Pale as parchment and shaking, Wendy slid to the ground and rested her forehead against her knees. “That,” she panted, wiping away beads of sweat, “takes it out of a girl. I've got no idea how Mom could stand to do that over and over again. Reaping kids is just so hard!”
“It appears to be,” Piotr agreed. He crossed his arms across his chest, shuffling his feet. He cleared his throat. “I am glad though. For Specs. And you. You did a…a nice thing.”
“Sit.” Wendy said. “Please? I'm not ready to be alone right now.”
“Of course. How are you doing?” Piotr sat beside her, wrapped one arm around her shoulders, and took comfort from the ambient heat. Their skin steamed where they touched but neither of them minded. The moment should have been uncomfortable but it wasn't. Neither of them spoke of the fight or the empty months that lay between them, and neither wanted to. It was as if nothing had separated them at all.
“I hurt and I'm tired.” She yawned, poking at her wounded arm gingerly. “Not even two o'clock and it's been a really rough day already.” She started to sag against him and then straightened. “Oh! Eddie's still in the car! Wait here.”
Wendy pushed up against a nearby elm to stand and staggered out of the clearing toward the park proper. Piotr watched her use several slim young willow trees for support. She passed a young woman herding a group of schoolchildren with skates toward a nearby van. Piotr spotted her friend's familiar car and rested against a tree, watching as Wendy carefully picked her way down the well-maintained path to the vehicle parked at the curb.
Though he couldn't make out what she was saying, the fact that emotions were high was obvious. She gesticulated wildly for several minutes and then, surprisingly, the boy stepped out of the car, slamming the door behind him. The trunk popped open and he drew out a small case stamped with a red cross on the cover.
Eddie, Piotr reminded himself, firmly stomping on the slight surge of jealousy he felt whenever he laid eyes on the boy. His name is Eddie.
Taking Wendy by the arm, Eddie stripped off the jacket and visibly flinched away. Piotr was certain that Eddie would bundle her into the car and drive her to a hospital, but was surprised when he did no such thing. Instead he reached into the first aid kit and popped the top on a bulky white bottle, pouring a liberal amount of liquid over Wendy's arm.
Piotr could hear her curse all the way across the park.
The rest of her doctoring went quickly; Eddie bandaged her up and stowed his supplies away. Then he and Wendy argued for several minutes, before Eddie broke away from Wendy and stomped up the path, stopping twenty feet to Piotr's right and pointing toward the trees, several degrees to the left of Piotr.
“Okay dead guy,” he said gruffly, “here's the deal. You and Wendy have to have a talk. Well, I gotta talk to her too, and I figure I've known her longer than you, so I have dibs.”
Arriving breathless a moment later, Wendy cradled her injured arm to her chest. Piotr was impressed by how smoothly wound the bandages were. Eddie appeared to have practice at this sort of thing. “Eds, stop,” she protested, but was ignored.
“Wendy says this is important, and since this is the first time she's shown an emotion other than bitchy in months, I'm gonna let my chat with her slide for now. But if you piss her off or mouth off or somehow bring the bitch-queen back before I get my say, then I don't care if you're dead. I'll hunt your ass down and kill you again. You got me, Casper?”
Raising an eyebrow, Piotr glanced at Wendy. Bitch-queen? Apparently Wendy hadn't taken their fight and subsequent separation very well either. He'd become a zombie and she'd apparently turned on her friends. Wendy, noting his appraisal, flushed as red as her hair and shrugged.
“Tell him,” Piotr cleared his throat, wrestling with all the things he wanted to say and finally, after much inner debate, settling on polite neutrality, “tell him I understand.”
Wendy relayed the message.
“Fine. Text if you need a ride home.” Eddie pointed in the wrong direction towards the woods again, growled, “I'm watching you, Casper,” and stormed off.
Feeling that it was the only polite thing to do, Piotr waited until the car's taillights had turned the corner before speaking. “Bitch-queen?”
“Shut up,” Wendy muttered. “I don't handle rejection well.”
“You don't handle rejection well,” Piotr repeated wryly.
“At all,” she amended. “Cut me some slack. That was the first time I've been dumped. I could have eaten two tons of ice cream, gotten a fat ass, and whined about it instead.”
