The Nothing: A Book of the Between (4 page)

The compact body had begun to loosen and relax against him, the child’s breathing slowing and softening. Her voice sounded dreamy. “Who’s Poe?”

“He’s a penguin. Sort of like the raven. He helps her, too.”

“What’s the raven’s name?”

“He doesn’t have one.”

She stirred at that, twisting around to look up into his face. “Why not?”

“Because.” When he was young and bent on refusing the role of Dreamshifter, he’d hoped the bird would go away. He thought of it as Stupid Bird, or Hey You, or, in later years, the Raven.

“I’m going to call him Bob.” Lyssa burrowed her head a little deeper into Weston’s shoulder. She seemed to be asleep, and he sat perfectly still, hardly breathing lest he disturb her, a whole swirl of unfamiliar emotions tightening his chest. The little girl was so fragile, the warm weight of her against him a trust of which he felt completely unworthy. Memories threatened to swamp him. Grace’s face, set in hard lines and spattered with blood. Jenn, floating lifeless in the stream. Vivian with the dragonstone knife plunged into her breast.

Over and over, he had failed to protect those in his charge, and a dark dread combined with the rush of warmth. His eyes caught those of Bob the Raven, perched on a chair across from him, and a sense of unreality stole over him.

It seemed a long time that he sat there, keeping vigil over the sleeping child. Long enough for muscles to stiffen and a cramp to start in his lower back.

When the door opened, it was Flynne, and one look at his face told Weston everything.

“What happens to the child?”

“CPS. Although they’ve got their hands full and I don’t know where they’re going to put her. They’ll find her somewhere to sleep tonight, and then we’ll see.”

Weston looked down at the armful of child and thought about Grace. Her whole family murdered in front of her eyes with the exception of the older brother, who not only failed but abandoned her. Dragged away from everything she’d known to strangers in an orphanage.

“Surely she must have some relatives somewhere?”

“Yeah. Mother’s an addict and lost her rights. But maybe there are grandparents or something. Look—thanks for your help with this. Like it or not, CPS is the only option for now. I’ll give them a call, see how soon they can get somebody in here.”

A burst of static on his radio and dispatch came on. “Control to three nine seven, do you read?”

“This is three nine seven.”

The woman’s voice sounded shaken and on the verge of tears. Flynne heard it too, dropping the usual formality for small-town friendly. “What is it, Dell?”

“My neighbor, James Gregors. They just found him. Like the others.”

“Did you call the ambulance?”

“They’re all out on other calls.”

Flynne took two steps toward the door, stopped, turned back.

“I’ll watch her,” Weston said.

“It might be awhile.”

“You’re needed. She’s as safe with me as she’ll be anywhere.”

“I’ll call CPS on the way out. Can you—”

“I’ll wait.”

Weston held his breath, careful to meet the deputy’s eyes with a level gaze. After a long minute, Flynne nodded and was gone.

The room fell silent, no sound except his own breathing and that of the child. Her eyes moved beneath the closed lids, her breath grew more rapid.

“Only a dream, Lyssa,” he whispered, “only a dream.”

Her whole body jerked once and her eyes flew open, wide with terror. Bolting upright, she flung both arms around his neck and clung there, sobbing. Awkwardly, he patted her back and made what he hoped were soothing noises.

“You were dreaming,” he said at last.

“It was the Nothing,” she said, snuffling into his shoulder, wet now with tears. “It was coming for me. I ran and ran but it was faster.”

“What is this Nothing?”

“Dark.”

“Sweetheart...”

“Daddy’s dead, isn’t he?”

He’d thought it would be bad to watch as someone else delivered the news. This was worse, watching her face, hearing his own voice deliver the blow. “Yes. How did you know?”

“The Nothing got him. I saw it.”

Somebody has to do something.

But what? For the moment, his path was clear. Shelter the child and offer her what little comfort and safety he could until somebody came to take her away. And then he’d try to find Vivian.

