Reaper (21 page)

“I know,” the Reaper said from his left. She leaned close and he could smell her; sweat and smoke, rich liquor mulled slowly, crisp pork cracklings, and that strange, flighty scent that seemed to belong to the Reapers alone, the smell of breezes no mortal could capture, the scent of mountain tops and flight, of blood and battle.

Her hand cupped his shoulder and Piotr hissed.

“You're close,” she said, lips brushing the cup of his ear, and her breath brushed his cheek, smelling of summer flowers and sweat and tears. “It's so warm here, Piotr, and the snow is about to fall like flowers, like petals, from the sky. Lie down. Stay with me a while.”

“My mother's calling,” Piotr replied and forced his weary legs to take another step, no longer walking through the snow, trudging through it. The Reaper was right; he could feel his strength waning.

“Your mother's dead,” the Reaper said. When she stepped in his way, blocking him from the shortest path to the village, Piotr realized that he was dreaming.

“Emma,
da?
” he asked, letting the cloak drop to the snow and chuckling with relief. Emma wore a set of leather scouting armor, well tended and well used, oiled dark in all the right places and covering her from neck to toe. A pair of long, ornate daggers hung from her hips, the tip of her braid brushing against the left one as she shifted.

Chuckling, thinking himself a complete fool, Piotr waved her a step away. Of all the people in the world, Piotr never would have expected to see Wendy's cousin in this moment, in this place. He'd never even met her in real life, only seen her from the window as she ushered Wendy into the car below.
Car
, he thought. Cars didn't belong here, in this time, in this place, any more than Emma did.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “You haven't been born yet.”

“I'm here to collect you, Piotr,” she said and opened her hands. The palms were filled with Light.

“I'm not dead yet,” he reminded her. Just over the rise he could see the curls of smoke from the village. A faint ringing sound, so quiet he had to strain to hear it, echoed through the trees. The blacksmith had fired his forge, Piotr realized. On a clear, cold day like today, with the harvests in and nothing but maintenance to do until spring, the sound of hammering didn't bode well.

“You will be,” she said and closed her palms, extinguishing the Light. “I have all the time in the world, Piotr.” She turned and her hair was no longer red, it was dark and curling and cascading down the back of her armor. The Reaper wasn't Emma, Piotr realized, but Ada.

He pushed past her, ignoring the burning in his palm where he touched her leather-clad shoulder. “I didn't die this way,” he told her belligerently. “I didn't die here, beside the river. I don't die now.”

“I know,” Ada said. “I remember.”

Piotr could taste the blood in his mouth. “Do you? Do you remember? How can you, you've never been here.”

“Enough for both of us,” she replied and she was not Ada but Mary. Not the Mary he could recall, though; not older and worn by the stress of years, not Wendy's mother, but a young girl, hardly older than Wendy herself, with a cut high on one cheek and a bruise around her neck, dark smudges beneath her eyes. Her expression was haunted, drawn, and furious tears had dried in salt-tracks down her face.

“I remember you,” he whispered, struck by the black and blue fingerprints pressed into her neck, the scabs peeling across her freshly inked shoulder. “This moment. Or…do I?”

“Shhh, Piotr,” Mary said, reaching forward and cupping his cheeks in her palms. Up close, Piotr realized that Mary's eyes weren't brown, they were blue, and her teeth weren't straight, the canines were slightly slanted, the front teeth almost bucktoothed.

No. This wasn't Mary. This was…this was…Piotr struggled for her name, this girl he'd known once upon a time, but couldn't find it. His memories, so clear in the dream, were retreating from him rapidly now. Piotr knew that he knew her name but it was gone, buried beneath the bulk of years, beneath the decades of snow and blood and death.

The girl's hands weren't burning, they were cold as the snow and the ice and the darkness at the edges of his dream, the moving, writhing blackness Piotr could now see out of the corners of his eyes as she leaned closer and whispered in his ear. “Don't struggle. Sleep. Sleep, Piotr. Rest.”

“You're not Mary,” Piotr whispered as the blackness slinked closer. “Mary's dead.”

“I know,” the Reaper said, the girl's flesh peeling away from the skull and leaving only the bleached bone behind. Piotr reached forward, touched the bone with his fingertips, and the skull nestled its cheekbones into his palm, nuzzling his hand as if they were lovers.

“Wendy killed her,” Piotr said. “She sent her on.”

“I know that, too.” The skull smiled as only a skull can do.

“You're dead,” he said. “You're dead.”

“I know I am, Piotr…we all are.”

“This is a dream,” he said. “This place is gone.”