Pushing past him, Wendy angled toward the clearing. The sun seemed warmer there and Wendy stretched out on the grass, tucking her good arm behind her as a pillow and squinting at the clouds above. In the distance the swingset creaked in the breeze and children jumped rope, chanting a nonsense rhyme in perfect lilting cadence.
“I think,” she said musingly, “I've been here before. Huh. I can't remember when.”
Settling beside her, Piotr ran his fingers through the grass and asked, “Wouldn't we have to have been dating for you to get dumped?”
“Are you kidding me? I let you in my room. I dressed up for you. We were totally dating. Or pre-dating at the very least,” Wendy replied, wriggling in the grass to get more comfortable. “And you know it. Think I hold hands with every dead guy I see?”
“Hmm,” Piotr agreed with mock gravity, “I suppose not.” He waited for a beat and then added, “So if we were dating then does this mean we're, what's the phrase, ‘back together’ now?”
“That depends,” she said, closing her eyes against the bright sunlight. “Do you want to be?”
Though Wendy couldn't have told how she knew when Piotr leaned over her, she sensed the movement as clearly as if he'd been alive. There was no whisper of fabric, no hush of air against her skin, but one moment her cheeks were hot from the sunlight and their conversation and the next, blessedly cool fingertips slanted over her cheek, brushed her eyes, caressed the line of her jaw. Steam billowed and fumed around them.
When he drew back they were both breathing heavily. “Is that,” Piotr cleared his throat, “is that the correct way to answer?” Wendy, still fighting for breath, half-laughed.
“I can think of worse.”
Even after all this time being the Lightbringer, the marvel of touching a ghost, actually feeling the cool pressure of not-skin on skin, sent shivers through her. Piotr brushed a curl of her hair off her forehead and leaned in, breath that was not-breath whispering across her cheek, the scent of him filling her world.
Once she thought he smelled like cool forest earth underlined with rot, like the Walkers, but now that she'd grown accustomed to it Piotr's scent was uniquely his own—sweet and subtle and faded, like dried rose petals releasing one last puff of sweetness before crumbling. Away from her room and amid the trees, Piotr smelled weathered, like old books and old lace and the chill clean scent of a windswept field at midnight. He smelled, very faintly, like dirt and growing things.
It was too much. She had to stand, or she was sure she'd break into a million pieces. Piotr's touch made her movements slow and languorous, almost drowsy; Wendy felt as if she was sliding into sweet slumber, a pleasant and hazy edge of sleep. In a half-dream, Wendy stood and drifted over to a tree, supporting her weight against its comforting bulk while Piotr stood before her, bathed in the sunlight of his ghostly world.
“Slow,” Piotr murmured, as if reminding himself. “Slow touching.”
“Slow…is…good.” Wendy leaned into his touch like a plant seeking the sunlight and he chuckled, deep and low, a rumble in his chest that Wendy felt in her fingertips. With her free hand she traced the curve of his ear, marveling at the faint freckles she could see smattering across his nose. He seemed so real, so solid. Experimentally she thumbed his earlobe, flicking her nail quickly across it, but her rapid touch slid through him, meeting only air. Slowly she tried again and he hissed through his teeth, eyes momentarily closing at her tou
ch.
“What made you change your mind?” she asked. “About me?”
“I don't know, exactly.” Laughter rumbled beneath her hand as she pressed her palm to his chest. “Specs, I suppose. He wasn't scared of you at all, was he?”
“No.” Wendy ran her thumb across his collarbone. “Shades aren't either. They're thrilled to see me coming now.”
“It's a mercy, what you do. Sending him home, letting Specs…Brian, letting Brian go home to be with his real family.” Piotr dipped his head down, ran the tip of his nose across the curve of her cheek, his lips brushing her skin in a cool sweep. “I see that now. And I'm sorry. About what I said before.”
“Forgiven,” Wendy whispered. “No more fighting?”
“No more,” Piotr agreed fervently and then he whispered something, too fast and low for her to make it out, but the cadence of the words was strange, choked at the end. Pulse thrumming through her veins, Wendy licked her lips and tried to control herself.
