Fragile Remedy

by Maria Ingrande Mora

  “He wanted you to go.” Reed went breathy with exasperation. “Nate. He didn’t want you to stay and die.”

  Nate pressed his lips together, but he couldn’t hold back the low choke of a sob. They’d hurt each other, scraped the space between them raw—but Alden had never stopped feeling like home in his own jagged way. “He’s my best friend.”

  Reed put his arm around Nate’s good shoulder hesitantly and pulled him close. “I know.”

  Resting his head against Reed, Nate felt a bruised kind of relief that Reed left it at that. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Didn’t want to know what Reed saw from the outside looking in.

  Reed’s breath warmed Nate’s hair, steadily evening toward the sleep none of them had been able to afford. Not for days. He slumped against Nate, heavy with exhaustion, and Nate shifted to carefully brace him where they sat with their backs against the sofa that smelled like dust and mildew. His palm rested against Nate’s knee, and Nate took it carefully, as if cradling glass. His thumb idly stroked the warm skin at the back of Reed’s hand, seeking comfort when sleep refused to come. Not with every rattling, terrible sound Alden made.

  He closed his eyes, cocooned in the dark room with everyone he loved.

  “Nate. Nate.”

  Nate startled at the dim glow of a crank-light.

  Sparks tried to pry him from Reed’s sleeping form. “James brought you a hairbrush,” she said. “Well, not for you. Though you could stand to use it.”

  Nate wiggled out from beside Reed and eased him onto the floor, careful not to wake him. He tucked a cushion under Reed’s head. “Thank you.”

  Sparks’s face was freshly shaven, her hair clean and damp. When her appearance matched who she was, the tightness around her eyes went away. She gave him a sad, encouraging nod as she handed him the brush. It was metal with glossy purple bristles—nothing like Alden’s carved bone brush with soft bristles that felt like they had come from an animal. Nate stared at it, unsettled by the sense that he’d seen it before. But nothing in the Withers looked like this.

  Shaking off the prickle of a memory, Nate ran the brush through one of the worst tangles. Alden’s hair got caught in the bristles immediately.

  “Here,” Sparks said, prying the brush out of his hands. “Stick to tinkering.”

  “Show me how,” Nate whispered. He had to do this. No one else.

  Sparks’s eyes flickered in the early dawn light glowing through the window. She took a careful handful of Alden’s hair and gripped it tight. “This way, it won’t hurt him.”

  Starting at the tips, she brushed short, firm strokes. Little by little, the strand she held in her palm began to straighten out, gleaming despite the singed-gray tips.

  “Want to try?” she asked.

  Nate reached for the brush and weaved his fingers into Alden’s hair, gripping as Sparks’d done. He brushed from the tips and worked his way toward his hand stroke after stroke.

  “There you go,” Sparks said. “Perfect.”

  Their eyes met. “Thank you.”

  She touched his head with a tired smile. “I’ll do yours when you’re done.”

  By the time Nate finished with Alden’s hair, the early morning sun lit the whole room in soft blues and greens. He set the brush aside, took Alden’s wrists, and massaged them gently, trying to work blood back into his hands.

  Alden’s fingers were rubbery and cold, as if all the life was already gone from them.

  Reed rolled over in his sleep and threw one arm over Alden.

  “Well. I never thought I’d see that.” Nate smiled. He couldn’t recall much from the haze of being sick in Alden’s shop, but he remembered the sound of their voices mingling—Reed’s deep and warm, and Alden’s brittle. He wondered what they would have thought of each other if they’d met outside of the shadow of all the things they’d done. All the things that had been done to them.

  Sparks covered her mouth and yawned.

  “You should keep sleeping,” Nate said. “We have to leave tomorrow.”

  She frowned, disappointed. “Already?”

  “We won’t need to be here after tomorrow.”

  She glanced down at Alden, her shoulders sagging. “Oh,” she murmured, touching the part of his hair she’d untangled. “Sorry, Nate.”

  He didn’t say it was all right, because it wasn’t. Instead, he gave an absent nod.

