Touch: A Trilogy

by A. G. Carpenter

  Cox staggers as well, but lurches forward to grapple with Lance. They sway back and forth before Malcolm punches Cox, knocking him back a few steps, before he snatches up a dusty baluster from the deconstructed staircase and clobbers Percy in the side of the head.

  Franklin curls up on the floor, trying to force air into his lungs even as the magic nearly crushes him. Breathe. Breathe, damn it. Just as the room begins to turn dark at the corners, the pressure eases.

  He’s aware of Malcolm moving around the room. The stairs creak. Then he’s being lifted and carried up to the second story of the house.

  Lance drops him roughly to the floor, pauses to pull a plastic zip tie tight around his wrists. He groans and Malcolm touches his chest, magic coiling out lazily. “Be still and you might survive this.”

  Franklin lets his eyes drift closed, waits for the footsteps to fade, the distant creak of the stairs. Not much time. He rolls over and gets his feet under him. His heart struggling in his chest. He almost falls when he stands, head swimming. But adrenaline kicks in, forcing him back into something closer to a normal rhythm as he tries to get his bearings.

  Alex Michaels' body is laid out in the middle of a salt ring. There are stitches down each arm where her wounds have been closed; her skin is greyish, but the eyes are still clear. Held from decay and rigor by the magic writ into the ring.

  Franklin stumbles forward. If Delaney Green is to help him, she will need a body. He doesn't figure she'll be too keen on this one, but it's the only one he's got.

  There's a little table with various tools laid out. Preparation for the next attempt to transfer a soul. A bowl of salt, one of sulfur. Candles. Several charms. And a sharp knife.

  Franklin doesn't have time to try and cut himself loose. He grabs the blade and squeezes. "Son of a bitch." Blood flows freely from the cuts in his fingers, and he steps into the salt ring and drops to his knees beside the vacant body. Presses his bleeding hand against the cold face.

  "Delaney Green. Come to my blood. Come to my blood. Hear my summons, Delaney Green, and follow my voice."

  There’s a scuff of footsteps at the far end of the room, slow and heavy.

  Franklin risks a glance and sees Malcolm shuffling through the doorway. Percy is laid across his shoulders, still unconscious.

  He leans closer to the body and spreads his fingers wide, letting the blood drip freely. “Delaney Green. Come to my blood. Come to my blood. Hear my summons, Delaney Green, and follow my voice.”

  “Hey. What are you doing?” Malcolm drops Percy to the floor and strides toward Franklin. “Get your hands away from her.”

  Franklin groans as the air gets thick around him a second time. “Delaney Green. Delaney Green.” He struggles against the magic crushing his chest, the edges of his vision turning dark and bloody. “Delaney Green. Delaney. Green.”

  22

  This time there is nothing to think about when it comes to passing through into the realm of the living. The ground pulls me down before I can think.

  And this time it hurts.

  No longer just pressing in on me, but crushing me.

  Bones force themselves into place while flesh and skin wrap around me, merciless as a strangling creeper around a sapling. I try to suck in a breath, nearly folding myself outside-in with the effort, and sit up with a screech.

  Despite his hemmin’ and hawin’ when I spoke with Franklin from the midst of the salt ring, he has managed to find me a body and put me into it. Not that it seems to do me much good. I can barely stay sitting up, much less stand. And when I try to speak, all that comes out is an uneven croak.

  Malcolm lets go of Franklin and drops to his knees beside me. “Alex?”

  My throat is too dry to make much sound, which is just as well because I’m not sure what to say. Baby told me I wouldn’t get my magic back unless I found my bones again. Not these that my soul is currently wrapped around, but my own. But I don’t know if that will fool Malcolm.

  I cough and rub my face. My fingers come away sticky with drying blood. It’s not like I haven’t touched worse, but I make a face anyway.

  “Let me clean that off. Wait a minute.” Malcolm stands up and goes into another room for a moment.

  To my right is the girl Malcolm meant to steal his next soul from, but she’s unconscious and tied up real thoroughly anyway.

