Lightbringer (30 page)

Behind her the Light grew brighter, more insistent, and a low humming, both terrible and inexpressibly lovely, began to fill the room. The volume rose in a slow, sensuous sweep of sound like a radio being gradually turned up in some distant room, until Piotr's head was ringing with the gorgeous-painful chords. If the Walkers or White Lady heard the cry of the Light, they paid no attention. The Lost were unmoved, the other Riders unconscious and cocooned with the spirit webs. If Wendy heard she paid no mind. Only Piotr, with the song of Wendy's Light vibrating his very teeth, was bent in pain.

Wendy stood and the sound, blessedly, began to subside. She held out one hand and twisted it back and forth, palm up-palm down, then patted her face, her shoulder, her hip. She ran fingers across her lips, curled her fingers into a fist, and tapped the chair beside her, the one her body still lay beside. Her hand slid through the rotting wood easily.

She nodded once, her suspicions confirmed. “Well, hell. That sucks.”

“Good afternoon,” the White Lady said. “How are you finding your death thus far?”

“Can't say that I like it.” Wendy wrinkled her nose. “Everything smells like rot.”

“It does on this side.” The White Lady waved a languorous hand in the direction of the warped and splintery floorboards, the waterlogged walls. “You grow accustomed to it.” Then, surprisingly, she indicated the shaft of Light. “That is, unless you wish to go to your eternal reward. You have earned it, after all.”

Wendy glanced at the Light, her expression calm, and shrugged again. “I suppose I could. It does look kinda nice.”

“It is, in fact, very nice,” the White Lady agreed gravely, then smiled. “It's the nicest thing there is. Why do you think I've been doing the things I've been doing, hmm? For kicks?”

“I hadn't really thought about it much. I always just assumed you were a crazy bitch,” Wendy said, stepping away from her body and strolling casually across the room, rolling the ball of Light in her nimble hands.

Wincing, eyes never leaving the ball, the White Lady waved a hand and the Walkers parted for Wendy. She knelt by Piotr. Her hand, far from its usual warmth, was cool to the touch as she ran it across his forehead, brushing aside the sweaty strands of hair that clung to his temples. “Are you okay?”

“You're dead.” Piotr laughed bitterly. “I'll live.”

“I can see that.” Wendy helped Piotr to his feet. Weakened, he staggered as he stood, but here she was strong and supported him easily. She handed him the ball of Light; he hissed, it was hot to the touch. “Hold this and let's get out of here before this skank causes even more damage. We can come back for the others.”

“Language!” The White Lady wagged one finger in a tsk-tsk motion. “You weren't brought up to speak like that, young lady.”

“Up yours,” Wendy sneered, pressing one hand in the small of Piotr's back for support. “You're not my mother.”

The White Lady paused, just for one brief moment, and Piotr felt a thrumming in the air. The Light, just a short distance away, began trembling, the motes within whirling wildly. The song, which had faded to a nearly imperceptible hum, rushed upon him in a wave, the exquisite melody breaking with horrible force upon him and sapping his little remaining strength in a tide of unexpected ferocity. Piotr stumbled and fell. As Wendy, crying out in surprise, leaned forward to help him, she missed the White Lady rising to her feet, the quick patter of steps as the woman hurried downstage.

“Look out,” Piotr whispered and Wendy released him to face this new threat. But the White Lady slowed as she stepped off the last stair, held her hands out in supplication.

“Oh Wendy,” she breathed, pale and rotting fingers lifting up the obscuring hood, pushing the fabric free so that it puddled loosely on her shoulders, revealing a last few clinging curls of strawberry gold hair and a face etched with crosshatched lines similar to those the surrounding Walkers sported, but deeper, rawer, and real.

“After all our conversations and all the hints I've dropped, I truly thought you would have figured it out by now. I
am
your mother. Wendy…it's me.”

“Y
ou're lying,” Piotr said, but Wendy shook her head.

