Lightbringer (26 page)

“I said,
sit down.”

Pressing her hand to her mouth, Wendy drew back fingers dark with blood. The sudden jolt had ripped the hole in her tongue wider open. It would heal by tomorrow but until then her mouth would be filled with the copper-rust-salt taste of her own blood. Wendy leaned to the side and spat a wad of bright red that sank into the sand. “Haw doh yah now all thish?”

“Oh for god's sake,” the White Lady groaned, exasperated. “You just had to get a tongue ring, didn't you?” She crawled to Wendy's side and grabbed Wendy by the face. Wendy tried to struggle but the White Lady, rotting apart or not, was still far stronger in this dream realm than Wendy could ever be. Her long and bony fingers, the last flaps of skin flaking apart at the knuckles, forced past Wendy's teeth.

Then the White Lady grabbed for the barbell and ripped it out.

Shrieking in pain, Wendy gripped the White Lady's wrists and tried to force the filthy hand away from her face. It was like trying to push a brick wall.

“Stop struggling,” the White Lady snapped and pinched the tip of Wendy's tongue. Immediately an icy chill filled her mouth, so cold her teeth ached and the molars with silver fillings began to protest the sharp shooting pain.

“To answer your question,” she said, fingers probing the wet, open meat of Wendy's wounded tongue, “I just know. Do you think I was always like this? Falling apart, piece by piece? I told you that Lightbringers were a hobby of mine. I watched your mother call Walkers from three miles away. I knelt at the knee of your grandmother in these dream realms, learning how to manipulate the ether. Compared to the likes of them you are alone, a toddler wandering in the woods. You know nothing of what your kind can do.” She released Wendy's tongue and crawled back, wiping her hands against her shift. “That should do it. I know that you won't say thank you, so you're welcome.”

A gritty taste like rotten milk and salt permeated her mouth. Wendy staggered to the shoreline and scooped up dipperfuls of saltwater in her hands. It tasted fishy and rank but was better than the texture and taste of the White Lady that lingered foully through several rounds of rinsing and spitting.

“You bitch,” Wendy gasped, spitting out the last mouthful of gritty, salty beach water. Tender probing of her mouth revealed that her tongue had closed up and the blood had ceased its sluggish flow. “You ripped out my ring!”

The White Lady, ignoring Wendy's outrage, held the hood close to her face and tipped her face to the sky, gauging the sun. “We're almost out of time. I must conclude my business.”

“What business is that? Being a crazy bitch?”

“Our trade. Will you meet with me in the Never or not?”

“You've got nothing I want.” Wendy turned her face away, running the tip of her tongue along the back of her teeth. Her entire mouth felt swollen and sore, tingly in all the wrong places. She just wanted this obnoxious dream to end.

“Oh really?” The whisper of her cloak was all the warning Wendy got as the White Lady snuck up behind her and grabbed Wendy by the back of her neck. “Does this look familiar to you?” She shoved an object in Wendy's face. At first Wendy couldn't make out what it was but then she gasped, both confused and furious. It was Eddie's phone.

“What the hell is this? Is this some sort of dream trick?” Then she laughed. “What the hell am I talking about? Eddie's alive. He's fine. You can't touch him.”

“Oh, the things you don't know about your own power or mine,” the White Lady sneered, throwing Eddie's phone into the surf where it sank beneath the surface with a quiet plop. “I was quite surprised when my spy reported in last night. Despite how badly you were wounded, you simply bandaged your arm and didn't think twice about it, did you? Even after what I told you at that decrepit old house. It didn't matter what your memories told you; you brushed off my words just because they came from me.”

“Last time…”

“I can't touch your friend Edward? Oh really? If I can't touch your dear Eddie, how could my Walkers have harmed you? You're alive, after all.”

“But when I'm like that…I'm not exactly alive,” Wendy protested. “I'm in between.”