  I look at Franklin. He’s still curled up on the floor, conscious, but wheezing for breath like he’s been running for days. I’m certain he’ll try to help, but he’s close to dead.

  Percy stirs, flopping over on his back with a groan.

  Franklin turns his head and looks at him. “Hey. Cox. Wake up.” He keeps his voice low because Malcolm is still close.

  Percy mumbles but doesn’t open his eyes, blood trickling down his cheek from the gash on his head.

  There are footsteps at the door, and Malcolm returns, fumbling a glass, a ratty cloth, and a pitcher of water. He glares at Franklin. “Are you talking?”

  Franklin shakes his head.

  “You open that mouth again, and I’ll stop your heart for good.”

  I shudder. If he follows through on that threat, I won’t be able to shut Percy’s magic back up. Not on my own. Not yet.

  But he turns away from Franklin and crouches beside me. Pours water into the glass and holds it up for me to drink.

  “Just little swallows.”

  I nod and sip obediently. Trying to take my time and give Percy a chance to regain consciousness. And trying to get used to being back in flesh, never mind that it is not my own.

  Malcolm sets the glass to one side and pours water over the washcloth. “This might be cold.” He wipes the cloth over my face, removing the film of blood Franklin left there.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Percy’s breathing change—more rapid, then deliberately slow.

  Malcolm sets the cloth down and brushes the hair back from my face. Looks at me closely. The momentary affection he had fades, and his fingers slide around my throat. “You’re not Alex.”

  “No.” My voice is still rough, and deeper than I am used to. I blink, startled at the sound of it. “She is not coming back.”

  “I will find a way to—”

  “How? By putting another woman’s soul into this body? As I am now?” I wave a hand at the kidnapped young woman. “She will not be Alex either, no matter how hard you try to tie her soul to these bones.”

  “I will teach her. How to talk like Alex did. The things she loved. I will show her how to be Alex.”

  “But she will not be.” I lay one hand on his shoulder. The cloth he used to wash Franklin’s blood away is still on the floor, and I wind it around my other hand slowly before taking hold of the empty water glass carefully. “I am sorry, Malcolm, but Alex is gone. And she is not coming back.”

  He shudders, but leans close. “You don’t know that.”

  “Oh, I know a thing or two about coming back from the dead, Malcolm. And Alex isn’t going to make that journey.”

  His fingers get tighter around my throat. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Delaney Green. And you should let go of me now.”

  “Or what?”

  “He’s going to kill you.”

  “The street magician? Or the other one?”

  “Percy,” I say. “He’s going to kill you.”

  Malcolm glares at me, fighting the urge to turn and look.

  Percy rolls over onto his hands and knees, then stands up. He’s swaying, disoriented maybe. But even from here, even with my own sense of magic dulled, I can feel energy rolling off him, dark and hungry.

  Malcolm turns and looks at him, frowns. His own magic curls across my skin, my breath clotting in my throat.

  I get hold of the glass real tight and smash it into the side of his head. It isn’t enough to knock him out, but he reels back, blood dripping down his scalp where the glass cut him.

  I scramble back, awkward in this long-legged body, hands and feet skidding in
the salt that now covers the floor. Malcolm raises his hand, and for a moment, my heart slows down.

  Percy rushes forward, catching Malcolm with his shoulder and knocking them both sprawling.

  The pressure in my chest fades, and I crawl toward Franklin. There’s still a shard of glass clutched in the rag I wrapped my hand with, and I set the edge of it against the plastic cable tie around Franklin’s wrists and saw through.

  The air is painful, full of magic that prickles like an electric shock and smothers like tar.

  Franklin coughs and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Me too. I nod and try to smile reassuring-like. “Let me do the talking. All right?”

  He nods. “Okay.”

  23

  Malcolm’s voice, a desperate growl, trails off, and the magic fades, too.

  Franklin looks at me, wide-eyed, but says nothing.