“Torn down for wood ages ago,” the Reaper agreed, gathering the fabric around her so that only her skull peered out from beneath the black hood, so that the blade of her weapon glinted from the shadows of her cloak. “It is gone with the march of time. As you should be.”

“As you should, as well,” Piotr agreed, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He was dizzy now, from blood-loss, he suspected, and every inch of his skin felt as if it were on fire. “I…need to see my mother. She waits for me by the fire.”

“Come, take my hand,” the Reaper said, offering a slim cluster of bones loosely held together, the remains of her hands bleached white by the centuries. “I will take you to her.”

“But Wendy?” Piotr asked. “I cannot leave her alone. She needs me.”

“Does she? Does she really?” The Reaper leaned forward and Piotr smelled the liquor thick amid the folds of cloak, saturated in the fabric, damp against his cheek. He shuddered—there had been ice and mead spilling across the floor, he remembered, and the red of spreading blood, the hair of his youngest sister fluttering on the floor as the wind blew the long shorn curls across the floor. His sister had bled but she had not begged.

Their mother had been so proud.

In the distance a bird cawed.

“Wake up, Piotr,” the Reaper said, and jammed her fist into his side, the bones of her forearm jutting out like a sword. The pain was immediate and debilitating; Piotr gasped and sagged against her, letting the Reaper support his entire weight as she lifted him higher and higher until his toes only barely brushed the top of the snow. He felt the scrape of her fingers grabbing his spine, the sharp edges gouging into his guts as she twisted and wrung him from the inside out.

“Wake up, Piotr,” she said again and twisted. “Wendy's in trouble. Wake up!”

“Y
ou know, between the two of them, I'm not sure which one is worse off,” Piotr heard as, shivering, he drifted up from the depths of his dream.

Piotr could feel everything—the burning of the flesh that had touched Wendy, the pull of the wound in his side, and the sick thump of a blooming headache, the product of his unrestful sleep.

Grudgingly, Piotr opened his eyes to find Eddie kneeling beside the bed and the room filled with thin, damp steam and saturated with rainbows and glittering, shimmering light. Piotr blinked and the shifting light vanished—some kind of mirage, he was certain—but the fog remained. His eyes watered and his head protested the sparkles of light.

“What is going on?” Piotr croaked, sitting up painfully and squinting against the glare, trying not to concentrate on the world shivering at the edge of his vision. The Never and the living lands were rapidly shifting back and forth, like a twitch, and there were dark and shadowy figures in the instant between the two realms, like the Reaper's eyes watching him, fading in and out with each twitch and pulse. He forced himself to close his eyes, an attempt to stop the hallucinations cold, but when he opened them again the visions were still there. Instead he concentrated on the clock hanging on the far wall. The cat's tail wagged, the eyes tick-tocking back and forth, and Piotr was dismayed to realize that he'd slept only half an hour at most. It had seemed like so much longer in the dream.

Ada might have been right, Piotr realized as he tried to swing his legs off the bed. His organs might have been healed by their intervention but the hook had deposited its poison and the seed so deep within him that Piotr wasn't sure he'd ever be healed. They had to get to Alcatraz quickly. If Elle didn't succeed in finding a Lost, then Ada might be his only hope.

The short sleep had done nothing for him; moving was tugging deeply at his gut, and the hole in his side was stiff and painful to the touch, but the pain wasn't the worst part. It took all his concentration to keep his vision of the Never and the living lands from swinging wildly back and forth; Piotr wasn't sure where to look to not see those dark, angry eyes that watched from the in-between spaces.

He'd been able to see into the living lands for nearly a month now, since before their encounter with the White Lady, but the malevolent eyes were new and more than a little unnerving. However they weren't
doing
anything, merely watching, and Piotr was willing to ignore the staring for the time being. With any luck, they were just another hallucination.

“I think it's a thunderstorm,” Eddie said, holding out a hand and waving it through the mist. Piotr tried not to notice how the tips of Eddie's fingers were nearly as faded as the fog. “It started building right after you guys conked out.” He swung his hand about the room. “I don't know if you two should be so close together, after all. Her heat plus your cold is just creating a storm front in Wendy's bedroom.”

Piotr edged off the bed and sagged against the wall, blinking heavily and forcing his eyes to focus on the Never. “I had…such a dream,” he murmured.

“Looks like you're not alone there,” Eddie said, jerking a thumb in Wendy's direction. Wendy, flushed and frowning, twitched on the bed, hair matted down with sleep-sweat. “She's not exactly talking in her sleep, but that face isn't one I'd say is blissfully resting.”