“Even in between, it shouldn't hurt your physical body as deeply as it did,” the White Lady chuckled. “Poor, poor lost child. So very ignorant, even after I warned you, even after I damn near handed you the answer at that house. Some spirits can reach into the living world, Lightbringer. Some spirits can interact with the living. The Rider does. My Walkers did.”

“When I find my mom—”

“Enough of this. Your precious mother? She's with me,” the White Lady snapped.

“No.” Wendy shook her head. “No-no-no.”

“I warned you what would happen if you mucked around with my plans and my people, didn't I? And I always keep my promises. Always.” Her hand on the back of Wendy's neck clenched tighter, bone tips digging in. “I finally caught her last night. Trapped her not four blocks from your school. While you were busy with
him.”
She waved something in front of Wendy's face. It took her several long seconds to comprehend what her eyes were showing her and when she did, it was the most horrible thing she'd ever seen in her life.

A flap of essence with tribal tattoos carved into it; ink that matched Wendy's own.

“No!” Wendy shrieked and struggled in her grip but the White Lady was impossibly strong. Raising Wendy high, the White Lady shook her by the back of her neck like a kitten until all the fight drained away. Wendy hung loosely, weeping silent tears.

“There's still a way to get your mother and your boy Eddie back,” the White Lady said, her voice dim and quiet behind the ringing in Wendy's head. “I'll even show you how.”

“You're lying,” Wendy whispered. “You always lie.”

“I'm not,” she replied. “I want your mother back in the land of the living almost as much as you do. Think I want a Lightbringer walking around the Never? Even dead, your kind is a bother. If you knew even half of what your mother knows you'd be like a dangerous wolf loose among the sheep. I can't have your mother here. So I'm sending her back…
if
you help me. If you agree to my trade.”

“Fine,” Wendy whispered. “Anything. What do you want?”

“Bring the boy,” the White Lady said. “Piotr. Tomorrow night at the park. You know the one. Around midnight. I'll take care of binding him, just bring him. Alone, if you please.”

“What are you going to do to him?”

“Do?” The White Lady threw her head back and laughed. “What do you think I'm going to do? Serve him tea and cakes, of course. Impress him with how my watercolors have improved. Maybe take in a show.” She shook Wendy again, lightly this time, and Wendy moaned. “It doesn't matter what I'm going to do. If you ever want to see Eddie's soul again, or see your mother out of that bed, you'll do as I say. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” the White Lady snapped, dropping Wendy to the ground in a tangle of limbs. “Now wake up.” She reached down and before Wendy could react, the flat of her palm cracked against Wendy's cheek, snapping her head to the side.

Wendy awoke on the floor with a stinging cheek and damp, fishy-smelling hair. The sun had just breached the top of the trees and down the hall Chel's alarm blared to life. Running her tongue along her upper teeth, Wendy winced at the sudden and unexpected pain.

Her tongue had closed up; the barbell was gone.

E
ddie didn't answer his phone. It rang and rang and the fifteenth time it went to voicemail Wendy screamed, flinging her own phone at her vanity where it smashed corner-first into the mirror. The phone, thin to begin with, snapped in two. The mirror shattered into a thousand slivers of glass.

“Wendy?” Jon tapped on her door. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Wendy sobbed, sinking to the floor and burying her face in her hands. “I'm not.”

The door creaked open and Jon poked his head inside. Jabber hissed at the sight of him and slunk beneath the bed, tail puffy and back arched. “Wanna talk about it?”

Scrubbing the heels of her hands against her eyes, Wendy wiped her frustrated tears away. “I can't get a hold of Eddie,” she said by way of explanation, though Eddie's absence wasn't the only concern preying on her mind. “I've been trying for hours.”

“So you threw your phone? Crazy much?” Jon crossed the room, picking his way carefully over the splintered shards of glass, and settled beside her on the bed. “Maybe he forgot to charge his cell. Or maybe his mom made him turn it off. You know what a big control freak she is.”

