam billowed and fumed around them.

When he drew back they were both breathing heavily. “Is that,” Piotr cleared his throat, “is that the correct way to answer?” Wendy, still fighting for breath, half-laughed.

“I can think of worse.”

Even after all this time being the Lightbringer, the marvel of touching a ghost, actually feeling the cool pressure of not-skin on skin, sent shivers through her. Piotr brushed a curl of her hair off her forehead and leaned in, breath that was not-breath whispering across her cheek, the scent of him filling her world.

Once she thought he smelled like cool forest earth underlined with rot, like the Walkers, but now that she'd grown accustomed to it Piotr's scent was uniquely his own—sweet and subtle and faded, like dried rose petals releasing one last puff of sweetness before crumbling. Away from her room and amid the trees, Piotr smelled weathered, like old books and old lace and the chill clean scent of a windswept field at midnight. He smelled, very faintly, like dirt and growing things.

It was too much. She had to stand, or she was sure she'd break into a million pieces. Piotr's touch made her movements slow and languorous, almost drowsy; Wendy felt as if she was sliding into sweet slumber, a pleasant and hazy edge of sleep. In a half-dream, Wendy stood and drifted over to a tree, supporting her weight against its comforting bulk while Piotr stood before her, bathed in the sunlight of his ghostly world.

“Slow,” Piotr murmured, as if reminding himself. “Slow touching.”

“Slow…is…good.” Wendy leaned into his touch like a plant seeking the sunlight and he chuckled, deep and low, a rumble in his chest that Wendy felt in her fingertips. With her free hand she traced the curve of his ear, marveling at the faint freckles she could see smattering across his nose. He seemed so real, so solid. Experimentally she thumbed his earlobe, flicking her nail quickly across it, but her rapid touch slid through him, meeting only air. Slowly she tried again and he hissed through his teeth, eyes momentarily closing at her touch.

“What made you change your mind?” she asked. “About me?”

“I don't know, exactly.” Laughter rumbled beneath her hand as she pressed her palm to his chest. “Specs, I suppose. He wasn't scared of you at all, was he?”

“No.” Wendy ran her thumb across his collarbone. “Shades aren't either. They're thrilled to see me coming now.”

“It's a mercy, what you do. Sending him home, letting Specs…Brian, letting Brian go home to be with his real family.” Piotr dipped his head down, ran the tip of his nose across the curve of her cheek, his lips brushing her skin in a cool sweep. “I see that now. And I'm sorry. About what I said before.”

“Forgiven,” Wendy whispered. “No more fighting?”

“No more,” Piotr agreed fervently and then he whispered something, too fast and low for her to make it out, but the cadence of the words was strange, choked at the end. Pulse thrumming through her veins, Wendy licked her lips and tried to control herself.

“Wh-what did you say?” It came out a whisper.

“Oh,
bozhe, kak ya schastliv,”
he repeated. “It is an endearment.” His fingers traced a tingling arc across her forehead and down her temples, nails scraping lightly against the angle of her jaw. He lit momentarily on a loose curl and wound it around his finger. “It roughly translates to ‘Oh, God, how happy I am.’”

His palm, deliciously cool and subtly soft, skimmed lightly over her collarbone, down the side laces of her corset, and settled lightly in the curve of her waist. He tugged her forward and Wendy went willingly into the circle of his arms.

“Are you happy? Really?” Wendy closed her eyes and relaxed into the embrace, letting him support her weight. Her head tilted back and she felt the weight of her hair slide across her shoulders, falling behind her. His breath stirred the curls at her forehead as he pressed his lips first to one temple and then to the other. Her skin buzzed faintly at the touch, like a slight current was running through her flesh, and she trembled. His lips traced the outer curve of her cheekbone.

“Happier than I've ever been. You are like a dream to me, like something I could only imagine.” Then he was kissing her. “You are my home.”

Once, when she was seven, Wendy watched lightning strike a tree. It speared down three times in a row, so white-hot that the world was washed of color for hours afterward; the smell of ozone stung for twice as long. The immense crack of the thunderclap cocooned her in silky silence; the static in the very air raised every hair on her body.