“No,” she whispered. “She's not.” Making sure that Piotr could support his own weight, Wendy approached her mother, hands clenched in loose fists at her sides. “Mom? What happened to you?”

“The Lost,” her mother said, her voice see-sawing wildly, alternating between bitterness and tears. “They were scared, wild. They reached for me and broke my Light, shattered it into a dozen pieces, one for each of them.” She ran a hand across her face, grimaced. “Breaking my soul apart hasn't done wonders for my disposition, I'll give you that. It's made me…not at all balanced these days.”

Wendy glanced over her shoulder at the assembled Lost and did a rapid headcount. Twelve. “But these kids aren't the same ones. I sent those on.”

“I don't need the same ones,” her mother chuckled, fingers rising slowly up, the tips of the phalanx bones poking through the flesh at the end. She dug her fingers into her face, the bones parting her rough stitches, essence flowing like blood in a wet gush that pitter-pattered against the basement-ballroom floor and soaked the front of her dress. “I just need the one who called their Light. Twelve Lost—even inert, they're like gunpowder, you see—and the one who whiffed out the ones who ripped me to shreds. A match. Combine the two and BOOM, I'm back. Back to the living, back to work. Back to doing what I do best.”

“Mom,” Wendy protested, “but that's me. It's Wendy.”

“I know,” the White Lady said, sadness creeping across her face. “Don't you think I know that? But it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make—no, one I
have
to make. You don't know our ways, you haven't been trained!”

“You taught me—”

“I taught you nothing!” her mother spat. “I taught you only the basics, and that was mostly to keep you in line and safe from the Lost! You had years to go before it was your time and even then, did you honestly think it was going to be
you
who got picked to wake to the Sight? Please. Michelle has more of the Sight in her little finger than you do in your whole body. You didn't even know how to ask the right questions, Wendy, not that night at the house, not ever after that. You just did whatever I said, never questioning the
why
of it all! That's not how a Lightbringer works.”

Her mother slapped herself three times across the face, until the last of her stitches parted. She grabbed the flap and tore, waving the loose skin at Wendy like a banner. “And the sight of your face when I showed you my skin flap and tattoo! You just took me at face value! Never thought to question if maybe I was making the whole thing up. If I can make maggots writhe themselves out of the ground, what makes you think that a little flesh is the real thing? Pathetic. You should have known better.”

“But you never taught me—”

“My point exactly. I never taught you. If you were meant to be the next Reaper, then you would have figured it out on your own but you didn't. You, as the Lightbringer? No, darling. No. You haven't got the heart for it. Or the instinct.”

Stung, Wendy shook her head. “That's not true. That first night, you said, in the hospital—”

“I said what I had to in order to shut you the hell up before you started screaming.” Her mother waved a hand at the assembled Walkers. “You think I don't know how disgusting and foul they look? How nasty I look? I'm not blind, Winifred, nor stupid. A little girl facing one of those? Naturally she'll tell everyone she sees. I had to shut you up.”

“That's not true,” Wendy said, but her voice was weaker now. “You were worried about me. You love me.”

“Oh darling, of course I do! But love doesn't matter when you're dead, Wendy,” her mother said sweetly. “That was a fact my own mother drilled into me, and her mother before her. Do you think we've survived against the dead as long as we have by being sentimental? Hardly. We do what we do because we're tough and strong. Two things you have never been.”

“I'm tough—”

“Tough?! Look at you!” she laughed. “You quit reaping the minute my body hit the ground. Refused to do your duty! Refused to reap! Your grandmother is spinning in her grave! Or she would be, if I hadn't sent her into the Light. Kicking and screaming, as a matter of fact.”

“Mom,” Wendy moaned. “Please.”

“Moooom-puhleaze,” her mother mocked, and spat. “Listen to yourself. Weak. Pathetic. You were given a gift you didn't earn. And now with your entire life planned out for you, a career as a Lightbringer, your duty, and a boy who loves you, still you whine! My little Wendy-girl, she has to go and mess it all up, doesn't she? Nothing's good enough for Wendy, oh no. Isn't satisfied with just doing her sister's stolen job, no, she's got to go and reap the Lost who tore her mother apart!”

