Fragile Remedy

by Maria Ingrande Mora

  Reed’s tense expression softened to a twitch of a smile.

  “How will she get her happy ending now?” Alden asked.

  “Your grandmother?” Reed adjusted his grip on Alden and cast Nate a concerned look.

  Alden’s voice went icy. “My grandmother is dead.”

  “Pixel,” Nate explained, remembering a day that felt like a year ago, though it couldn’t have been much longer than a few weeks. Alden had told him that hope was a fragile thing, but here they were with nothing left but hope.

  “I never would have fed from her.” Alden stumbled and caught himself with a low, breathless curse.

  Nate wanted to believe him, but the memory of the fiends in Agatha’s basement was too fresh. They’d all been regular people once. People who’d made choices—good and bad. Chem had wrenched those choices out of their hands.

  “This is our stop,” Reed said.

  Nate went down the stairs first, watching Alden closely as he shuffled down the steps, swaying and nearly stumbling to his knees. Reed caught him and met Nate’s gaze in silent assurance that he wasn’t going to let him fall.

  Whether Alden liked it or not, Reed had made him part of the gang when he’d led him out of the shop.

  But even with the help, Alden wasn’t going to make it much farther.

  They pressed on silently. If Nate gave his fears a name, grief would swallow him up.

  Down on the street level, bin-fires cast a warm glow. On this block, every street ran slightly downhill, affording a view of Gathos City in the distance across the channel. It glittered, each tower radiant with more lights than the Withers had altogether.

  The gull-catcher was an old man, blind in one eye and hard of hearing. He sold the fresh carcasses from his shop on the street level and spent every morning up on the roof, setting traps and coaxing gulls with gruel made of bug guts and water from the waste trenches. Nate had never been able to bring himself to buy the fresh meat, to shake the thought of the man’s bare hands stirring piss and plucking gulls in the same morning.

  But he sold him wire to set his traps every once in a while, and the old man had taken kindly to Nate and listened to stories about his gang. Kindly enough to ignore the girls on his back stoop, tucked behind rows and rows of bones drying on twine.

  Pixel dashed out from where they were hidden and threw her arms out to hug Alden. Nate caught her at the last minute with his good arm and swung her away before she could hurt him. Alden favored his middle more and more with every step.

  Sparks followed her, gesturing to the shadowed form of Brick and what appeared to be a struggling Juniper. Her bandana was gone but to Nate’s relief, she appeared unhurt. “She woke up and wouldn’t stop fussing. Brick gagged her. Didn’t have to tie her up. She’s weak as a babe.” She saw Alden, and her mouth thinned to a frown.

  Nate held Pixel close. She peered up at Alden, her small eyebrows furrowed. “Alden. Are you sick?”

  He stared at her for a long moment, as if he didn’t recognize her. A faint, hazy smile tugged at his lips. “A touch, princess. I need to sleep.”

  “I know a sick-den near here,” Sparks said. “Ivy House. I went there when I was kicking chem. It’s like a med clinic, but the Servants don’t care if you’re registered. And they take the dying.” She looked away from Alden quickly. “I mean . . . people hurt real bad.”

  Alden didn’t answer. His eyes had fluttered closed, and he listed against Reed.

  “They’re not full anymore?” Brick asked.

  Nate’s breath sucked in, afraid to hope for a way to get Alden help. “After the wreck, all the sick-dens were turning people away.”

  Sparks scratched at her neck. “I don’t know. Only one way to find out.”

  “All right.” Reed crouched and hefted Alden into his arms.

  Alden went limp. The blood on his feet was black in the dim light. Nate wanted to cover him in blankets, hide him so no one could see the bruises and the angles of his bones.

  “Why are you doing this?” Nate asked softly, the question only for Reed.

  Reed turned his green eyes on Nate. Soft, inscrutable pain flashed there before he blinked it away and grimaced with the strain of carrying Alden. “Because he’s your friend.”