This was like kissing lightning.

The thrum of his fingertips was nothing compared to the persistent press of his hands cupping her neck, her jaw, her hip. The pressure of his lips, first light and then firmer, left her gasping. They existed in their own bubble of near-silence, punctuated only by ragged breaths and the hush of fingers dragging against fabric. Wendy groaned when he buried his face in her neck; she was dangerously lightheaded, gasping for air.

At first, when he finally pulled away, Wendy thought it was the mind-blowing kiss that left them both pale and shaking. And then she realized that she could barely stand.

“I…don't…”

The grass swirled up to meet her.

When she came to, she found Piotr kneeling beside her, gently patting her face and hands. The pressure from his fingers was different—warmer, stronger—and his face was flushed.

“What happened?”

“Kissing me is bad for your health,” Piotr replied gravely, gently prodding her body in various places, looking for breaks. “I tried to catch you but my arms slid right through you.” He shook his head.
“Prastee meenya pozhalosta
, I'm so sorry. How is your arm?”

Wendy could see the panic in his eyes and she took his hand, gently squeezing it. “It's throbbing a little, but I'll live. What are you sorry for? You didn't know this would happen.” She chuckled. “That was some kiss, though.”

“Amazing as it was, no kiss is worth hurting you.” He stroked the hair away from her face, eyes dark with panic. Wendy realized he was shaking. “I was afraid that I had killed you. After Specs…”

“But you didn't.” Wendy struggled to sit up, ignoring the pressure on her shoulders where he tried to press down to keep her laying still. It was harder to do than before, but she was able to rest on her elbows and scoot until she was leaning against the tree for support. She was somewhat unnerved by exactly how much support she needed.

“I drained you.” Piotr held up his free hand. “Like you were one of the Lost. It's almost exactly the same. Everything around me is brighter, more colorful.” He pressed his hand against the tree and, after a moment, slowly pushed his fingertips through the wood. “It is harder for me to phase, too.” He frowned and his fingers clenched together in her grip. “How do you feel?”

“Lightheaded,” she replied honestly, stroking his hand until the tension eased and his fingers relaxed. “Shaky. Like I just spent two hours riding the Flight Deck at Great America, or maybe the Teacups. Everything is still spinning a little.” She squeezed his hand, loving the supple-cool texture of it. “I'll get over it, though. Promise. And we'll be more careful next time.”

“Next time?” Piotr frowned. “I do not know how I feel about a next time. You are hurt…”

“Shhh,” she whispered. “I'm fine. Besides, if you think I'm letting you off the hook that easily, you've got another thing coming.” Wendy had lost him once already, and she wasn't sure her heart could take another beating like before. It was worth risking a little temporary pain to keep him near. She ran her fingers through his hair, thrilling inside at the touch. He even
felt
more real under her hands. Solid, almost. Perhaps him taking a little of her energy had been a good thing after all.

“I do not know—”

Viper-fast, Wendy snatched his hand and pressed it against her ribcage, where he could feel the rapid thump of her heart. Her lips parted and she leaned forward, barely brushing his with the faintest, sweetest kiss. Under his palm, her heartbeat trebled and he felt his heart answer, the electric thrumming between them spiraling into a singing haze of sensation and feeling.

She drew back, gasping raggedly, and color returned to her cheeks in a high, pink flush. “The point is,” she whispered, “that, potential risks or not, I've never felt anything like that before.” She eyed him critically. “You haven't either. Don't deny it.”

He chuckled brokenly. “Of course not. This is…intense. Your point being?”

“This thing, whatever it is between us, it's new and it's special, and I'm not going to let you just walk away from it. From us. Not again.”

Wendy slid forward and cupped his face, running her thumb over his lower lip. Part of her knew that doing this, chasing after those electric kisses, was courting death, but she felt fearless and wild, unbreakably young. After all, she was the Lightbringer and death had to answer to her, not the other way around. At least, not yet. For now, she was untouchable. “Come on, Piotr. ‘Happier than you've ever been,’ remember? I'm your home? This thing we have is like a dream?”