“I…I can't…” She sniffed, trying to keep from breaking down. Her mother's words were like hammers pounding, each blow shattering a little more of her heart apart. Wendy began to shake.

“Such theatrics, Wendy! And you haven't even asked yet how I got put back together. Of course, it took you long enough—or, rather, I should say,
Piotr
long enough—to figure out what happened.”

“Mom…I—”

“Didn't know. Yes, I sorted that part out. I assume I'd still be in tiny pieces if it had been left up to you. But there was one person who knew, one person who'd been around long enough to know a thing or two about Lightbringers.” She slapped the skin against her face and strode across the room to Piotr's side. “Even if he doesn't remember it.”

Piotr, horrified, shook his head frantically. “I would never help you!”

“Of course you would, Piotr,” she said, and grabbed him by the back of the neck. “You've helped me all along.”

Piotr screamed and his knees buckled. He fell to the ground, eyes rounded with pain, but held Wendy's Light orb tightly tucked into his chest, unwilling to drop it. Where her hand pressed into his flesh, dark essence poured into Wendy's mother until the skin healed, the flap clinging to the rest of her face by the thinnest threads. Wendy gaped; her mother'd drained him for essence, like Piotr would drain a Lost.

“So convenient,” she said. “He's like a walking battery for us. Even get near him and our kind gets a boost. You get sleepy at first, but he's like good wine. He grows better with age.”

“H-how…when…Piotr…”

“Quit stuttering, dear, it's unbecoming.” Her mother smoothed her hair, noticeably thicker and less ragged now, and patted Piotr on the top of the head. “Poor boy has been following our family for centuries. None of us had a clue why, but he's awfully useful to have around. Bit crazy, though.” She held up one hand to block her mouth and whispered loudly, “A few screws loose upstairs. Terrible memory problem. Of course, that's our fault too, you know. He gives up a memory for every time one of us sucks him dry. But that's all right, it's what he's here for.”

Abandoning all concern for her own well-being, Wendy darted to Piotr's side and cradled him in her lap. His pupils expanded and contracted wildly, his legs twitched and jerked, drumming against the floor in a slipshod staccato beat.

“You can imagine my surprise,” her mother continued, stepping over Piotr and wiping fastidiously at the front of her soiled robes, “when I discovered that you'd found our little family battery pack. And my further surprise when I learned that you were
kissing
him.”

“Who was it?” Wendy asked bleakly. “A Walker? One of the Riders? Who is your little stooge, Mom? Who's been your marvelous spy?”

A warm, furry body pressed against Wendy's side as Jabberwocky pushed past Wendy and trotted across the room to twine around her mother's ankles.

“I told you, dear,” her mother said, scooping Jabber up and rubbing her chin against the ghost kitty's head. “I've been watching you quite closely. Hello, darling. Did you miss me?” She made kiss-kiss faces at Jabber before setting him down. The cat vanished into the darkness gathering at the edge of the room.

Wendy blinked. Darkness? Her head felt woozy suddenly, and weary. Spots danced before her eyes.

“Oh, don't worry, dear, that's just the blood loss,” her mother said. “Time passes differently here, when you're fully in the Never, in a place as strongly bound with emotion as this hotel. You've only been dying a few living seconds, but you'll finish bleeding out soon, I promise.” She tsked. “Though if you want to catch your Light, I suggest you hurry. It's looking a little weak around the edges.”

Wendy glanced over her shoulder and shrugged. “What's the point? I came to get you and Eddie. You've gone off the deep end, what's to say Eddie hasn't, too?”

Her mother burst into merry laughter, wrapping her arms around her waist and rocking back and forth on her heels with mirth. “Oh Wendy, you are a peach! You think I had anything at all to do with Eddie? What kind of a monster do you take me for?”

“You…you didn't?”