  Nate’s fidgeting fingers ran over each raw circle at his wrists. The rain had washed the worst of the blood away, but the flesh was wet and ruined to his touch. His shoulder throbbed with hot, determined pain, and it pulled him away from the tangled rush of confusion and warmth Reed made him feel.

  He turned to Sparks. “Show us the way.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Sparks led them to a narrow street lined with brownstones in the neighborhood Nate had lived in with Bernice. Bin-fires in front of every house cast a faint glow. The group climbed stairs to a burned-wood sign on the door that read “Ivy House.” Nate smiled with a twinge of affection. His mother would have liked that name. But there were no creeping vines here, only a crumbling brick stoop.

  It was the kind of quiet street the gang had avoided when scavenging. These were homes crammed full of families relying on subsidies from the workhouses. It was a relatively safe area, but Nate glanced over his shoulder. He couldn’t shake the sense that someone was following them, despite Sparks’s careful watch.

  Children played on the street a few doors down, pushing a ball around with plastic sticks. Pixel watched them longingly.

  “Sorry, Pix. You have to come in with us,” Nate said. He didn’t want to frighten her, so he left it at that.

  “Sickness in there,” a woman said from the stoop next door. She sat barefoot, nursing a sleeping toddler wrapped in a yellow sheet. Her gaze settled on Alden, who sagged between Sparks and Reed. “The stillness calling?”

  “I don’t know. They’ll take him?” Reed asked.

  She shrugged. “That’s what they say. Long as they stay in there, I don’t much care.” She frowned at Juniper, who still wore Sparks’s bandana—across her mouth. “What’s that all about?”

  “Addled,” Sparks said. “Took a handful of chem.”

  “More than a handful, I’d wager,” Brick added.

  After a moment of silence, the woman laughed, startling the toddler—who squawked at her breast until she coaxed it to latch on again. “That’ll scramble somebody up.” She sobered. “Hope it ends quickly for that one. Gods watch him.”

  “Thank you,” Reed said. They hung back as Nate went to the door and knocked, nerves sharp. The last time they’d gone looking for help, they’d ended up in the Breakers’ hands.

  A small peephole slid open.

  “Why have you come here?” a soft voice asked.

  “Our friend needs help,” Nate said.

  “Do you vow to enter peacefully?”

  It didn’t seem like much of a safeguard. Nate exchanged looks with Reed, who shrugged, fit to fall over where he stood, shouldering most of Alden’s weight.

  “Yes, we do. And I’m a Tinkerer. I’d be happy to be of service.”

  The door opened slightly, and a tall, thin figure peered out at them. He wore glasses with a thin crack down one lens, and his young, pale face was mottled with scars. Dingy, long robes marked him as a Servant.

  “Is everyone else healthy?” he asked, his voice softer than Nate expected. He couldn’t have been any older than Reed.

  The question hit Nate like a rush of icy cold water. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he’d worried about hiding his sickness from Reed. “Yes.”

  The boy gave them a wry smile. “Are you sure? You all look a bit worse for wear.”

  “We could use shelter if you have any,” Reed said. “But no one is sick but him.”

  “I would imagine not. All of you look very young,” he said, as if unaware of his own age. He held the door open. “I’m James, a Servant of the Old Gods. And this is Ivy Hou
se. Bring him in.”

  As Sparks passed through the door, they exchanged a look that left Sparks ducking her head and smiling. Nate wondered if he imagined that James’s hand brushed against hers ever so briefly.

  Reed gave James a quick handshake and introduced himself. “It’s quiet here. You didn’t have any violence?”

  “There was a fire down the street last night, but fortunately none of the damage on this block was serious,” James said.

  “We’re not bringing trouble,” Reed said. “You have my word.”

  Juniper made a muffled sound and elbowed Brick, who held her wrists together easily with one hand. Blood oozed from the bite at her shoulder, and the stain of it ran down the front of her dress like a spill.

  James arched his brow delicately. “Is she here of her own volition?”

  Brick rolled her eyes and tugged the bandana out of Juniper’s mouth. “You want to run off, go ahead,” she said. “Plenty of nice people out here would welcome you right into their homes, I’m sure.”