“Possible nightmare,” he replied, but his tone was weak. Wendy knew that Piotr agreed with her. There was something about the way the world seemed to shift on its very foundation when they were together, the way the universe had neatly twisted until all there was for Piotr was Wendy, and Wendy for Piotr.

“Fine,” he murmured, his lips pressing against her temple, “I will go along with this insanity. For you, and because I am a selfish idiot who can't bear to give you up. But there must be guidelines.”

“Guidelines. Uh huh.” Delighted with this turn of events, Wendy leaned forward and her warm lips traced fire down his jaw.

His voice cracked. “Limits. Rules.”

“Limits, sure thing,” she agreed, threading her fingers through his as she slowly kissed down his neck. “Rules. Gotcha.”

“Stop that,” he said, exasperated. Wendy leaned back against the tree and eyed him under the fall of her lashes. All at once Piotr looked faintly uneasy; it was like a rabbit being watched by a wolf. “You are…impossible.”

Wendy gave him a twinkling smile. “Oh really? I hadn't noticed.”

“Hah-hah. I mean my words, Wendy.” Piotr scooted away, putting even more space between them so that he wouldn't be tempted to let her draw him in again. Firmly, he shook his head. “Rules.”

“Piotr, you wouldn't hurt me.”

“I might,” he stressed. “I might. Or you might forget yourself and accidentally reap me. Either one of us could easily hurt the other. So…rules.” Piotr watched her warily. “Okay? Yes?”

“Fine,” Wendy huffed and crossed her arms across her chest, pouting. “Yay, rules.”

He was at her side in a moment, gathering her into his arms and hugging her tight. “This is for both of us, love.” He rubbed his chin against the top of her head. “I would die a thousand deaths to kiss you and never stop. But I will not hurt you if I can help it, Wendy. Let me do this. For us.”

“I know,” Wendy grumbled, but her arms snuck out and wrapped loosely around his waist. Piotr smiled and pressed a tender kiss on the top of her head. “So what's got you so agitated? It can't just be the kiss.”

“Specs just reached inside and—” Piotr faltered. She could see that he was still affected by what he had seen; unable to describe it. “He is…was a Lost. Promise me you'll avoid them for a time.”

“I'm sure it was a one time thing,” she mumbled, but her body tensed with the remembered pain.

“Da
, possibly, but maybe not. What about your mother?” He seemed to be about to say something, but he stopped himself, going quiet and just watching her for a few long seconds.

“This time with you is too short,” he said instead, glancing at the sky. The day was fading into twilight and the first stars were beginning to glimmer in the sky above. “What time is it?”

Grimacing, Wendy checked her watch. “Late. I should get back.”

“Of course.” Piotr looked disappointed. Wendy was, too, but unlike him, she had a life to live and responsibilities to keep. “I should start back to the pier anyway,” he said. “I have to tell the others what happened and what we discovered.” He turned to go but she stopped him, wrapping her hand around his upper arm.

“You don't have to go,” she suggested. “You could come with me.”

“Come with you? I do not understand.”

Wendy shrugged, a gesture intended to be careless, but the edges of her lips were white and her eyes were watchful. “It's not like anyone can see you; you could come right in the front door like you used to. We could…hang out more. In my room.”

“Hang out.” The emphasis she put on the words clearly left little to Piotr's imagination.

She leaned forward and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his lower lip, drawing back the moment the electricity began to zing between them. “In my room.”

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” he whispered. He still looked hesitant, like he wanted to step away, but Wendy burned brilliantly under his palms, carefree and intent on dragging him home.

“Rule number one,” she reminded him, and the dangerous twinkle was back. “Call it research.”

Groaning, Piotr took her by the shoulders and hugged her tightly. Her pulse rippled through him, catching and hooking into his very core. “If I weren't already dead,
milaya moya
,” he sighed, tilting her head up and slowly sliding into another kiss, “you'd be the death of me.”