“Wh-what did you say?” It came out a whisper.
“Oh, bozhe, kak ya schastliv,” he repeated. “It is an endearment.” His fingers traced a tingling arc across her forehead and down her temples, nails scraping lightly against the angle of her jaw. He lit momentarily on a loose curl and wound it around his finger. “It roughly translates to ‘Oh, God, how happy I am.’”
His palm, deliciously cool and subtly soft, skimmed lightly over her collarbone, down the side laces of her corset, and settled lightly in the curve of her waist. He tugged her forward and Wendy went willingly into the circle of his arms.
“Are you happy? Really?” Wendy closed her eyes and relaxed into the embrace, letting him support her weight. Her head tilted back and she felt the weight of her hair slide across her shoulders, falling behind her. His breath stirred the curls at her forehead as he pressed his lips first to one temple and then to the other. Her skin buzzed faintly at the touch, like a slight current was running through her flesh, and she trembled. His lips traced the outer curve of her cheekbone.
“Happier than I've ever been. You are like a dream to me, like something I could only imagine.” Then he was kissing her. “You are my home.”
Once, when she was seven, Wendy watched lightning strike a tree. It speared down three times in a row, so white-hot that the world was washed of color for hours afterward; the smell of ozone stung for twice as long. The immense crack of the thunderclap cocooned her in silky silence; the static in the very air raised every hair on her body.
This was like kissing lightning.
The thrum of his fingertips was nothing compared to the persistent press of his hands cupping her neck, her jaw, her hip. The pressure of his lips, first light and then firmer, left her gasping. They existed in their own bubble of near-silence, punctuated only by ragged breaths and the hush of fingers dragging against fabric. Wendy groaned when he buried his face in her neck; she was dangerously lightheaded, gasping for air.
At first, when he finally pulled away, Wendy thought it was the mind-blowing kiss that left them both pale and shaking. And then she realized that she could barely stand.
“I…don't…”
The grass swirled up to meet her.
When she came to, she found Piotr kneeling beside her, gently patting her face and hands. The pressure from his fingers was different—warmer, stronger—and his face was flushed.
“What happened?”
“Kissing me is bad for your health,” Piotr replied gravely, gently prodding her body in various places, looking for breaks. “I tried to catch you but my arms slid right through you.” He shook his head. “Prastee meenya pozhalosta, I'm so sorry. How is your arm?”
Wendy could see the panic in his eyes and she took his hand, gently squeezing it. “It's throbbing a little, but I'll live. What are you sorry for? You didn't know this would happen.” She chuckled. “That was some kiss, though.”
“Amazing as it was, no kiss is worth hurting you.” He stroked the hair away from her face, eyes dark with panic. Wendy realized he was shaking. “I was afraid that I had killed you. After Specs…”
“But you didn't.” Wendy struggled to sit up, ignoring the pressure on her shoulders where he tried to press down to keep her laying still. It was harder to do than before, but she was able to rest on her elbows and scoot until she was leaning against the tree for support. She was somewhat unnerved by exactly how much support she needed.
“I drained you.” Piotr held up his free hand. “Like you were one of the Lost. It's almost exactly the same. Everything around me is brighter, more colorful.” He pressed his hand against the tree and, after a moment, slowly pushed his fingertips through the wood. “It is harder for me to phase, too.” He frowned and his fingers clenched together in her grip. “How do you feel?”
“Lightheaded,” she replied honestly, stroking his hand until the tension eased and his fingers relaxed. “Shaky. Like I just spent two hours riding the Flight Deck at Great America, or maybe the Teacups. Everything is still spinning a little.” She squeezed his hand, loving the supple-cool texture of it. “I'll get over it, though. Promise. And we'll be more careful next time.”
“Next time?” Piotr frowned. “I do not know how I feel about a next time. You are hurt…”
“Shhh,” she whispered. “I'm fine. Besides, if you think I'm letting you off the hook that easily, you've got another thing coming.” Wendy had lost him once already, and she wasn't sure her heart could take another beating like before. It was worth risking a little temporary pain to keep him near. She ran her fingers through his hair, thrilling inside at the touch. He even felt more real under her hands. Solid, almost. Perhaps him taking a little of her energy had been a good thing after all.
