Lightbringer (28 page)

“I don't know,” Wendy mused as Piotr's hands slipped out of her mother's abdomen and rested, relaxed, on his hips. He glanced meaningfully at her mother then at the doorway, drifting out the door a few seconds later. “Mom was a fighter, Chel. She might still be in there, you know, fighting.”

“Maybe.” Chel squeezed their mom's hand and rose, crossing her arms over her chest. “I've been having these crazy dreams about her. You know how bad flu dreams get—you start running a little fever and suddenly you've got Wonderland camped out between your ears.”

Chuckling, Wendy nodded. “We've all had a couple doozies. Why, what happened?”

“I can't remember,” Chel said, shrugging. “But I was at the park, you know, the one up the street? I was sitting on the old rusty swingset, not the new plastic one but the old one that would burn your butt in July? Anyway, it was one of those dreams you get where you can watch everything happening but you're not really there? Like you're watching a movie? You were there, talking to Mom, right? You were yelling at each other. She was saying that you had to try again but you didn't want to. And I wanted to try since you didn't want to, but I didn't know what you were trying. Then she slapped you and told you to grow up. Weird, huh?”

A chill shivered down Wendy's spine. What was it the White Lady had said about dreams before? She was so tired and stressed out about her mother and Eddie that she couldn't remember.

“So,” she asked, forcing lightness, “did you ever get a chance to try?”

“Nah. My alarm went off and I woke up.”

“Shame,” Wendy said. She brushed a loose strawberry curl back against her mother's face. “I think I'd do anything she wanted, no matter how hard it was, to get her back.”

“Me too,” Chel said, skirting the edge of the bed and hugging Wendy with one arm. “We all would.”

Embarrassed but secretly pleased at the embrace, Wendy cleared her throat. “Does she need her nails cut or anything? I see you brushed her hair.”

“They do a good job here,” Chel said, patting their mother's hand. “She looks okay overall. No bedsores or anything.” She lifted their mom's hand higher and twisted her wrist gently. “You know, I've seen these tattoos before but I didn't realize until today that these are the same ones you've got all over you. When'd you get yours again?”

“About a year ago. Dad had that fit, remember?”

“Right, cause Mom signed off on you getting them without checking it by him first. He was so pissed!”

“He just doesn't want us to grow up,” Wendy said. “Mom understood that it had to happen sometime.” That wasn't the real reason she sported the same lines and knots her mother had embedded deep into her flesh, but Chel wasn't a Lightbringer and wouldn't understand the need for the supernatural protection the ink provided. It wasn't much, it only created an aversion at best, but every bit counted, no matter what the White Lady claimed.

“She let you get matching ink permanently poked into your skin and a dozen earrings, but freaked when I wanted to bleach my hair.” Chel shook her head. “I love her but sometimes she can be such a hypocrite.” Her voice dropped. “I didn't want to say this before, but I used to hate you for that. It just wasn't fair.” She sighed. “I guess I got over it, huh?”

Saddened and embarrassed for her sister, Wendy shrugged, uncomfortable with the direction this conversation had turned. “I'm just different than you, Chel. Different rules apply to me, I guess.”

She snorted. “Why? Because you're older?”

“Nah,” Wendy said. “Because I'm Batman.”

“Right, right,” Chel said, laughing.

“I hear the Joker's hiring,” Wendy continued. “And you do have a wicked laugh.”

“Yeah, but those clothes! Not in a million years.” Coughing, Chel pressed a hand to her forehead. “Ugh, I feel like crap, Wendy. I wish this fever would break already.”

“I know, honey,” Wendy said. “Visiting hours aren't over yet, but we don't have to stay if you don't feel up to it. You know how Nana likes to cook a ton of food for lunch—”

“Yeah right,” Chel snorted. “The idea of eating makes me want to puke.”

“And that's different from normal, how?”