“He's super anal about charging his phone,” Wendy said, shaking her head. “And his mom wouldn't be weird about Eddie getting calls over the holidays, especially around her family. Appearances mean a lot to her.”

“Maybe,” conceded Jon. “So what's all this about? Did you guys get in another fight?”

“No, it's nothing like that.” Wendy swallowed thickly. “I had this nasty dream. Something was wrong with Eddie in it so I just…I just have a bad feeling, okay?”

Jon whistled. “That must have been one heck of a dream.”

Wendy couldn't help but laugh. “Yeah, it really was.”

“Well, I know this probably isn't the time, but Chel and I were hoping to go see Mom today. Nana said this is probably our last Christmas, you know?”

“The insurance is about to run out,” Wendy murmured. “Right, I almost forgot.” It was just one more terrible thing to add to the list of never-ending crap. If their mother didn't wake up soon there was a chance Dad would have to decide whether to keep her on life support…or pull the plug. If she could rescue her mom from the White Lady, it would be a decision he'd never have to make.

Stretching, Jon used the edge of Wendy's bed to rise to his feet. “I know you're worried about Eddie, but do you think you could chill out for an hour or two and drop us off? Dad gave us permission to use the car if we're visiting Mom.”

“Let me guess: Chel wants to go to Milpitas afterwards and swing by the mall?” Wendy struggled to keep from sneering but failed. Emotionally she was wrung dry and too edgy to be fair about her sister's foibles. “Maybe catch a movie with her buds or do some last minute ‘holiday shopping’?”

Jon pitched his voice low. “Actually, she never suggested it. Weird, right? She said all her shopping's already done. Internet.”

“Chel turned down a chance to go waste Christmas break at the mall? I guess she's serious about avoiding the rah-rahs after all.”

“Everybody changes.” He shrugged. “Anyway, when we're done Nana wanted to know if we'd like to crash with her up in Oakland tonight. She was talking waffles so I'm thinking hell yes,” Jon said, grinning wildly. He leaned down and offered her a hand up. When Wendy took it his open expression darkened, eyebrows drawing in. All joviality fled. “Wendy, what happened to your arm?”

Whoops! In the recent chaos, Wendy had forgotten all about the cuts the Walker had inflicted in the park. Snatching her hand out of Jon's grip, she cradled her arm to her chest. “It's nothing. I had an accident. Eddie patched me up.”

“Some accident,” Jon said and then his lips pressed together in a tight line. “Wendy,” he said, choosing his words with some care, “I know this isn't any of my business, but you're not taking that goth-emo thing to that wacko level are you? You know, that ‘I bleed to feel pain’ dominatrix crap kinda level?”

Wendy rolled her eyes. “Jon, honestly, listen to what you're saying for once. You know me. Do you really and truly believe that I—of all people—would cut myself?”

“Since you didn't just give me a direct answer, I'd have to say that I don't know,” he said gravely, glancing around the shattered glass and ramshackle chaos that passed for her room. “Would you?”

“No! Jesus, Jon!” Annoyed, Wendy punched him on the bicep, not bothering to be gentle. When he yelped and rubbed his arm she waved her fist in his direction. “That's for thinking I'm a cutter, you jerk.” Her thoughts flicked to the dream of the night before, the skin clutched in the White Lady's hand. She tamped down on those thoughts quickly. She had a little bit of time; she'd figure out what to do.

“Okay, okay!” he protested, half-laughing, still rubbing his sore arm. “I get the picture already!”

“Next time think before you go accusing people,” Wendy warned. Careful of the glass, she reached under the bed and pulled out the Tupperware container stuffed to bursting with shoes. Selecting a sturdy pair of army surplus combat boots, Wendy flopped on the bed and began lacing them up.

“Fine. Whatever. Go get Chel,” she snapped, impatience coloring her tone. “I'm tired, I'm stressed out, I'm done. You and me and Chel. We're getting this over with. Move it!”