  I smooth the front of my dress and try and look calm and non-threatening. Malcolm could see that I was not Alex, but will Percy be able to see that I am Delaney? Or will he just see these scarred wrists and short hair and a jaw that is too strong?

  Percy stands up and his eyes are wild, mumbling to himself as he stares down at Malcolm’s crumpled body. “They’ll try and put me back. They’ll try and silence me again.” He turns and glares at Franklin, and the air crackles with energy. “You mustn’t tell them.”

  Franklin shakes his head. “I don’t intend to.”

  Percy tilts his head, considering. “Don’t intend to. But what if they ask questions? Or threaten you? You might tell them anyway.”

  “No, Percival. I’m not going to tell anyone.” Franklin’s voice is steady, if pitched a little higher than normal, but he takes a half-step, putting me more squarely between him and Percy.

  Percy takes a step forward himself. “Perhaps I should make certain you don’t tell anyone.”

  “Percy.” This voice still sounds strange, and I rub my arm out of habit, but the scars are different.

  He pauses, looking at me as if noticing me for the first time. “Who are you? I thought you would be…” His mouth knots up with confusion.

  “Percy,” I say again. “Look closely. It’s me.”

  He blinks, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he tries to figure it out. Finally, “Delaney?”

  “Yes.” I move toward him slowly. “Yes, Percy. Oh, I have missed you.”

  He raises his hands, wrists still bound, and touches my cheek with trembling fingers. “I have missed you, too.” His eyes narrow. “How do I know that it’s you? That it’s not a trick?”

  I take his hands and press them against my flat chest. “This may not be my flesh, and these are not my bones, but I know you can still feel the warmth of my fire-kissed soul.”

  Percy frowns. “Maybe.”

  I slip my arms around his neck. “Do you know what I have been doing while we have been separated, Percy?”

  He shakes his head.

  “I have been searching for a way back to you. Searching for a way to keep you safe like I have always done.”

  “Always?”

  “I didn’t face The Salesman because I was afraid you would burn, Percy. I held that fire close and anger close because I knew you wouldn’t be consumed.” I lay one hand over his heart, feeling the tremble of energy even with this dull flesh. “I knew this would wake and even I might not be able to keep you safe.”

  Percy clutches at me, fingers knotted in the front of my dress. “But now? What can we do now?”

  “Now we must be clever and patient.” I lean close, looking him square in the eye. “Do you trust me, Percy?”

  The magic boiling in his chest rumbles, but he nods. “Yes.”

  “They cannot use the drugs or the electricity to make you forget if you have already forgotten.”

  “Already forgotten?”

  “Franklin is going to help us. He will take away the memory of this.” I wave a hand at the room. “And this.” I tap my fingers against his chest. “It will not be easy for you. They will ask a lot of questions you will not be able to answer, but they will not put the electricity in your head again.”

  Percy frowns. “If I forget this, won’t I forget you?”

  “Yes.” I pull him closer. “But I will not forget you, Percy. And I will find a way to bring you back to me.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes.”

  But the magic growling in his chest, and the fear that feeds it, blossom again in his eyes. “No.” He shakes his head and pushes me to one side. “I will not hide. I will not wait to be hurt again.”

  Franklin backs away from him, hands empty and held out in an attempt to ward him off. “Percival. I am not going to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you.”

  Percy growls. “I will make sure of it.”

  I snatch a length of wood out of the pieces stacked against the wall. It is heavier than I expected and my arms are still wobbly, but I swing it hard, catching Percy in the side of the head with it.

  He groans and tumbles to the floor.

  I look at Franklin. “Quickly.”

  He rummages through his bag and produces what looks like a large medical syringe. “You are lucky I had this. Hopefully it will work as you intend.”

  “You did not tell me there would be needles involved.”

  “You didn’t tell me he would be all homicidal.”

  “I did say magic that will eat the world. I thought the murdering was implied.”

  “Eh.” He rolls Percy onto his back. “I need you to put your hands under his chin and hold his head very still.”