  Sparks scuffled to tuck herself against Brick. Pixel slept curled up so small she was barely visible among the cushions on the couch. Juniper was still too, some of her hair woven between her fingers, as if she’d clutched it as she’d fallen asleep.

  Nate listened to Alden breathing and the softer, gentler sound of Reed’s snores.

  Bernice had gone in her sleep. Nate didn’t know what to look or listen for. Every few minutes, Alden made a quiet, whimpering sound. But he didn’t stir or struggle. And his noisy breathing stayed the same—steady in its own unnatural rhythm.

  A shadow crossed Nate. He turned to see a plump silhouette in the door. It wasn’t James. It was a woman in a tunic and heavy boots. A long Servant’s robe draped over her arm.

  “Hello?” she called out very softly. “Jamie sent me to check on you. Is anyone awake?”

  Nate picked himself up, careful not to trip over Sparks and Brick. It was dark in the hallway. His hair hung in his face like a curtain. He wanted to go back to sleep. “I’m awake. Mostly.”

  “The young man who’s ill . . .” Her voice trailed off unsteadily. “Will you tell me his name?”

  “It’s Alden,” Nate said. “He owned a curio shop on the other side of the Withers. It burned in the fires.”

  “Alden,” she echoed.

  “You sound relieved . . .”

  And sad.

  “I was looking for someone. But that’s not his name,” she said.

  “Will you pray for him?” Nate didn’t know much about how Servants worshipped the Old Gods, but it seemed like a prayer or two couldn’t hurt.

  “No.” She made a quiet, embarrassed sound. “Oh! That must sound terrible. Jamie will. He’s very devoted. I’m a bit of an odd duck as far as Servants go.”

  He smiled at her nervous awkwardness. “You don’t believe?”

  “I’m afraid faith in the Old Gods didn’t quite mesh with my previous line of work. But I believe in service. And there’s no better place to serve than here.”

  “James said you were helping another sick-den.”

  “I was. I just got in. I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier to help. There aren’t enough of us to go around.”

  Nate wiped his eyes and nose. “Alden’s dying.”

  “Jamie told me. I’m so sorry.” She reached for him, but drew her hand away before it touched his shoulder. “It’s never easy to lose someone you love to the stillness. Is there anything you need? I’d be happy to check him over, but if he’s sleeping peacefully now, it’s probably best to leave him be.”

  “I already borrowed a hairbrush. I think it was yours.” Nate craned to look at her, but he couldn’t make out her features in the weak glow of a crank-light in the hallway behind her. Heavy with the sound of Alden struggling to breathe, he sank down the wall.

  “You don’t look like you got much brushing done,” she said, so fondly he didn’t mind being teased.

  Something about what she’d said snagged at him. He abruptly realized what it was. “I hope you find your friend.”

  She sat beside him, groaning on the way down. “What do you mean?”

  Nate bit his lip. “The person you’re looking for.”

  “Oh.” She made a quiet, strangled sort of noise. “Thank you.” Her sorrow sent a pang of hurt through Nate. Were there other people like this woman looking for Pixel or Sparks? What about Brick and Reed? He pictured their mothers toiling endlessly in the pleasure houses, al
ways wondering what had become of the children who had grown up as brother and sister under the weight of so much hurt.

  She tilted her head back against the wall and sighed. “I don’t normally babble to our guests like this. It must be the hour. It’s easier to tell secrets when you’ve been up all night, isn’t it?”

  Nate nodded, but he was out of secrets to tell. All of them were raw and open wide, and they hurt so much. Something about her voice unraveled him, and he began to cry, too exhausted to be embarrassed by the tears that shook him.

  “Oh dear.” She patted his knee awkwardly. “Should I get your friends?”

  “No.” Nate hiccoughed. “They should sleep.”

  “James said they were all a little worse for wear. The nice young lady with the curly hair—Sparks?” she asked. “She was here for a bit of time, but we hardly ever see young people. And never children.”

  “We’ll leave soon.”

