Fragile Remedy

by Maria Ingrande Mora

  Worry fluttered through Nate. He shifted, trying to roll onto his back to look at them. When he tried to speak, a low moan rumbled in his chest.

  The smoke. Can’t you smell it?

  “Don’t listen to him. The gang is okay,” Reed said. “We left the bank before it burned. It’ll be okay.”

  “Pix,” Nate whispered.

  “She’s safe. I promise. They’re all safe.”

  “I don’t see the need to lie to him,” Alden said. “The shop is dead today. When the fiends don’t come out, it’s bad.”

  “Tell me,” Nate said hoarsely.

  “Sparks and Brick are hiding down the street. They’re safe. Pixel’s asleep with Fran. I promise.” Reed sighed. “But it’s getting rough out there. There’s not enough food. People are building barges and trying to sail across the sludge-channel to the city.”

  “They’ll find a rude welcome,” Alden said.

  “This can’t last forever,” Reed said. “Gathos City needs the trains back in service.”

  Swept away by pain, unable to keep his focus steady on what they were saying, Nate closed his eyes. His breath caught in his chest with a bubbly hiss.

  “Aren’t there other things that can help him?” Reed asked, whispering now.

  “Anything strong enough to help him would kill him. You could try herbs, but I don’t have anything like that here.”

  “There were a few growers at the bank, but it’s nothing but steel and ash now. They already looted the herbalist’s place. I doubt I could find anything quickly.”

  Alden sighed. “I’ll boil water. The steam might help him breathe. If the riots get any rougher, we’ve only got a few days left here. I’ve got to find shelter for my grandmother.”

  “The Servants might take her,” Reed said.

  “I’m not in the market for a caregiver, Reed. We’re both invested in this mess—I recognize that. But you keep your cute little nose to yourself and let me mind my own business.”

  “You should keep your thoughts to yourself if you’re not trying to have a conversation.”

  Alden snorted. “Any more advice?”

  “No,” Reed said.

  Nate tried to open his eyes, but his lids were gummy and heavy. He tried to hear Alden over the sound of his own labored breaths.

  “I can’t hide him from them much longer. They’re getting too bold.”

  “The A-Vols?” Reed asked.

  Nate pictured the furrow at his brow and the way it made him look younger.

  Alden’s answer came a beat too late. “Yes, who else?”

  It was quiet for a while. Nate woke with a soft whimper as Alden placed a steaming, wet cloth on his chest.

  “Easy.” Alden rubbed Nate’s chest slowly. “Go back to sleep.”

  Time passed, but Nate couldn’t measure it no matter how hard he grasped for the end of the wire. It was easier to stop. To sleep.

  Someone was speaking to him.

  He fought to open his eyes, but it was too hard to coax his lids up. He’d never known exhaustion like this. The stillness beckoned, and it was warm and gentle. Heavy.

  Reed’s fingers were fire against Nate’s throat.

  Alden was quiet, raw. “There may be a way to get him Remedy,” he said. “But you’re not going to like it.”

  Their voices drifted away, heated—too far above the surface of Nate’s awareness for him to understand. The ground was opening up below him, pulling him deep into the dirt and the sludge. It was like Fran said. He’d be bones soon, drifting to the Mainland.

  Liquid spilled between his lips, and he swallowed involuntarily, throat cooling. It burned into his chest, hot and cold at once. The heaviness lifted like smog before a storm front.

  He opened his eyes.

  “Nate.” Reed’s hand brushed his face, pushed his hair back.

  The room swam into focus. Alden hung back, fingers twisted in his robe. He watched Nate, his eyes darker than Nate had ever seen, and his hair was tangled. Alden sucked in a deep breath when their eyes met. Pain crossed his face, and he looked away.

  Something’s wrong.

  Reed held him up and helped him drink. He struggled to swallow the warm water, and he lost sight of Alden.

  The Remedy cleared Nate’s head enough to string his thoughts together. “What are you fighting about?”

  “We aren’t fighting.” Reed glanced aside. “But I don’t trust him. And I definitely don’t trust his friends.”

  “What friends?” Nate asked.

  Alden doesn’t have any friends.