“Haha, very funny. I'll find Jon and we'll see Eddie before we leave.” Chel squeezed their mother's fingers once more and laid her hand back on the bed before brushing a soft kiss across her forehead. “Love you, Momma. I'll be back soon, okay?” Then she brightened. “Oh, I almost forgot. This got left for you. Here.” She dug in her purse and pulled out an envelope, roughly folded and addressed to Wendy in neat, blocky letters. “I guess some intern on the floor worked pretty closely with Mom? Dr. Hensley? Henley? Whatever.”

“Emma? She left something for me?” Wendy reached out. “What's it say?”

Chel frowned. “How should I know? I don't read people's mail. Anyway, she got transferred or something and left this. You really attract the psychos, don't you?” Wendy took the envelope and tucked it into her pocket. She'd worry about reading another goodbye later. Right now learning as much as possible about Eddie and her mother was more important, even if Emma Henley had been a truly nice person.

When Chel left, Piotr drifted through the wall and sat on the edge of the bed, expression grave. “You are right, your mother's soul is gone.”

“Of course I'm right,” Wendy murmured. “Souls are sort of my thing now, I'm not a total newb.”

“But she's different than Eddie in one major way,” Piotr added. “Look at her navel.”

Confused, Wendy glanced down. It was her mother's stomach, flat and moving almost imperceptibly as she breathed slowly in and out. “So? What about it?”

“Unlike Eddie, Wendy, your mother has no cord.” He waved his hand over several inches above her body, moving from ribs to pelvis in one smooth sweep. “It's gone.”

“What? That can't be…” Wendy's protest died in her throat. He was right. Eddie's cord had looked gnawed through, but the remains of it had still been firmly attached to his body, thick and healthy and vibrant. Her mother's midriff, however, was smooth and bare. “I can't believe I didn't see that before.”

“I'm not surprised. You probably don't look much at yourself when you're the Lightbringer, do you? Have you ever stopped and taken a glance at what you look like?”

“Of course not, when I'm like that I've got more important things to do than preen in front of a mirror,” Wendy snapped.

“Wendy, when you're the Lightbringer, you don't have a cord either.”

“That's because I'm alive, though, right?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. There's so much mystery surrounding what you do and how you do it, not to mention exactly how long your family has been this way. Maybe the White Lady is right. Maybe you really were too young to be a Lightbringer yet.”

“I hate that I don't know diddly squat about how all this works,” Wendy said bleakly.

“I have a theory,” Piotr said. “Remember what happened in the park with Specs? He attacked you and pulled your soul out?”

“He was scared—”

“I'm not blaming him, but he did give me an idea. Wendy, I think the reason your family can do the things you do is that maybe your souls are different than other souls. There was no cord when he pulled your soul out; you were just this fragile ball of light. No, not light…Light. And even though your soul was yanked out, you were still conscious. You could sense what was going on around you, you even understood that I put your soul back inside your body.”

“Right? So…”

“Both Specs and I knew that we could break you, Wendy. It was…instinctual. Perhaps this is what happened to your mother? I think the Lost didn't pull her out whole. I think the reason you couldn't find your mother no matter how hard you looked is because her soul was a ball, a glowing ball of Light just like yours.”

Piotr hesitated, not wanting to finish the last part of his theory but knowing that he had to, even if it hurt her. “And Wendy? I think it's entirely possible that when the Lost saw your mother they panicked, pulled your mother's soul out…and that they might have broken it.”

D
ropping off the twins was easier than Wendy had anticipated; she'd expected Jon or Chel to protest Wendy's announcement that she didn't feel like spending the night, but neither of them said a word. They merely collected their duffle bags, hugged her goodbye, and trooped up the steps to Nana's front door. When the door shut behind them Piotr slid into the passenger side seat.

“You're quiet,” he said.

“Yep,” Wendy replied, pulling out of her grandmother's driveway and onto the street. Experience with the route made the return drive automatic; Wendy reached the highway in a fugue-like state. “I'm thinking thoughts.”