“Why have you not woken her?” Piotr asked, straightening as best he could and reaching for her.

“Tried it,” Eddie interrupted him, flashing his burned palm in front of Piotr's face. “I wouldn't try if I were you, buddy. She's running a little hot right now.”

The cat-shaped phone on Wendy's desk suddenly rang, startling them all. The sound should have been dim in the Never, distant and couched in the spaces between worlds, but instead was sharp and shrill, cutting through the air with great force. On the bed, Wendy stirred slightly but did not rouse; instead she tugged a pillow over her head and pulled into a ball, curling her free arm around her knees.

“Wow, I thought Wendy would've cut her landline ages ago,” Eddie mused to Piotr as the phone jangled again. “Two more rings and then the machine'll kick in. If she hasn't shut that one off, that is. She might've.”

She hadn't. The answering machine kicked on, but it wasn't Wendy's voice that greeted the caller and, laughing, told them to leave a message. It was her mother's.

“Wendy?” asked a smooth, cool voice over the line. “This is Emmaline.”

“Fascinating,” Ada said, moving to the desk and hovering over it, closely examining the distinct shape of the answering machine that was growing more solid by the second in the Never. “Look what just a Reaper's voice is doing to this machine!”

Piotr shushed her.

“I tried your cell phone and you have apparently turned it off, hopefully I have this backup number to your room correct,” Emma was saying. “I know this is intrusive, especially after your long morning, but Jane is on her way to visit you. Grandmother insisted that we give you the first book of Reaper rules and regulations, and she would not take no for an answer. You are to study it and be prepared with any questions by this evening. Grandmother intends to speak with you as soon as possible.”

The line clicked, the machine wound down, and in the Never Eddie punched the play button on the newly created answering machine on Wendy's desk. It didn't play; the hunk of plastic sat there, mocking them with its solid ineptitude.

“Typical Wendy,” Eddie muttered. “Keeping something ancient around just because it was her mom's.”

“The machine is fascinating,” Ada said again.

“Come,” Lily said when Wendy stirred. “Let us continue this conversation elsewhere. We do not wish to wake the Lightbringer.” She glared at Wendy. “She needs her rest and none of us wish to be here when her family arrives.”

“No kidding. I'm still alive and they know it, but you three'd probably get reaped into oblivion on the spot,” Eddie said, frowning. “Man, you know, before I actually came over, I'd have been all for that too, but now…? It's sort of uncool.”

“‘Sort of’?” Ada snorted. “So nice to learn that you can see our side of things.”

“Yeah, fine, I'm a changed soul or whatever. Anyway, Wendy set her alarm, right?” Eddie glanced at the clock on Wendy's desk before grabbing a pen off the desk and a piece of paper, glad that Wendy had taken to salvaging spiritual office supplies along with medical supplies.

He flipped past several charcoal sketches of trees, of a young man with large, round glasses, and a small, tubby boy with his thumb jammed in his mouth until he found a blank sheet right at the end of the pad.

REAPERS ON THEIR WAY, WE HAVE TO BAIL IN CASE THEY COME UPSTAIRS. HEADING TO MY HOUSE, I THINK, Eddie wrote, pushing hard on the Prismacolor pencil, not noticing Piotr wincing behind him, the way he watched to make sure Eddie wasn't damaging the other pictures in the sketchpad. CHECK THE ANSWERING MACHINE ASAP. MSG FOR YOU. LUV EDS!

“Okay, done,” Eddie said, tossing the sketchpad on the floor where Wendy would certainly notice it, before following Ada and Lily through the door.

Piotr lingered a moment, wondering when and why Wendy had gone back to Elle's bookshop and retrieved Dora's sketchbook. He traced the spiral spine of the pad with one hand and sighed. Dora was gone into the Light, along with Specs, and Tubs was so far away that he might as well have joined them. Still, Wendy had gone, found this memory for him, and had kept it safe. Piotr was touched.

Drawing near the bed, Piotr had to force himself to close the distance between them. Unconscious, Wendy's control was lax; the heat baked off her in visible waves and standing so near was like going toe-to-toe with a banked bonfire. Despite his immense cold, Piotr broke out in a sweat.

Was he going to let something like a little discomfort keep him from doing the right thing? No, not this time. Ignoring the heat, Piotr staggered to the bed and settled on the edge beside Wendy. Then, uncaring if the others peeked in on them, Piotr leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the hollow of Wendy's temple. His chill lips blistered from the touch—the sting was immediate and intense and faded the instant he pulled away—but he didn't wish to leave her again without this simple, quiet goodbye.