“Of course not, dear. Our job is taking souls once they've crossed, not making them cross. Other ghosts can interact with the living world, but you were right all along—I'm not one of them. I was lying to you. The only souls
I
can bother are people like us, Seers or people with one foot in the grave already. Oh no, dear, a little bird came and whispered about Eddie's condition to me. I just took advantage of it.”

“What happened to him?” Wendy demanded. “What happened to his soul?”

“That, darling, I can't say.” Her mother shrugged. “I wasn't there. Any number of things. Drug use, astral projection…anything can stretch a soul so thin it'll snap. But his cord wasn't rotted, so he's still about somewhere, possibly lost as I was supposed to be. Looking for you, I'd wager. If you don't feel like going into your Light, I'm sure you might even be able to find him. Who knows? Maybe you'll even do a better job saving your best friend than you did your own flesh and blood.”

Her mother stretched and held out her hand. “Your doorway into the Light's grown thin, Winifred. It's time. Give me your Light and be on your way. Or stay here and learn a trick or two. It's no matter to me.”

“You'd do this?” Piotr asked, pushing into a sitting position, still cradling Wendy's ball of Light. “You'd kill your own daughter for this?”

“In a heartbeat,” she said, “if she still had one. I need it more than she ever would. All that power inside and she hardly ever tapped it. Disgusting. Now give me her Light. I'll put it to good use.”

“You are sick,” Piotr hissed. “She is your
daughter
!”

“Yes, she is, and Momma knows best. Besides, Piotr, you don't have any room to lecture me. Or I suppose you don't remember my mother and what she did to her own sister? It is our duty to pass on our knowledge, our teaching, and our ways. The proper ways.”

“Proper ways?” Piotr spat. “There is nothing proper about what you are doing.”

“Manners, Piotr. Manners.” The White Lady shook her head, tsking. “See, this is exactly what I'm talking about. Wendy learned the Sight at too young an age; it taught her sympathy for your kind. It made her think of you as a
person.
Why do you think we wait until they're eighteen to show my kind the Light? Otherwise we might think things like you are ‘romantic.’ We might go about
kissing
you.”

“We're not yours to control,” Piotr snapped, hugging Wendy's fragile ball of Light as closely as he dared. “You don't have any say over our souls.”

“I don't?” She seemed truly sad at that. “Piotr, Piotr, Piotr, after all these years and you still haven't learned? The dead must be sent on—Lost, Shades, Walkers, and Riders alike. No one may stay in the Never, even if they don't think they're ready to move on. No one.”

“That's not your choice to make!”

“Isn't it? Ghosts like you are like children who want to stay up past your bedtime because you fear the monster under your bed, in your closet. An adult, a person with clear sight, knows better. An adult can see what really is for the best and when it's time to move on.”

“You'll be killing your own line!”

“Hardly. I still have two very smart, very dedicated children besides Winifred. I'm willing to sacrifice her in order to keep our legacy strong.
Now give me the Light!”

Wendy wrapped her arms around her waist and ducked her head. She hated to say it but what her mother said made a sick, disheartening sort of sense to her. The pillar to the afterlife was here—maybe it really was time for her to move on. “Mom's right, I guess. Do it, Piotr,” she whispered. “Do what is best.”

“Listen to my daughter, Piotr.” Her mother said. “Give me her Light, boy.”

“Da?
Or what?” Piotr asked, eyeing the hungry, starved Lost. Wendy was no longer at their mercy, but her mother might be. “What will you do to me if no, hmm? You feed me to your beasties?”

“Or watch as I have my Walkers rip my daughter to shreds.” The White Lady held up a threatening hand, deadly calm and completely serious. “So what will it be, Piotr? Winifred? Or the Light?”

In his flickering vision Piotr heard a scream, faint and far away, and sensed a trembling as footsteps pounded up a flight of stairs. In the basement, in the living world and in the living time, someone—a maid, or a custodian perhaps—had discovered Wendy's body.