  “Associates. Contacts. Call them what you will.” Alden returned to Nate’s line of sight, his arms crossed, his mouth an unhappy twist. He plucked at his sleeve, shifting from foot to foot, looking everywhere but directly at Nate. “I can’t help you. I tried.” His chest heaved. “They can.”

  “No.” Reed’s words growled out. “I don’t—”

  “Then watch him die!” Alden shouted. He took a ragged breath and quieted. “But I won’t. Not when there’s a way.”

  Reed was squeezing Nate too hard. “Why haven’t you mentioned your friends before?”

  Something changed in Alden’s eyes, desperation hardening to an icy sheen that made Nate want to look away. “You had a taste, Reed. You tell me.” He bent over them, fingers twisted into white knots, his voice deadly soft. “Would you share?”

  Nate thudded into the cushions as Reed sprang up, growling and pushing Alden into his desk. Papers scattered, and a glass jar fell with an ugly crack—and Alden was laughing, Reed’s hands twisted into his robe. “Not all of us are as altruistic as you are. What did you think I wanted with him?”

  He’s lying.

  It still cut, pain blossoming behind Nate’s ribs. He caught his breath, wheezing through the hurt.

  Isn’t he?

  Whatever had driven Alden to fear and poison didn’t matter. Nate didn’t want to die, not like this—helpless and listening to the two of them bicker like gulls.

  “Take me,” he said.

  Reed released Alden with a shove and turned, stricken. “Nate. No.”

  “It’s not up to you.” The stillness hung over Nate, cold and so close. He struggled onto his elbows. “I need your help. Alden won’t do it.” He hadn’t traveled more than twenty paces from his shop in all the years Nate had known him.

  Alden flinched. “It’s not—”

  “You saved my life,” Reed said to Nate. “I owe you the same. But I don’t trust him.”

  The Remedy wasn’t sticking. Nate could already feel the brief wave of strength leaving him, and there was nothing left, no more respite from the pain closing in on him. His voice wavered. “Reed, promise me.”

  “All right.” Reed sank to a crouch and pushed Nate’s hair out of his eyes. “Let’s get Pixel and go.”

  “You can’t take Pixel there.” Alden rushed forward, reaching for Nate. “She can’t go!”

  Reed drew his shoulders back. “I’m not leaving Pixel with you!” he shouted.

  Alden went rigid, and a flush lit his cheeks, splotchy, as if Reed had slapped him. “I didn’t ask you to. She can’t stay here.”

  Frowning, Nate tried to catch Alden’s eye. He was missing something in the strange quiet of Alden’s words, in the way he seemed to be shrinking, all the anger drained from him.

  Reed’s voice softened as if he could see it too. “Brick and Sparks will keep her safe. We’ve always kept her safe.”

  Turning away, Alden steadied himself with a hand against his desk. “Of course.”

  The room swooped, and Nate cried out at the sense of suddenly falling—only to realize he was being lifted up into Reed’s arms. Carried like a child.

  Alden was always so dramatic, wrapping his words in finery. This time, his voice didn’t bite. “You can’t
come back here,” he said, weary. “Do you understand?”

  Reed carried Nate past Alden through the front room, where Pixel launched at them, crying and questioning Reed too quickly for Nate to understand. The chimes at the door rang out. It happened so fast that Nate couldn’t ask after Fran, ask where they were going—what he’d made Reed promise to do. His vision went spotty, and his grip loosened.

  The last thing Nate saw, before he didn’t see anything at all, was Alden bracing himself in the doorway of his shop, black hair curtaining his face like a veil.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Nate! Stay awake, okay? Stay awake!”

  Nate bobbed like trash floating in the sludge-channel, up and down on unseen waves. He struggled to get away from whatever moved him with sickening lurches.

  Reed rumbled against his skin, comforting. “Hold still, Nate.”

  Nate forced his eyes open. Reed was carrying him along a quiet side street he didn’t recognize.

  He tried to ask where they were going, but the words came out as a low groan. It was nearly sundown, and garbage and patches of blood cluttered the empty street.

  “What happened?” Nate managed to croak.