“Would you care to share?”

“Maybe. I don't know. Not really. A little.”

“That's clear.”

“Look, Piotr, give me a break. You think my mom's soul got broken apart. The White Lady claims
she's
got it, and she showed me a flap of essence to prove it. I don't know what to think or who to believe. All I know is that I'm sick and tired of people fucking with me, okay?” Wendy pounded on the horn. “GET OUT OF THE WAY! FUCK! Learn to drive, asshole!”

“So what's next?” Piotr asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral. “The ball, as they say, appears to be in our court.”

“We do as she said,” Wendy said after long seconds of silence. “You and I go visit her at the Palace Hotel. She has this all planned out, so I don't have much of a choice, do I?”

Startled, Piotr struggled to find a reply. “You're not serious?”

“I am.” Wendy floored the gas and the little sedan leapt onto the highway with a short grumble of the engine. Glancing into her mirrors, Wendy slid into the middle lane; carpooling was out now, even if Piotr was sitting next to her. A cop certainly wouldn't believe her if she claimed that a ghost was riding shotgun.

“Your big plan is to hand me over to her?” Betrayal colored the words with bitterness.

“No, my big plan was to use you as bait,” Wendy replied shortly. “It's almost three. Think we should take the bridge? I'm worried about traffic.”

“Take the bridge, it's not bad this time of day,” Piotr agreed absently. “Bait? You really think the White Lady is going to fall for that?”

“Not really,” Wendy snapped, scooting between a semi and a Honda with a severely cracked windshield. The driver was hunched over, peering between the spiderweb of cracks and the pouring rain. “But that's why I changed my plan. She thinks I'm just going to show up at midnight with you in tow, then she's got another thing coming.” Wendy, exasperated, tapped the horn. “Get off the road!” she yelled. “Geeze, that's a car wreck waiting to happen.”

“Wendy,” Piotr said patiently. “I want you to talk to me.”

“I am talking to you,” she replied, picking and choosing her words with care. “I'm also driving in some nasty weather, which, if you recall, was how I met you in the first place. So if you don't mind cutting me just a little slack, I'd appreciate it, thanks.” Sitting up straighter in her seat, Wendy began to haltingly outline her plan for the White Lady. They just had to make one stop first.

“Petey, you're loonier than a loony tune,” Elle exclaimed an hour later as Piotr finished detailing the finer points of Wendy's idea. “If you was smart, you'd tell this dumb dora to dry up and beat it.”

Wendy, who'd promised to be silent while Piotr spoke with the other Riders, stiffened at the insult, but was true to her promise and kept silent. Sensing her discomfort, Lily rose with arms outspread.

“Elle,” she protested, “Wendy's plan has merit. We are warriors, are we not? And yet we have done little these past months but mourn our fallen and weep for what we have lost. There has been no counting coup! Is it not time to step forward and embrace this chance for retaliation destiny has laid upon our doorstep? Much time has passed; likely the White Lady will not expect a joining of our forces, especially after the recent fragmentation of our tribe. I say we aid Piotr and Wendy—”

“The Lightbringer,” James interjected, bitterly.

“Wendy is her given name, the Lightbringer is her duty,” Lily insisted, “and I agree with Wendy's assessment of this opportunity. Now is the time to strike!”

Elle slapped the wall. “Spoken like a true live wire, Pocahontas, but the thing is, I don't wanna be left holding the bag when this double-crossing tomato gets the lot of us pinched by the White Lady or her Walkers. She already told us that the White Lady wants ol' Pete in trade.”

“We won't get caught,” Piotr soothed. His vision was fluttering wildly and he was staring at the spot where Elle was standing, hoping against hope that she wouldn't move and leave him addressing empty air. “Wendy's destroyed hundreds of Walkers in the past three months. A few weeks ago you yourself were saying how few we've seen lately. How many could she have left? Ten? Twelve? Between your skills and Wendy's abilities, cornering the White Lady and discovering what she did with the rest of the Lost will be simple.”