“I do not know—”
Viper-fast, Wendy snatched his hand and pressed it against her ribcage, where he could feel the rapid thump of her heart. Her lips parted and she leaned forward, barely brushing his with the faintest, sweetest kiss. Under his palm, her heartbeat trebled and he felt his heart answer, the electric thrumming between them spiraling into a singing haze of sensation and feeling.
She drew back, gasping raggedly, and color returned to her cheeks in a high, pink flush. “The point is,” she whispered, “that, potential risks or not, I've never felt anything like that before.” She eyed him critically. “You haven't either. Don't deny it.”
He chuckled brokenly. “Of course not. This is…intense. Your point being?”
“This thing, whatever it is between us, it's new and it's special, and I'm not going to let you just walk away from it. From us. Not again.”
Wendy slid forward and cupped his face, running her thumb over his lower lip. Part of her knew that doing this, chasing after those electric kisses, was courting death, but she felt fearless and wild, unbreakably young. After all, she was the Lightbringer and death had to answer to her, not the other way around. At least, not yet. For now, she was untouchable. “Come on, Piotr. ‘Happier than you've ever been,’ remember? I'm your home? This thing we have is like a dream?”
“Possible nightmare,” he replied, but his tone was weak. Wendy knew that Piotr agreed with her. There was something about the way the world seemed to shift on its very foundation when they were together, the way the universe had neatly twisted until all there was for Piotr was Wendy, and Wendy for Piotr.
“Fine,” he murmured, his lips pressing against her temple, “I will go along with this insanity. For you, and because I am a selfish idiot who can't bear to give you up. But there must be guidelines.”
“Guidelines. Uh huh.” Delighted with this turn of events, Wendy leaned forward and her warm lips traced fire down his jaw.
His voice cracked. “Limits. Rules.”
“Limits, sure thing,” she agreed, threading her fingers through his as she slowly kissed down his neck. “Rules. Gotcha.”
“Stop that,” he said, exasperated. Wendy leaned back against the tree and eyed him under the fall of her lashes. All at once Piotr looked faintly une
asy; it was like a rabbit being watched by a wolf. “You are…impossible.”
Wendy gave him a twinkling smile. “Oh really? I hadn't noticed.”
“Hah-hah. I mean my words, Wendy.” Piotr scooted away, putting even more space between them so that he wouldn't be tempted to let her draw him in again. Firmly, he shook his head. “Rules.”
“Piotr, you wouldn't hurt me.”
“I might,” he stressed. “I might. Or you might forget yourself and accidentally reap me. Either one of us could easily hurt the other. So…rules.” Piotr watched her warily. “Okay? Yes?”
“Fine,” Wendy huffed and crossed her arms across her chest, pouting. “Yay, rules.”
He was at her side in a moment, gathering her into his arms and hugging her tight. “This is for both of us, love.” He rubbed his chin against the top of her head. “I would die a thousand deaths to kiss you and never stop. But I will not hurt you if I can help it, Wendy. Let me do this. For us.”
“I know,” Wendy grumbled, but her arms snuck out and wrapped loosely around his waist. Piotr smiled and pressed a tender kiss on the top of her head. “So what's got you so agitated? It can't just be the kiss.”
“Specs just reached inside and—” Piotr faltered. She could see that he was still affected by what he had seen; unable to describe it. “He is…was a Lost. Promise me you'll avoid them for a time.”
“I'm sure it was a one time thing,” she mumbled, but her body tensed with the remembered pain.
“Da, possibly, but maybe not. What about your mother?” He seemed to be about to say something, but he stopped himself, going quiet and just watching her for a few long seconds.
“This time with you is too short,” he said instead, glancing at the sky. The day was fading into twilight and the first stars were beginning to glimmer in the sky above. “What time is it?”
Grimacing, Wendy checked her watch. “Late. I should get back.”
“Of course.” Piotr looked disappointed. Wendy was, too, but unlike him, she had a life to live and responsibilities to keep. “I should start back to the pier anyway,” he said. “I have to tell the others what happened and what we discovered.” He turned to go but she stopped him, wrapping her hand around his upper arm.
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