  “More fighting. More fires.” Reed shuddered and squeezed Nate.

  Upon closer look, some of the garbage wasn’t garbage at all. Bodies, crumpled and bloodied, lay in the street.

  Pixel skipped alongside them, hopping over the worst piles of trash. Nate watched with horror as she skipped over the splayed legs of a corpse. The glass bead necklace Alden had given her clicked against the silver pendant from Reed, and she hummed to herself absently.

  “Alden said . . . not Pixel. Not supposed to come.”

  “It’s too rough out here,” Brick said, winded. “Have to stay together.”

  “We couldn’t move until the riot cleared,” Reed said. “There’s no more time to find her a safe place to hide.”

  Every wheezing breath felt like drowning. Nate coughed out a weak sound of frustration and pain, hating being carried. His head spun. Fear skittered through his veins with each sluggish beat of his heart. He let out a low whimper.

  What would the stillness feel like?

  “Reed.” I’m scared.

  Reed shifted Nate’s weight. “Just a little longer.”

  “Where’s Sparks?”

  “She’s tailing us to make sure no one else is,” Brick said.

  “We’re going to see Alden’s friends,” Pixel said, staying close to Nate and Reed while Brick forged ahead, kicking refuse out of the way.

  “No.” The word was a moan. “Pixel. Not safe.”

  “Nothing is safe. I’m not letting her out of my sight.” Reed dodged around smoldering trash and coughed as the smoke washed over them. When he cleared his throat, he was steady again. Deep and sure. “Be still, Nate. Don’t waste your breath.”

  Too tired to be stung by Reed’s admonishing tone, Nate tucked his face against Reed’s neck. They wouldn’t be out here on the street if it weren’t for him. They’d be holed up safe somewhere. Reed always knew where to hide—knew hiding was the safest, smartest thing to do.

  Nate’s eyes closed on their own. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

  “Hey, now,” Brick said, louder. “Stay awake.”

  Reed gave Nate a light shake and walked faster. “Nate. Don’t go to sleep.”

  “How long?” Nate meant to ask, “How long was I out?” But his voice wouldn’t work. He floated, losing track of the steady beat of Reed’s footsteps.

  “Only a little while.” Reed sounded pained. “We gave you the last of that stuff Alden had, remember? It doesn’t seem like it’s helping very much.”

  A nearby explosion shook the ground, and Reed stumbled, dropping Nate to his feet beside him as he caught his balance. Pixel and Brick crowded close, and Brick slung her strong arms around Nate to keep him on his feet. For a long second, Nate wondered if this was it—if they’d die huddled together.

  Because of me.

  “We’re okay,” Reed said raggedly. He hefted Nate back up. “Run!”

  Brick and Pixel dashed across the street, away from the direction of the explosion. Reed’s pulse beat hard against Nate.

  “What if Alden’s friends are all blasted up?” Pixel asked, sniffling.

  Nate’s heart sank at the undercurrent of hope. He wanted to fight, to struggle out of Reed’s arms and explain that no one Alden knew would do anything kind without wanting something in return. It was a risk he was willing to take—but not something he’d gamble Pixel’s safety on.

  His voice caught in his throat, a broken moan.

  “You want to know a secret?” Reed asked.

  Pixel sniffled. “I can keep them. Ask Nate.”

  Reed laughed, winded. “Alden gave us directions to a basement. It’ll be safe down there.”

  “I don’t like basements.” Pixel grimaced. “They’re full of rats and pee.”

  “Hopefully not this one. Come on.” Brick tugged Pixel along and cast Reed a worried look over her head. She caught Nate watching her and gave him a grim smile.

  They ducked into a shadowed alcove. A group ran by with torches that reeked of gasolex. Nate couldn’t tell if they were running from something or not, but their yells echoed with merriment—a distorted sound like a party gone sour.

  The last sprint was the shortest—or Nate passed out. The next thing he knew, Reed was carrying him down stairs lit by bright lights fastened to the walls. Squinting at the glow, he admired the tinkering he saw. Clean installations with no wires hanging down. Someone knew what they were doing.