  “Oh dear—I didn’t mean that it’s bad. I’m glad for the company. Much better than the usual. Does that sound terrible? Jamie says I shouldn’t talk to our guests. Ever, really.”

  “We have to leave.” Nate’s mouth tasted like gravel. His stomach turned. “The Breakers . . . We crossed them. And they’ll be looking for Pixel. And—” A sob caught in his throat. Now it all seemed so impossible. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “The Breakers are not welcome here.” Her words lost their warmth. “This is a place of peace. Servants are beholden to the Old Gods and no other power. We have made that very clear.”

  A rueful smile tugged at Nate’s lips as he wiped his nose. “Even if you don’t believe in the Old Gods?”

  “Even then.”

  “You’re not afraid of them?” Now that he understood the foundation of the Breakers—that they were nothing more than an organized, powerful gang—he feared them more. Power and chem drove people to do terrible things, and Agatha was smart enough to use that drive as a weapon. She was out there somewhere with Alden’s Diffuser. It was only a matter of time before she found a way to use it to her advantage.

  “I . . .” The woman hummed. She held her robe over her lap. It smelled like sweat. “I respect the fact that they’re dangerous. And vengeful. But I will not let fear rule me.”

  Nate sniffled. “Vengeful” was an oddly specific way to describe them, but it suited Agatha. “You know a lot about the Breakers.”

  “The people who come here are sick. Oftentimes, they simply want someone to listen. There’s release in that, I suppose. I hear a lot of things others don’t hear.” She gasped. “I’m so sorry. You’re worried about your friend, and I’m telling you stories. I’ve never been any good at bedside manner.”

  “Have you known anybody who died?” He sniffled. “People you know, I mean. I guess a lot of people die here.”

  “You’re right. Lots of people die here. Every day.” She hummed a sad sound. “My husband died. He became very ill, and I couldn’t find anyone in the Withers who could help him.”

  “I’m sorry,” Nate said, struck by the way she said “the Withers” like it was someplace strange and not her home.

  She stood, her back sliding up the wall with a sleepy whisper sound. A beam of sunlight cut through the hall from the living room behind her, lighting a swarm of dust motes like a sky full of stars. Sunrise was so strange. Glowing, soft, and then dazzling all at once. The hallway wasn’t dark anymore. Nate looked up at her, squinting into the light, and pushed his hair behind his ears.

  She froze.

  Her skin went pale like she saw something terrible.

  Do I look that bad?

  She sank back down into an unsteady crouch and brushed her trembling fingers into his hair, pulling it into a loose tail. Slowly and very gently, she guided him to turn his head to one side and then the other.

  When she closed her eyes, tears scattered down her cheeks.

  His breath quickened with fear he couldn’t place. “What?”

  “Oh, Nate.” She gasped. “Love, I’ve been looking for you for so long.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Nate shuddered and scrambled away from her, his back against the wall. He had nowhere to go and nothing to do but stare at her kind, familiar face.

  She couldn’t be his mother. His mother was dead.

  But she pulled him into her arms, and she smelled the same—warm and safe, like the soft edge of a lingering dream.

  Fear and hope mingled sickeningly in his gut.

  This isn’t real.

  She was dead. Pulled into the depths of the sludge in a flaming car.

  Her embrace tightened.

  “Ow.”

  She drew back, brow knit. “Are you hurt?”

  “My shoulder.” The room spun. He didn’t know how to begin to explain what had happened. Or what was happening. “I . . . it popped out.”

  She adjusted her hold on him, gentle and trembling.

  Sometimes, people saw things that weren’t there. Sometimes, his dreams were so real they left him hollow all day as they faded to nothing. He’d gone so close to the stillness, maybe it had bruised his mind.

  “What’s happening?” he asked, hoarse and frightened.

  “When James said he heard talk of GEMs on the tickers . . . I didn’t think I’d really find you. I couldn’t bear to hope.” She wept, tripping on every word. “Oh, Nate. I can’t believe it’s you. You’re okay. Are you okay? You’re so thin. Where have you been?”

  She was asking too many questions, and all he could think about was her nickname. His father had spoken it fondly, always with a smile.