G
uilt warred with worry as Piotr and Wendy approached the bookstore the next morning. The sun was rather high in the sky and Piotr was concerned that he may have already missed the other Riders. He'd wanted to leave earlier but Wendy, waking early, was gone before sunrise. She'd spent the morning at the diner with Eddie and had come back both sulky and bemused. They had, she declared, made up, though for how long still remained to be seen.

After the previous night he'd decided to give Eddie a chance. Once upon a time, he reasoned, Wendy might have had a thing for this Eddie, but that time must be long gone. And there were more important things to stress about than the people his living girlfriend—his girlfriend!—surrounded herself with.

“Wait here,” Piotr told Wendy, sitting her on a bench across the street from the bookstore. “I'll go in and explain.”

“Good idea,” she whispered, trying to appear inconspicuous. The streets, even this one, were thronged with milling tourists enjoying the holiday and doing last-minute shopping in San Francisco. Wendy, who'd brought a backpack along, settled herself on the bench and drew out a thick novel,
The Stand.
Glad that she wasn't clinging, Piotr dodged through the crowd toward the shop, wishing that he'd thought to bring her here before now. Elle was going to have a fit.

He was right.

To be fair, the remaining Riders heard him through to the end before Elle lost it. Thankfully, his reflexes were as quick as hers, and Piotr was able to duck and dodge out of the way as Elle began chucking books, bags, and whatever other refuse she could get her hands on directly at his head. She pegged him a few good times before Lily intervened, stepping between Elle and Piotr and holding up her hands to catch the missiles.

James, who'd always kept Piotr at a distance, did nothing to help the situation; he merely lounged on the stairs to the second floor and smirked as Elle ranted and raved. Piotr caught his eye once or twice with a wordless plea to step in, but James was having too much fun to intervene. When Lily interceded the smile dropped off his face and he sulked, disappointed that Piotr hadn't been injured in the barrage.

When she'd calmed enough to do more than throw things and scream, Elle (hands on hips) demanded, “What kind of balled up BS is all this? You get goofy over some hotsy-totsy jane and you expect us to just be jake with it?”

At first Piotr wasn't entirely sure he'd understood her—when Elle really got going her flapper
patois
took hold and often even Dora had trouble untangling the verbal knots of her speech—but Elle's furious expression and pointed sneer spoke volumes. “I expected you to be my friends,” Piotr replied coolly, crossing his arms across his chest and resting against the counter. “The kind that support one another.”

“We are your friends,” Lily began, “and we always will be, but—”

“But? What but?!” Elle picked up one of Dora's abandoned sketchpads and waved it in the air, shaking it nearly under Piotr's nose. “I got a beef with ol' Pete here and I aim to have my say. This palooka's got some nerve if he thinks he can just waltz on in here and think we're gonna goosestep in time to his little suicide parade.”

“Suicide? I'm already dead!”

James shook his head. “Man, there are worse things than being dead. You know that. And if this girl Wendy is the Lightbringer like you say she is, then you're not just playing with fire, you're downright taunting it.”

“Wendy would never hurt me.”

Infuriated, Elle threw down the pad and began poking Piotr hard in the chest. “Listen to you! ‘Wendy would never hurt me,’” she mimicked in a high nasal falsetto, tucking her tongue between her teeth on each vowel so she lisped. “Maybe not
you
, but what about the rest of us? What about the Lost? That girl's job is to exterminate our kind!”

“She's setting us free—”

Elle snorted and poked him again. “Free! Listen to yourself, Pete! Did what happen to those Walkers look like ‘free’ to you? They were burned up from the inside. That's sick. That's just wrong. And you
kissed
it.”

“This I will not discuss with you,” Piotr snapped. “It is none of your business, Elle.”

“Fine, neckin' with the freakshow aside, what about the Lost, huh? You said she and the Lost have some sort of wacko connection, right? Well, you ever think that maybe your gal Friday out there was the one who took ‘em? Maybe she's not killing off the Walkers, maybe she's just in league with them, had them come on down here and scoop the Lost up for her. You yourself said you told her where we all were before you knew she was the Lightbringer.”