“Says you! You just said that all the White Lady really wants is your head on a platter. What's it to Wendy here if one more ghost goes toes up if she gets her fall guy home? Or her momma? Who, by the way, just happens to be Lightbringer
senior.”

In the corner Wendy stifled a strangled snarl; her lips were pressed tightly together, her eyes narrowed and blazing. Elle smirked at the reaction.

“Stop the insults, please,” Piotr pleaded. “Eddie's…nice…and I'd like to get his soul back just as much as Wendy would. It's not just Eddie; it's Wendy's mother and our Lost too, can't you see that? There's more at stake here than just your wounded pride, Elle. We promised to protect the Lost. Let's go do that.”

She snorted, turning her face away. “I've had an earful, Pete. I still think this one's taking you for a ride.”

“Perhaps,” Piotr said evenly. “But it may bring Dora back, and I think that's a risk I'm willing to take. What about you?”

Elle considered them in silence for several seconds before answering. “Maybe Pocahontas has a point about revenge being best served chilly. If nothing else, I ain't exactly keen on you walking into Walker central with only this piker at your back. She's likely to shiv you when you ain't looking. So I'm in. But only till we get the Lost out. Then it's back to sixes and sevens with us. You copasetic with that?”

Sighing in annoyance, Piotr threw up his hands. “Thank you!”

“You're welcome!”

“Lily? James?”

They glanced at one another. “We're in,” James said, tucking his hands behind his head. “But I'm not working with the death dealer. She goes on another team.”

“Great,” Piotr said, almost laughing with relief. He had expected a much tougher fight from James; the fact that he'd accepted so readily meant that he saw the necessity of them sticking together. “All for one and one for all? We have but four hours until sunset. Let us figure out a game plan.”

“I'll scout ahead,” James offered. “Meet you at the edge of the business district in two hours?”

“Sounds good,” Piotr agreed readily and stripped the dagger from his belt. “Take this for protection. Be careful.”

“Always am,” James said, tucking the dagger into a rough loop secured at his waist. “Keep an eye on Lily for me.” Then he was gone.

“So talk,” Elle commanded, jerking her chin at Wendy. “What's the plan?”

Wendy waited for Piotr to nod, releasing her from her promise, before she began speaking. “I went to the Palace Hotel two years ago for one of Chel's cheer camps. I'm not really much for the rah-rahs so I had time to explore. I took the tour and everything. The Palace is
old
and there's been more than a little emotion attached to it, not all of it good.”

Wendy held up a hand and started ticking off points. “A king and a president both kicked the bucket there. A couple murders, a couple suicides, nothing any other hotel wouldn't have, but San Francisco's a mighty dramatic place. Death, excitement, romance—you name it, it's happened right there, or at least in the area. So that hotel isn't just an emotional hot zone, it's an emotional war zone.”

“I am unfamiliar with this area of town. What does this mean?” Lily asked.

“It means that, since the Palace Hotel was hit by the earthquake of 1906 and the subsequent fires dropped the original building to the ground, it's been built from the ground up at least twice, not counting all the renovations. Blood, sweat, tears, frustration—emotions, Lily, and lots of them, from the residents of the area who had to put up with the noise, from the contractors building the place, and from tourists. Also, the business district grew up around it, so not only do you have the emotional insanity of all that happened inside the building itself and the layers of renovation emotion, you have all that business-related angst surrounding it. Like a big boiler, over a century of human living simmering on high.”

“Yeah, so?” Elle rolled her eyes and twirled her hand in a hurry-it-up gesture.

“That means the White Lady trapped herself. Yes, she picked a powerful place to set up shop, but there's also the little fact that the Palace Hotel is still in business today. And it's popular. That means the White Lady can't send Walkers all over the building—even if they don't mind crowds anymore, they'd still get badly burned. Because the building is so old and has such an emotional history, no one—not just us, not just her, none of you—can just walk through some thin spot on the Never side. I've been down there; those walls are rock solid in the Never. No ghost could pass through. You have to take the hallways just as if you were living.”