  Ivy. Ivy. The sick-den was named after her. After his mother.

  He shrugged away to look at her. Her small, strong hand cupped his good shoulder, and she stared at him with tears running down her face.

  “You’re dead. You crashed.” His voice was flat, numb. “You didn’t come back for me.”

  If his mother was really alive, she wouldn’t have left him.

  “We faked the crash and went into hiding.” Her chin trembled. “When your father got sick, we couldn’t come for you like we’d planned. And then Bernice was gone, and you were gone. I couldn’t find a trace of you.”

  The longer he studied her face, the more he knew her. His ears rang. It was too much—so much at once. She was alive, solid. Touching him. His father was dead. She’d been alone all this time.

  Looking for him.

  Memories brushed against him, as flimsy as gauze. A Servant paying close attention. A familiar voice. She’d been here in the Withers, all along.

  “You wanted me?” Nate asked, his buzzing thoughts settling there. It was such a stupid, childish thing to ask. But he couldn’t breathe until she told him the truth. He had to know.

  “Of course I did.” She touched his hair and cheek, patting him like he’d disappear if she stopped. “You’re my son.”

  “I’m a GEM,” he said, stubborn hurt twisting the words.

  “You were always our son.”

  Nate bit his lip hard and gave in to her tugging hold. Her arms were stronger than he expected. He was nearly a man, but with her arms around him—with his mother’s arms around him—he felt like a little kid.

  The questions he’d never been able to ask were sludge in his throat. He had to get them out. “Why did you make me broken?” he asked between hiccoughed breaths.

  “Because I was impatient and selfish, and we lost the fertility drawing year after year. I was always around babies in the lab. Tiny little GEMs. And I wanted a child. I wanted you so much, Nate.”

  Nate recalled something Bernice had told him. “My father thought I was a mistake?”

  He could barely remember him—only that he had been terribly quiet and had never held him.

  Ivy’s nostrils flared as she sucked in a tight breath. “He didn�
��t agree with what I did.”

  “Because you couldn’t keep me.” A flash of resentment ran through him. “Didn’t you care about that?”

  “I didn’t think about what it would mean for you or for us. I didn’t think—” Her voice cut off, and she stiffened, squeezing Nate’s arms protectively.

  Nate lifted his head, heart pounding.

  Reed stood in the doorway to the living room, staring at them. Pixel pressed against his side, and Brick and Sparks crowded behind him.

  “Hey.” Nate’s throat tightened. “It’s okay. This is Vivian. She’s one of the Servants here. She’s . . . she’s my mother.”

  It didn’t sound real. The word tasted strange.

  Pixel’s eyes went wide.

  “Please call me Ivy. I prefer it.”

  Nate swallowed. “Ivy, this is . . . this is my family.”

  Reed stalked toward Nate and Ivy, careful as a cat. Brick picked Pixel up and watched them with a hunted look. But Sparks’s frown softened to something sweet. She met Nate’s gaze, and it grew to an encouraging little smile.

  “Hello,” Ivy said. She held her ground when Reed came close, wound tight as a spring.

  Nate could only stare. He’d taken after his father, with his dark, thick hair. Ivy was different and familiar all at once. Dingy brown hair like Bernice’s fell in wisps from her braid. Her gray eyes mirrored Nate’s, framed by fine lines that gave her pale skin the texture of soft paper. Her teeth were brilliantly white and straight, nothing like the weathered teeth of everyone else her age in the Withers.

  Reed waved the girls off, and they ducked back into the living room, tugging Pixel along with them. He stood tall, as if he planned on acting as a wall between Ivy and Nate if he had to. “Is she with Agatha?” he asked, ragged.

  Ivy’s breath hissed, and her grip on Nate’s arms tightened. “Agatha? You’ve seen her? Has she gotten near you?”

  “Wait. This is Reed. He’s . . .” A blush spread across Nate’s face. The last thing he’d ever expected to do was introduce a boy to his mother. Not that they were together that way. But that didn’t stop a traitorous flutter around his heart. “We’re . . .”