As it turned out, the waiting wasn’t long. The door opened again, this time for a young woman, maybe twenty-five, thirty if he stretched his guess. She looked tired, eyes bleary. She wore a long coat, dusted on the shoulders with snow, black hair cut severely short doing nothing to soften a face that was all sharp angles.

“Hey there. I’m with CPS. I’ve got a home willing to take her for tonight, at least. We’ll see in the morning.”

Lyssa’s arms went around Weston’s neck and squeezed so tight, he could hardly breathe. “No. I want to stay with Weston.”

“You can’t, honey,” the woman said. Her voice was matter-of-fact but not unkind. “I’m sorry about your daddy. But you’re going to have to come with me now.”

“No.”

Lyssa’s legs were in on the action now, clamped around Weston’s waist.

“Hey,” he whispered in her ear, smoothing her back with one hand. “It will be okay. It’s just for tonight.”

Her entire body thrummed beneath his touch, legs and arms locked in a grip of iron. “The Nothing will get me.”

“I hate this part,” the social worker said.

Weston hated it, too. Especially since Lyssa had a point. “Can I see your ID?” he asked, suddenly realizing that any random stranger could walk in claiming to be from CPS. If this woman wasn’t who she said she was, then he wasn’t going to have to let this small person be forcibly wrenched away from him and dragged away screaming.

A flash of annoyance crossed the woman’s face, but she opened her coat to show him her badge. It looked perfectly official, bearing the Child Protective Services logo, a photo of the social worker, and her name, Rose Evans.

“Satisfied?” she said. “Let’s get this over with.”

It didn’t seem possible, but Lyssa tightened her grip.

“Give me a couple of minutes to talk to her, will you?”

“Look, I know this is hard, but in my experience, it’s best to just get it over with. You can’t reason with a kid this age, not when she’s scared like this. She’ll be better once she’s settled.” The social worker reached out and tugged at Lyssa’s shoulders.

“Don’t let her take me away,” the child wailed.

The raven hopped onto her head and stretched his wings before shaking out all of his feathers and settling into a waiting stance. This pushed Rose back a step, where she stood, eyeing both bird and Weston with a look fast moving to unfriendly.

“If I have to, I’ll call for a police assist.”

“That won’t be necessary. Give me five minutes. I’ll bring her out to the car. Where are you parked?”

“I’ll wait outside the door,” she said, her face saying outright that she thought he was lying and had thoughts of absconding with the child.

Which meant she’d read him accurately.

As the door closed, Lyssa’s grip eased and she pushed back to look up into his face. “Why can’t you take me home? You’d let me put my pictures up, right?”

“I can’t.”

“How come?”

“For starters, I don’t have a home to take you to.” No vehicle, either, to make a quick getaway and run for a motel.

He smoothed the tangled curls away from her face, flushed and hot and wet with tears. “I need to go look for Vivian and I can’t take you with me.”

“How come?”

“Too dangerous.” Truth, he knew, completely besides the fact that the social worker would call the cops. At the same time, leaving her unprotected from dying Dreamworlds was equally dangerous. He couldn’t take her; he couldn’t leave her. And the clock was ticking. He was pretty sure Rose was on the other side of that door, literally counting off the seconds.

“It’s just for tonight,” he said lamely, seeing in her eyes that she recognized this for a lie. “Tell you what.” He reached for the leather thong around his neck and lifted it over his head, holding it out to the child. “See this pendant? It’s like Vivian’s, only it has the raven.”

Lyssa took it from him, fingers exploring the intricate dreamweb with the figure of a raven flying at its center.

“You can wear it as my promise that I’ll come back for you. And to keep you safe from the Nothing. Okay?”

He slipped it over her head. She continued to hold onto the pendant, and after a long interval where he feared his last shot had missed the mark, she nodded.

“Now let’s clean you up a little.” He mopped her face with his shirt and smoothed back her hair. “Ready? Let’s go find you a place to sleep.”