“Your point being?”

“My point being that I think it's awful convenient, her just happening to hang ‘round the park when you got yourself ambushed over Specs.”

“It is nothing like that,” Piotr protested. “She could have come and reaped all of us anytime she wanted, but she did not! She's not that sort of person.”

“Sure she ain't, Pete. Sure. The glowing tentacle monster that eats our kind up like we were penny candy ain't like that. I guess that means you, Mr. Petey Optimistic, ain't stuck on her at all!”

“Do not call her that,” Piotr snarled. “Wendy has a duty—”

“A duty! Hah!” Elle threw up her hands and laughed long and hard, but there was no mirth in the sound, only shrill, venomous sarcasm. “The
monster's
got a
duty.
She's all about doin' the right thing, making sure everything in the Never's copasetic, right? Sure she does! She understands all about duty, I bet. That's why she kept you, Piotr, not just any ol' Rider but the big cheese who
started
the Riders, away from us when we needed you most. That's why you, Mr. Hi-You're-Dead-Here's-How-The-Afterlife-Works himself, was off neckin' with a
monster
when you should have been here running a shift!”

“Ny ti i svoloch'
,” Piotr said flatly, slapping her poking hand away. “Insane, Elle. I have no clue what you're talking about.”

“Course you don't,” she spat. “Ol’ Petey never has a goddamn clue ‘bout nothin' these days, monsters and Riders included.”

Piotr stuffed his hands in his pockets, weary now of the shouting and yelling but at a loss for how to stop it. “Elle, you're not being fair.”

“I'm not bein' fair? I'm not? Fine. Fine, Petey, I'll be fair to you. I'll be fair because I'm sick of it. I'm sick of protecting you, of playin' along. You wanna drop us for some livin' dame? Fine! Then I'm gonna lay a little truth on you before you walk out that door and go back to your precious Lightbringer. I'm gonna talk and you're gonna sit here and listen! That fair enough for you?” Piotr, frustrated, turned his face away.

Elle twisted until she could look at James, still lounging on the stairs, elbows resting on knees and avidly following the debate. “Jaime-boy, tell the truth. Have I or have I not known this piker for years? Ain't we had a caper or two?”

“Long as you've been dead,” James replied in his slow and thoughtful way, lifting one tightly braided dreadlock and examining the end. “Long as I've been dead too.”

“Ha-ha,” Piotr grumbled, “this is not the time. This trick I've heard before.”

“So Pete, you've known me goin' on a century,” Elle continued, ignoring Piotr's protests. “And James for almost two. If I remember right, you found me in a speakeasy and Jaime-boy hauling cotton south of the Mason-Dixon line.”

Terror gripped him, set his stomach boiling with acid and anger. This joke had gone on long enough! “Elle,” Piotr whispered through lips pressed tightly together, edges bled white from the pressure, “stop. This is enough.”

She was on a roll and couldn't hear him, or simply chose not to. “Whether you remember it or not, you've traveled some, Pete, and you took us along for the ride. Hell, you and Lily've been dead together longer than most of the Walkers ‘round this town've been walking. Ain't that right, Lily?”

The insistence Elle sank into each word chilled Piotr to the bone. Lily wasn't denying the wild claims and Piotr knew that James, infuriating as he was, had never been much of a liar. But what Elle was claiming was sheer, unadulterated insanity, and impossible to boot. Piotr couldn't remember his own death—few ghosts could—but surely he'd remember having died more than two centuries before. Wouldn't he?

“Net,”
Piotr murmured louder, shaking his head. “I don't believe you.”

“She's telling the truth,” James said. “You're older than Moses, Peter. You're older than anyone any ghost I know's ever met. You're damn near ancient.”

“Believe me or not, Petey-boy, I think I'm tired of givin' two tin shits about it,” Elle sneered, thrusting her fists on her hips and wagging her head from side to side for emphasis. “Worrying about you all the time just ain't cuttin' it for me anymore. I'm just pointin' out that you ain't exactly playin' with a full deck lately, and unless you've been lyin' this whole time then you never remember us, Pete. You never do.”