  Juniper opened her mouth, glared, and shut it again. “I’ll stay,” she mumbled.

  James gave them a long look and clasped his hands together. “Well! Please shut the door behind you, and let’s take a look at your friend.”

  Nate walked inside in a daze and pulled the door closed. He blinked to adjust to the dim light.

  The dusty, wet smell of the apartment reminded Nate of Bernice’s. This had been one of the wealthier neighborhoods in Winter Heights half a century ago. Faded floral wallpaper clung to the walls in patches. A chipped chair rail ran the length of the long hallway. The floors were made of real wood, and they were scarred with deep gouges and scuffmarks.

  Nate caught up to the others as they passed several closed doors. Someone coughed wretchedly behind one, and Sparks murmured, “Gods watch us.”

  “You’re in charge here?” Brick asked, dubious.

  “Tonight, I am.” He seemed to realize what she’d meant and let out a soft, awkward laugh. “I’ve been here for two years, if you’re worried about that.”

  At the end of the hall, their quietly shuffling group reached an open living room. Nate hadn’t seen so much furniture since he’d left Bernice’s. The chairs and couches were decades old and drooping and frayed, but they looked impossibly comfortable. A single candle in a glass cylinder lit the room. The soft light made everything pretty. It was paradise.

  Only Juniper looked unimpressed.

  “We don’t have electricity at the moment,” James said. He noticed Nate’s quick glance and shook his head. “No one on the block does.”

  “Is there somewhere we can put him down?” Sparks asked.

  “Yes, of course.” James smiled, pushing up his glasses, and dragged a thin pallet bed from under the couch to the middle of the room. “We don’t have any other rooms free, but you may rest here for now.”

  Reed and Sparks eased Alden onto the low bed. He didn’t stir. Nate sank beside him as James covered him with a dingy sheet.

  Pixel climbed onto one of the couches, curling up, and closed her eyes. Nate couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen her sleep. Brick led Juniper to a chair in the corner. Juniper’s legs gave out, and Brick scooped her up and sat her down, more careful than Nate had ever seen her be with anyone but Pixel.

  James handed Juniper a small cloth. “For your shoulder. Staunch the wound until it stops bleeding.”

  She pressed the cloth to her shoulder and squinted at him, her brow knit with a little frown.

  “Nate’s hurt too.” Sparks gave him a gentle push toward James and spoke to him with an easy familiarity. “Not that he’d tell you.”

  James glanced at him. “May I?”

  Nate extended his arms and studied Alden while James shone a crank-light on the throbbing wounds at his wrists. Alden’s lips were pale, and his skin had gone ashen. He’d always been thin, but it was worse now—his cheekbones too sharp and the skin around his eyes papery. Even gut-stabbed and bleeding out, Reed hadn’t looked this bad.

  “You and the girl need salve and bandages. If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll retrieve them,” James said.

  Nate squinted in the dark, finding Brick already snoring with her mouth wide open. He wondered how long they’d been running since they left the bank, never sure where they’d find a place to stop and close their eyes. Sparks had disappeared to somewhere else in the house. Juniper curled up on the chair, very still but awake. She clutched her shoulder, and her pale eyes watched him from beneath a fall of hair. She wasn’t restrained in any way, but by the way she’d stumbled and dragged her feet, she wasn’t getting far if she tried. They’d have to figure out what to do with her later.

  Legs trembling, Nate sank to a crouch beside Alden’s bed. He touched Alden’s hair. The rain and wind had blown it to a snarled mess.

  Reed sat on the floor on the other side of the bed. “Maybe the Servants will have something to help him,” he offered.

  It was a wish, and nothing more. The truth buzzed like an insect in Nate’s ear. He rearranged the sheet over Alden, his knuckles brushing against Alden’s chest where his robe hung open. “He’s cold. He feels like stone.”

  Alden’s labored breath made a low, unsettling sound.

  Nate’s fingers trembled until he curled them into fists. “He needs his hairbrush.” Alden couldn’t die like this, not with his hair a mess. Not when he’d treasured it, worn it like finery around his shoulders.