  I kneel, one leg on either side of Percy’s head and lock my fingers under his chin. “This isn’t just a cheap lobotomy?”

  “Not if you hold his head still.”

  “And you’re certain it will work?”

  Franklin looks at me, brown eyes intent under the tired slope of his brow. “Do you have a better idea?”

  I close my eyes for a moment, feeling Daddy pulling on these threads. “No,” I say. “This is the only way.”

  “Then hold him still.” He pulls Percy’s eyelid down and sets the needle against the wet, soft membrane in the corner of his eye. Slowly, and with such care it almost seems the needle is shrinking, he pushes it in toward Percy’s brain. He’s muttering softly. Latin maybe, but I’ve never been good with other languages—it could be just about anything.

  As he whispers, I feel the faintest trickle of energy flowing from him. Not magic, that’s centered in the arcane syringe, but energy. Just like the salt ring, he only produces the current for the elements that possess the magic, blessed salt or raw silver or lightning-forged glass.

  I catch my lower lip between my teeth, expecting to see blood bubble into the syringe, but there is surprisingly little. A single crimson thread shivers up the glass tube, like a rain drop chased across a windowpane. And after it comes something dark and muddy, but insubstantial.

  Franklin’s whisper fades, and he pulls the needle free and holds up the syringe. “That should be it. What do you want to do with it?”

  “Do with it?”

  He shrugs. “When I’ve done this before, I’ve destroyed the memories. But… this is different. You said you should hold it.”

  “Yes. In case he needs to remember. Later.” I rub my sweaty palms on my dress. “When have you done this before?”

  He frowns. “My sister. She… some memories do more harm than good.”

  “Oh.” I eye the needle, seemingly longer now that I’m realizing I’m about to get stuck with it. “Is this going to hurt?”

  “I think so.” He moves, no longer crouched over Percy, and pulls the edge of the dress up ‘til his fingers brush the skin just below my ribs. “But the needle will be the least of it.”

  I nod. “Go ahead.”

  Tears well up as the needle pierces the skin, but it is little more than a pinch. What follows is far worse. I clap my hands ov
er my mouth to stifle a wail of fear, sweat slicking down my back in the space of a couple rapid heartbeats. Fear, and the knowledge of magic that consumes, that takes a part of that which it kills and keeps it. Ever changing, ever growing.

  It is not Percy’s magic, just the sense of it, but it takes every ounce of control I have to not snatch up the piece of lumber I used as a club before and bludgeon Franklin with it until he is still and bloody. But neither the fear nor the anger are mine, and after a few terrifying moments, they recede, creeping into a dark little space next to my heart where they mutter indistinctly.

  Franklin pulls the needle free of my belly and sets the syringe back in the wooden box. Looks at me warily. “Well?”

  “He is very afraid.” I brush my fingers across Percy’s forehead, smoothing the dark curls of hair back from his eyes. “The kind of fear that you cannot hide, cannot take away. Not forever.”

  Franklin frowns, props his arm on his knee. “But for today?”

  “Yes. For now, he will not remember the fear or the magic. For now, he is still safe.”

  “And when he starts to remember again?”

  “I will do something about it. Then. Not now.”

  Franklin sighs and nods. “All right.” He looks tired, a tremble to his hands that makes me glad any business with needles is over. “I don’t know how we’re going to explain this.”

  He stands up and stretches. Glares at the cuts on his hand. The bleeding has slowed, but his hand is still sticky. “I guess we’ll… ugh.” He doubles over clutching at his chest.

  Percy, still unconscious, trembles—his breathing labored and his heartbeat slowing to almost nothing.

  The hair on my arms stands up, skin crawling with the touch of magic. I let my hand drop to my side and grab the piece of wood still lying on the floor. “Stop this, Malcolm.”

  24

  Malcolm looks at me, and his eyes are bloody, his skin almost translucent so the veins in his neck and arms lay dark and unsettling across muscle and bone. “I will get to you in a minute.”