Jon looked offended. “But Mom—”

“The drive,” she clarified, softening. “I want to get the drive over with. Christmas break, remember? The 101 is gonna be total crap, and crossing the bridge isn't going to be much better. Dad emptied the change tray, so we gotta swing by the bank for cash. Any clue where he stashed the debit card?”

“I've got it in my purse,” Chel said, leaning in the doorway, the cordless phone hanging loosely from her hand. Dark circles ringed her eyes and her skin was tight and shiny, white except for the hectic patches across her cheekbones. She coughed into her fist. “What happened in here? Did your reflection sass you good, or what?”

“I lost my temper,” Wendy said shortly. “You look like hell. Are you feeling okay?”

“Peachy keen,” Chel drawled. “I'm fine. Let me grab my shoes.”

“You don't look fine,” Jon protested. “You're all—”

“I know how I look, okay?” Chel pushed away from the threshold and tossed the cordless on the bed. “It's just a little cold or something. Anyway, Eddie's mom beeped in about five minutes ago while I was on the line with Nana. She wants you to call her back ASAP.”

Heartbeat trebling in her chest, Wendy's grip tightened on her boot until her knuckles bled white. Beneath the bandage on her arm she felt the edges of the wound Eddie had sealed with the dermabond glue start to pull apart. Twisting so her siblings wouldn't see the dark red seeping on her gauze, Wendy asked casually, “Did she say what it was about?”

“Nah,” Chel said, coughing into her fist again. Outside the window, thunder rumbled in the distance, causing them all to glance out the window at the dark clouds building on the horizon. “She said just to call soon as you can, that it's important. Anyway, since we're definitely visiting Mom and Nana, I'm gonna go throw together an overnight bag, okay? It won't take ten minutes.”

“Me too,” Jon said, after glancing at Wendy's face to read the emotional weather. “Lemme know what's up,” he whispered as he left.

Fingers trembling, Wendy shut the door before punching in the number for Eddie's mother's cell on the cordless phone. It rang three times and went to voicemail.

“You should try again,” Piotr said and Wendy jumped.

“Crap! I didn't see you there,” she gasped, hand pressed to her chest. Beneath her palm her heart fluttered frantically; adrenaline left her mouth sour. “How long have you—”

“Long enough to catch you obliterating the mirror.” Piotr drifted through the desk and settled on the edge of her bed, his cool hand rubbing calming circles on her back. “I was going to speak up, but Jon came and I didn't want to draw attention to myself.”

“Good idea,” Wendy said. She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Today has been one hell of a day already.”

“Is that so?” Piotr touched her wrist. “I noticed that you opened up your cuts again.”

“Accident. Look, we've got a lot, I mean a whole hell of a lot, to talk about. But not right now okay? Give me just a few minutes.” She held up the phone.

Understanding, Piotr nodded and pretended to zip his lips shut, resting his head against the wall so that his touch wouldn't distract her further. This time Eddie's mother answered on the first ring. “Hello? Winifred, is that you?” Even across the crackling line, she sounded frantic.

“Hi Mrs. Barry,” Wendy said, injecting what she hoped was the right amount of faux cheer into her tone. “My sister said you called. What's up?”

“Winifred, I need your help. It's Eddie.”

It was as if she'd reached through the phone line and punched Wendy in the gut. All the breath went out of her; her stomach felt hollow, empty, and her heart thudded so hard in her chest that the room literally alternated dark and light with each beat of her pulse. Yet, somehow, despite the world spinning out of control right then and there, Wendy heard herself say, voice appropriately concerned, “Eddie? What's the matter, Mrs. Barry? Is he okay?” She wiped her forehead with her good arm; her skin was oily with sweat and she found that she was clenching her jaw so tightly her teeth ached.