  Reed said nothing.

  James came over with a small jug of water and a basket. “I’m afraid this is all I can spare. You’ll have to share it.”

  Reed took the jug and woke the girls up to distribute water quietly, leaving James and Nate at Alden’s bed beneath a broken pendant light that cast a jagged shadow in the candlelight.

  James crouched beside Alden and gave Nate a knowing look. “He isn’t simply sick, is he?”

  Nate shook his head.

  “Was he beaten?”

  Nate’s throat clenched as he tried not to picture that. “Yes.”

  James lowered the sheet and carefully opened Alden’s robe. Nate gasped. Deep-purple bruises mottled Alden’s belly. The skin had gone hard and shiny in places.

  “Gods,” Nate whispered. He pressed his hand to his middle absently, struck by how much pain Alden must have been in as he’d staggered around his shop, feral and feverish.

  “He’s bleeding inside,” James said. He raised the sheet and tucked it around Alden’s thin shoulders. “The stillness will come in a day or so. I’m sorry.”

  Nate felt like James had punched him in the chest. He’d expected a long examination, like his careful dissection of broken tickers. “Is he going to wake up?”

  “He may or may not. There’s no telling the state he’ll be in.” James took Nate’s hands, one after the other, quickly coating the worst of the cuts on his wrists with a sticky salve. He wrapped them with soft, clean cloth. “Speak to him calmly and tell him that you’re close by. That’s the most any of us can hope for in the end.”

  “You’re not staying?” Nate asked, panic rising in his throat.

  James gave him a gentle smile and adjusted his glasses. “The last few days have been unkind to the Withers. We nearly have a full house tonight and less help than usual. Another den nearby was lost in a fire, and we’ve been helping them set up a temporary shelter.”

  Nate nodded, trying to follow along. It didn’t make sense. And it didn’t matter. Not anymore.

  “If I get more help, I’ll send them by to check on him,” James said, approaching Juniper carefully—as if he expected her to take off running. He held his hands out and waited for her to nod before he coated the bite on her shoulder with the same salve. “My advice is to sleep while you can in case he wakes up in a state.”

  “Wait—there’s one more thing.” Nate rubbed his palms at
his face, willing his thoughts to unsnarl. His body screamed with exhaustion. He wanted so badly to close his eyes with Alden and forget about this nightmare. “Does anyone here have a hairbrush?”

  James gathered his salves. “Yes. I believe so. I’ll bring it in after I finish my rounds,” he said, soft and kind.

  Nate willed back tears, relieved that James didn’t question his odd request. He couldn’t bear to explain why it meant so much to him. All he could see was Alden with that brush in his hand, holding it like a lifeline, punctuating his words with quick waves and tugs of gray bristles down his inky hair.

  Reed returned as James walked away. “The rest is for you,” he said, pushing the jug into Nate’s hands. As Nate swallowed down gritty, warm water, Reed asked, “Any news?”

  Nate set the jug down. “He’s beyond help,” he said, toneless. “Could be tonight. Tomorrow.”

  It couldn’t be real. He was telling a story.

  Reed settled down beside him, close but not touching. His body radiated warmth, and Nate wanted to lean in and find comfort in it, but he held very still.

  “I was so jealous of him.” Reed spoke softly, apologetically.

  Nate stifled an incredulous laugh. “Of Alden?”

  “Yes. You were always going to him. I thought you were lovers. And I thought he . . .”

  “You thought he was giving me chem.”

  “Yes. And I hated him for it. But I think I hated him for loving you even more.”

  It was something Nate would have given his hand to hear a month ago, but tonight the words rolled off him like beads of oil. He was so tired.

  “Alden said once . . . he said he hoped it would be you watching me die, and not him. I didn’t understand.” Nate let out a dry sob. “Reed, I want him to wake up. So I can tell him . . .”

  “Tell him what?” Reed asked, pained.

  “That I shouldn’t have gone to the Breakers. I should have stayed and died there. And then he’d be okay. That I’m s-s-sorry.” Nate tripped over his words. “I’m so sorry.”