“Can Bob come?”

“I’ll bring him to visit.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” And looking into her eyes, he swore to himself that for once in his life, his word was going to count for something.

T
HE
CITY
grew up out of the land so naturally that Jared had been staring directly at it for several hours before he registered what he was looking at. Even when he realized that the geometric shapes were spires and towers and a massive city wall, he was inclined to think it mirage or a fever-born hallucination. This thought was given substance by a fountain of light at the center, so bright it dizzied him, and he covered his eyes.

All the long day, he’d alternated between burning up and shaking so violently with chills that he nearly fell off the horse Kraal had procured for him. His injured leg didn’t hurt anymore, all sensation fading into an ominous numbness. The other leg, unaccustomed to riding horseback, ached fiercely. He hated the horse and the ongoing clopping of hooves. He hated the Giant. He hated his own decaying flesh so fiercely that he wanted to grab a knife and cut the infection out himself.

Kraal made a clicking noise with his tongue, catching the horse by the reins and easing it to a halt.

“I’m going to blindfold you now, little man.”

Jared pushed greasy tangles of hair out of his eyes. He swayed in the saddle, weak and dizzy. “No,” he said, both hands twisting into the coarse brown mane. “I need to see.”

“You get much closer to the Fountain of Light this time of day, and you’ll never see again. Fight me if you will, but I’ll win in the end.”

No point fighting, not against an opponent of Kraal’s size and strength. But he barely suppressed a whimper when a length of cloth blotted out his sight. The big hands, surprisingly nimble, tied a knot tightly in place.

“Don’t be tempted to sneak a look, now. Not if you value your sight.”

Jared nodded. He had no reason to believe Kraal would lie to him, and already at this distance, the light had been dazzling. Still, riding blind was a new form of torture. Unable to see what lay ahead, he remained in a constant state of tension, muscles braced, hands clenched in the horse’s dusty mane. Even so, when the horse began a sudden descent, he jolted forward, unable to properly brace himself. His right leg was useless, so there was no way to clench tighter with his thighs, although the muscles in his left leg tried anyway. He was sliding forward, up onto the neck, losing his grip on the mane.

And then a big hand grasped his shirt in the back, half lifted him, and set him back in place. As if he were five years old. He was too miserable to be angry at the indignity, too busy trying to hold on and to keep from vomiting all over himself.

How long this went on, he couldn’t tell. It felt like an eternity, time slowly unwinding for the sole purpose of his torment. Despite himself he must have dozed, missing the moment when the horse came to a stop, rousing with a sharp instant of panic to find himself in the dark.

His hands flew toward his eyes, only to find the strip of cloth and the onrush of memories. A voice was speaking. Had to be a Giant voice, deep and grinding, but it was not Kraal’s.

“You would bring a stranger into the city? One who looks like a heap of garden rubble?”

“He has a message for the Queen.”

An inquiring sound followed. Heavy footsteps approached the horse and circled around it. Jared held his breath but discovered he was not afraid. His pain and misery had reached the point where death would be welcome. Just so long as it was quick. One sound whack to the head from a Giant fist ought to take care of it.

“He stinks. You can’t take him to see Her like this.”

“Let us in. I’ll see that he’s cleaned up and healed.”

“Your word is not sufficient as bond. What price will you pay?” The other voice had turned formal.

“I offer my blood as bond of fealty for myself and the stranger.”

A moment ticked by. Jared began to drift again, but then the horse was moving. He didn’t even try to keep track of the turns taken. Voices reached his ears from a distance. He was burning up again and wanted only to lie down and be allowed to die in peace. Every time he began to sag off to the side of the horse, Kraal’s big hand caught him and straightened him, sometimes shaking him a little.

After what seemed to Jared like hours, the horse stopped again. He felt a hand fumbling with the knot of his blindfold, and then he was blinking in a light that felt far too bright but was really moving into evening.