“So she must be lurking someplace in the building where not a lot of people go or would be expected to go,” Piotr theorized. “The attic or basement?”

“Exactly. Which means if we can keep her Walkers away, we've got her trapped. We can force her to tell us where she's keeping the Lost.”

“Holy crow, the piker's got a good plan,” Elle said, stunned and musing. “I was thinking that going down there's gonna be like storming Little Bighorn, ‘cept our head squaw's a pill this time around.” She glanced at Lily's irritated expression and rolled her eyes. “Oh dry up, Pocahontas, it ain't like you were there. ‘Sides, your guys won that one.”

“Piotr and I will take the north entrance,” Wendy continued, ignoring the animosity between Lily and Elle. “Elle, you should go with James to the south side, Lily, take the west. It'll be strictly divide and conquer: if you see a Walker, put them down. If there are two, try to lure one away or ambush them. If you have to, run for it.”

“We are leaving the east side unattended?” Lily frowned, strapping her matching daggers to the loops she'd wrapped around each wrist. “I do not feel this is wise.”

“I'll take the east,” Elle said. Hopping up, she gathered a supply of ghostly weapons—her bow, several bundles of arrows, and a wicked looking dagger that hung from her hip nearly to her knee. “I'm sure baby James can handle a few widdle Walkers without me.”

“It's a good plan,” Piotr said when it seemed Wendy would protest. He squeezed her hand meaningfully, glancing at the vast array of weapons Elle was strapping on. “She's tiny, but Elle can handle her own, I promise. Spare some steel, Elle?” Piotr held up a hand and Elle kicked a much smaller dagger in his direction.

“Okay if you say so,” Wendy said, accepting Piotr's advice without question. “We don't have much time until sunset. Let's do this.”

Piling into her father's car accompanied by the ghosts, Wendy had to turn the heater on full blast to counteract the frigid cold buffeting her. Traveling from the pier to the hotel would have taken little time had they boarded a Muni train, but Wendy wanted an easy getaway. It was her bad luck that rain-slick Embarcadero Street was blocked off due to an accident. Her bad luck held: Wendy struck west, eventually turning onto Mason, where traffic kept them locked at a snail's pace for nearly thirty minutes. Dodging trolleys wasn't Wendy's strong suit.

By the time they spotted James at the edge of the Financial District, standing helpfully near a miraculously empty parking spot along the road, Wendy was frazzled and irritated—Elle had kept up a stream of snide insults about Wendy's driving the entire way from the pier. When Piotr's hand dropped on her shoulder, Wendy had had it. She jerked away and glared fiercely, uncaring that it was Piotr who was receiving her ire.

“Is it just me or are those new?” Piotr asked. He pointed up and Wendy blinked in confusion. At first she couldn't see what the fuss was about—part of her thought that perhaps he was having a joke at her expense—and then she spotted the fine interlocking mesh high above, the thin wires of spiritual energy blanketing the Financial District in an effervescent web that filled the sky. Fear rolled in her gut; Wendy's fury drained away.

“Spirit webs.”

“Spirit webs,” Piotr agreed. “Thousands of them.”

“Traps for the unwary,” Lily said. “Snares for the rabbits among us. Look.”

At the roof level, over two dozen Shades hung by ankle and wrist, some twisted into mummified shapes by the essence-draining webs, some stripped down to their very bones. All were cocooned by the webs, each one struck silent by rope-thick tendrils pushed past their lips and down into their guts.

“I think I'm gonna upchuck,” Elle said, nearly breathless at the sight. “I thought you was beating your gums about that spirit web earlier, Pete. I'm so sorry…I know I ain't been this way in a dog's age, but those damn things aren't new. I should've spotted ‘em long before now. I let us fall into this one.”