“You remember how your mother just collapsed last year?” Mrs. Barry sobbed into the other end. “Last night at dinner Eddie was standing up to pick up the plates and he keeled over. Boom! Just like that. We rushed him to the hospital—I thought it was one of those youth heart attacks, God forbid—but his heart was still beating, he's still breathing. But he won't wake up, Winifred!”

Honking her nose noisily, Mrs. Barry spent several seconds struggling on the other end of the line. The sounds coming out of her were somewhere between sobs and crazed laughter. Wendy recognized that sound. It was the sound her father had made when they'd brought her mother into the ER that first night. It was the cry of an anguished soul.

“Oh Winifred,” Mrs. Barry sobbed, “first my husband, now my only boy? I go to synagogue, I keep the holy days, I volunteer. What did I do wrong? What else could I have done?” She broke down weeping for several minutes but the sound was thick and muffled. Hearing a steady thump-thump in the background, Wendy realized that Mrs. Barry must have pressed the phone to her chest. Patiently, she waited for her best friend's mother to calm down.

Finally the sobbing slowed, followed by a wet sniffle. “Hel-hello? Winifred?”

“Hi, Mrs. Barry, I'm still here.” Swallowing thickly, Wendy was surprised to realize that her voice was level, calm even, and that at some point between picking up the phone and this moment, her heart had slowed down, the sweat on her brow had dried.

“What hospital is he at, Mrs. Barry?” Wendy asked, reaching for the math notebook balanced on the corner of her desk. The pencil cup was on the opposite corner and too much effort to hassle with; Wendy used the mechanical eyeliner that had rolled underneath the corner of her bed.

“UCSF,” she muttered, jotting the address down. Later, she wasn't sure why she did. UCSF was the same hospital where her mother was staying; she could've driven there with her eyes closed. But it felt good to keep her hands busy. “We were going to visit my mom today, Mrs. Barry,” Wendy said. “Stay calm, okay? I promise you that I can be there in about an hour.”

“How's your mother's condition?” Mrs. Barry asked, desperation underlying every word. “Do the doctors know anything?”

Like you gave two craps about my mom yesterday
, Wendy thought unkindly, but kept it to herself. “No, Mrs. Barry,” she said. “But we still have hope.” The door creaked open and Jon and Chel were waiting in the hall, overnight bags at their feet. The two had been listening in; Jon's face was waxy white, Chel's eyes were red-rimmed.

“I've gotta go, Mrs. Barry,” Wendy said. “I'm on my way, okay? Okay, Mrs. Barry, you hang in there; I'll be there in an hour. Okay. Okay. Bye.” Pressing the off switch with her thumb, Wendy dropped the phone on the floor. Outside, thunder boomed again, much closer this time, rattling the pencils in their cup.

“Eddie's sick,” Wendy said and fought not to remember that terrible night when she had to explain to her siblings that their mother was in the hospital and Dad wouldn't be home for twelve hours. “He's got…probably whatever Mom's got. Same symptoms.”

“Shit,” Chel said and slumped to the floor, burying her face in her hands. “Shit, not again.”

“He's at UCSF,” Wendy continued, addressing Jon because Chel was crying now, slow soft sobbing that was both heartbreaking and distracting. “Your bags packed?”

“Yeah,” Jon said dully, reaching down and collecting both the bags. “Yeah, they are.”

“Okay.” Wendy held up her arm; let Jon see the dark splotches where the dermabond had pulled apart beneath the gauze. “I'm going to fix this and then I'll need your help wrapping it back up. Then we'll go.”

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed, dropping the bags again and following Wendy to their shared bathroom. Wendy spun the cap off the hydrogen peroxide with her thumb, consciously not thinking about how Eddie had done this very thing for her only two days prior. She hissed when the chill liquid bubbled across her arm. At first it was bordering on unbearable but then Piotr was there, his hands icy cold and pressed against her wound, numbing it. Steam billowed up, obfuscating the bathroom, but when it cleared he was still there, eyes searching her face, seeking the telltale signs of weakness or pain that would make him draw away.