“A couple decades pass and it is like meeting a new you,” Lily agreed, voice pitched low and quiet, but calm and firm. She looked apologetically at Piotr, spread her hands wide, and dropped them to her sides. “Your accent and some Russian phrases remain, but the rest, your memories and recollections…they are new like snow, like the clear mountain stream. When I first met you, you were like the great and wise Yanauluha; you guided me in my struggles and taught me much of the ways of the Never. You were serious then, but kind, and knew how to calm the troubled waters of my mind. But years passed and with them passed the man I'd known. Who you are now is not who you were then. You are not a bad man now, but different.”

Piotr groaned, rested his fingers at his temples, and massaged, hoping to drive away the tension headache that was building there. “You sound like you miss this ‘old me’ a lot.”

Lily did not reply, but her cheeks grew dark.

“Great,” Piotr muttered. “Fabulous, what a great bunch of friends you all are.”

Roughly, Elle coughed, then bent over. Piotr was startled to realize that Elle, strong and nettlesome Elle, was crying. Her hands opened and closed convulsively, her shoulders shook. Lily moved as if to comfort her and was waved away.

“All that time,” Elle croaked, furiously swiping the tears off her cheeks, “all that time we've spent with you, fretting over you, looking out for you and yours, all that time not knowing if or when you were going to start sliding into being someone else, and now you've thrown us over. And for what? Because you're stuck on some dizzy sheba who don't even have the decency to be dead? One you can apparently touch but, you know, just not for that long?” She sneered and spat on the floor, mere centimeters from Piotr's shoe. “Well ain't you the biggest sap I've ever seen.”

“You've got a right to be upset,” Piotr began tensely, forcibly keeping himself from wrapping his arms around Elle and simply hugging her. Elle rarely cried and he hadn't meant to hurt her feelings; Piotr felt lower than low for doing so. “Before the kids were taken I hadn't been around, pulling my shifts as I ought to have, you've got a point there. You and I…I wasn't happy hanging around. I felt I was an imposition.”

“So you dumped the kids?” James asked derisively.

“Net,”
Piotr retorted, annoyed and wishing James would quit needling him. “I assumed that with all those Riders staying here I could be away more often, but I know now that no matter how uncomfortable being here made me, I could have helped. I should have helped.”

“Damn right, you should've,” James grumbled, lapsing into a sharp and pointed silence.

“Pros'tite
, I'm sorry for that,” Piotr continued, ignoring James. “I truly am. But the rest of it…this Yannihula—”

“Yanauluha,” Lily corrected. “The first shaman.”

“Yannihula, Yanauluha, it doesn't matter! This talk like I've been some other person, it is insane, Elle. Nothing but crazy, creepy talk. Why do you keep going on like I've been around forever? I didn't start the Riders; I haven't been dead that long!”

For a brief moment Piotr hesitated—no matter how impossible it seemed, there was a chance, slim as it was, that they weren't teasing him but in fact were telling the truth—but, try as he might, Piotr couldn't bring himself to believe it. This was his afterlife, right? Piotr was certain, he could feel it in his very bones, that if what they'd been saying was true, if he truly had been forgetting things and slowly shifting personalities over centuries of existence, that somewhere deep inside he would have sensed such dichotomy before now. He would have!

Which meant that they were ganging up on him for some crazy reason; getting together to make Piotr feel bad for not being around when the Lost were taken, and for meeting with Wendy behind their backs. This was simple, petty revenge and nothing more, and he was ashamed of them and for them that they would stoop to such lows. Lily especially. Such meanness was normally beneath her.

So long as he'd begun, he might as well finish the fight and say goodbye to these petty people who were
supposed
to be his friends. Piotr straightened and firmly said, “I'm worried about you, Elle. About all of you.”

“He is worried about me,” Elle sighed, and then laughed. “Petey the boy wonder here is worried ‘bout little ol’ Belladona Tinker. Well, ain't that the cat's meow, folks?”