She stirred, opened her eyes, and licked her lips, clearly not fully awake. “Piotr?”

“Shhh,” he replied, brushing her hair off her forehead. “We must leave for a time. Rest. Join us when you can, we will wait for you.”

“Hmmm,” Wendy breathed. “I had a dream…”

“
Da
? And of what did you dream?”

“Ravens,” Wendy whispered, already drifting off again. “Or crows. A sky filled with black feathers. And my mom.”

A sharp shiver raced down Piotr's spine. A
sky filled with black feathers
. It had to be coincidence that they had both dreamed of the same thing. It could be nothing else.

Wendy was asleep again, this time resting much more peacefully, he noted. Piotr rose and laboriously made his way through her door and into the hallway, brooding on feathers the entire way. He was dizzy again, so much so that once he was in the hallway he had to lean against the wall and rest. The world felt strange and airy around him, as if he'd drunk copiously and then spun himself around.

In the hall, Lily gestured for them to go downstairs, offering Piotr an arm for support. They were only halfway down when Jon rounded the corner going up. Jon had barely taken two steps before he abruptly about-faced and hurried back the way he came, darting into the kitchen and scurrying out of sight.

“Lucky for us, Jon must've forgotten his soda,” Eddie said and pointed. “If we go right through the wall we can miss him going back up and not get burned walking through him. There's a nice firm bench out there in the side yard. It's so solid in the Never even I have no problems sitting on it. Piotr can rest there while we figure out what to do next.”

It took some maneuvering, but Lily and Ada escorted Piotr to the peaceful backyard and the wrought iron bench. The bench was old, carefully maintained and oiled, and painted on a regular basis. It sat in a bed of silver-streaked white marble chips, cool to the touch even in the Never, and the fence was overgrown with lush, decadent honeysuckle, still thriving in the dead of winter. Settling himself carefully down, Piotr turned to follow movement in the bushes; a young raccoon with bright eyes and a curious face peered out at him from behind the shed before vanishing with a tail flick into the bushes between the yards.

“This is one of the few yards I've ever seen that looks as nice here as it does in the living land,” Piotr said, chuckling and holding his aching head. “Some nights, waiting for Wendy to return from her rounds, I would sit here and look up at the moon. She smiled down at me, reminding me that I have so much left to do.” He shivered. Beneath him, in the Never, a rime of frost was creeping across the bench.

“Did I ever tell you I can see in both places now?” Piotr asked Lily, see-sawing his hand back and forth. “I am beginning to be able to control it. If I squint just right I can see into the living lands.” He patted the bench lovingly. “Like a reverse Reaper.”

“Truly?” Ada asked excitedly. “That is amazing! Oh, when this is all over, we really must talk! Is it in color like we remember the living world to be, or is the vision washed out as ours is? Can you make yourself seen to the living, as the Reapers are able to make themselves visible to us? And what of animals? Are you able to communicate with them in the living lands as we can here? The possibilities of being able to see into the living lands are just endless!” Spotting Lily's glare, Ada coughed quietly and crossed her arms over her stomach. “My apologies, Piotr. I grew overexcited for a moment.”

“There is time for such extensive questioning later,” Lily said, enunciating each word so that Ada could not misunderstand how she had erred. “For the time being, it is to be but one foot before the other.”

“Right. Yes. You have an excellent point.” But Ada's eyes glinted and Piotr knew that the moment Lily's back was turned she'd be pestering him about the world of the living.

“So,” Eddie said, kneeling beside Piotr and looking him in the eye, “my house is only a few blocks over and my mom is a bit overprotective, so chances are that she's hanging out at the hospital right now, bugging the doctors about waking me up.”

“In other words, she is not home,” Ada said.

“Yep. And, even if she is, my basement is empty and pretty comfy. And Wendy told me ages ago that my place is pretty solid in the Never so, really, it's a good spot to lay low until the Reapers have come and gone.” He glanced at Ada. “Then we can all pack up and go to Alcatraz together. Maybe Elle will be back by then.”

“This plan has merit, but what of Wendy?” Lily asked.

“Already told her that's where we were heading,” Eddie said with a shrug. “If you need me to, I can run upstairs and change the note. Either way, we have to get Piotr out of here. Just look at him.”

“Are you worried for me or for you?” Piotr asked, staring at the dark men in the walls. They were crowding around him now, shadowy and colder than anything he'd ever felt in his life, some standing half in and half out of the others, the rest hovering in a circle over Piotr like athletes in a huddle.