  “We need help!” Brick called out, knocking on a steel door on thick hinges. It reminded Nate of something, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen the gleaming metal before.

  A ticker affixed to the wall chirped at them: Identify yourself.

  “I told you we needed a name,” Pixel mumbled. “Tell them it’s the Alley Cats.”

  Brick’s cheeks went scarlet. For a moment, Nate thought she was going to laugh.

  “We were sent by Alden!” Reed tripped over the name, as if it pained him to speak it. “He said you would be able to help a GEM.” He went hoarse. “He’s sick.”

  When the door opened, Nate moaned quietly, overcome by the sweet, comforting scent of honey. If this was dying, he’d go to sleep unafraid.

  A woman stood in the doorway, filling the frame with her tall, strong form. She looked the way Nate imagined the Old Gods, beautiful and frightening—pale skin smooth, and hair shaved down to brown stubble. There was something familiar about her eyes, like he’d seen them before. “My name is Agatha.”

  Pixel pushed between Brick and Reed, brushing by Nate’s leg. She squirmed out of Reed’s grip and stepped up to Agatha. “You’re a GEM.”

  Agatha laughed a deep, lovely sound. “I believe you are too, little one. Bring your sick friend inside. It looks like you’d better hurry.”

  The air inside the basement tasted stuffy, but it didn’t smell like gasolex and violence. Scent memories threaded through Nate’s awareness—flashes of polished metal and fear.

  On one wall, dark-green plants grew under glaring lights. Even from the middle of the room, Nate could feel the heat they generated. It was more green than he’d ever seen in the Withers. If he hadn’t been vomiting into a pail, he would have gone to touch them and smell them and taste them. Instead, he retched, no longer able to control the sounds that sobbed out of him.

  As Nate coughed and tried to breathe, Agatha hunched over a polished metal workbench, decanting pale liquid like a chem fiend, but clear-eyed and steady-handed.

  Nate slipped in and out of consciousness. It was like trying to see at night with a faulty crank-light. He reached his hand out, afraid of falling.

  Reed.

  “Please hurry,” someone said.
“Please.”

  Nate’s awareness strobed. Pixel in the corner on a red couch, crying with a piece of bread in her hands. Brick at Nate’s shoulder, pinning him down on a tabletop as his body moved on its own, lost in convulsions. Reed’s face in front of Nate’s, saying things Nate couldn’t understand over the sound of his own senseless cries. His boots thumped at the table with every violent jerk.

  Where are my tools?

  They couldn’t move again without his tools.

  Reed cupped Nate’s jaw fiercely as Agatha hurried over with a liquid that splashed into Nate’s mouth with a familiar, sharp taste. He swallowed, coughed, and swallowed more as she continued to pour it down his throat.

  The sounds in the room slowly cleared. Nate heard Pixel’s muffled sobs and Reed at his ear, wet and hoarse. “Gods, Nate.”

  “I’m okay,” Nate exhaled.

  Agatha peered over him, her eyes pale-brown. He knew them. “You were nearly too far gone,” she said, faintly accusing.

  Brick hung back, red tangles matted against her skin and sweat running down her pale face like tears. “No more screaming.” Without another word, she walked to the couch and sat heavily beside Pixel.

  Nate tried to twist his thoughts back together. Alden had warned them not to bring Pixel here, but he didn’t know why it mattered so much. And he didn’t know why Agatha was cross with him for being sick. He wanted her to be fond of him, but it felt like the memory of a longing. Nothing made sense, so he focused on what he knew. “You make Remedy,” he said to her.

  She grasped Nate’s wrist, fingers gentle at his pulse point. “Yes.”

  Nate watched her face and saw fine lines around her eyes he’d missed before. “Is that how you’re so old?”

  GEMs didn’t get old. He’d known that since he was a child, when Bernice had told him he’d never become like her, frail and weathered, with a lifetime of memories and knowledge.

  “Yes,” Agatha said with a rueful, severe laugh. She helped him sit up, her grip strong and sure. “That is how I’ve survived for this long.”

  Nate ached like one of his gutted tickers, broken apart and spread across a clean worktable. But it was a sore kind of hurt, not the mind-numbing agony from before.