by Rhys Ford
“It’s fascinating that the food chain exists no matter what side of the Veil one is on,” a beloved voice whispered into Beckett’s ear.
With other humans packed tight against his body, he hated that he couldn’t answer her. Working himself free of the clamor, Beckett found a spot near a cluster of bedraggled trees, still keeping an eye on the ravaged wraith. She followed him, passing through the crowd with a blissful saunter. Several shivered as she walked, their hands moving across their chests and over their faces to ward off the chill creeping upon them.
Safe from eavesdroppers, Beckett tried to keep his eyes from wandering to the woman shimmering next to him. He’d not seen her in nearly a week, and he ached to reach out, running his fingers through her hair or touching the soft, downy skin along her exposed neck. Want tightened his throat, and he swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump that seemed to root there every time he thought of her.
He recalled the first time he saw her, walking through a graveyard of mourners, drawn by the words spoken over the dried husk of his father. He’d gone over to her after the procession began to pay their respects, more interested in the woman than in the man he’d spent a lifetime loathing. Before he reached her side, she disappeared into the fog, swirls of raindrops pounding the already moist ground.
Beckett kept the image of her in his heart, stoking his memory with the fantasy of her against him.
When she sought him out years later, she looked and felt as he imagined. Now he treasured every moment they could spend together. He’d have an eternity with Faith once he found the right elixir.
“What happened?” she asked, turning soulful eyes toward him. Faith drew near, rubbing her cheek against his, her ghostly flesh skimming just under the surface of his skin. “Did the drugs work? Are we successful?”
“I think so.” Beckett touched his face where she’d been. She’d already drawn away, attention shifted to the wraith’s body. “I don’t know yet. One of the men that I passed them on to told me that one of his buyers wasn’t affected by the heroin. He came back several times.”
“Was it ineffective?” Faith turned back to face him. “Could the agent… it’s called an agent, right? Could it have gone inert… dead? Do you think it’s not working anymore?”
“I don’t think so,” Beckett replied. “Others using the same batch went insane, but I knew it would happen. I was hoping to find just one person that it would work on.”
“Wouldn’t someone miss him if he disappeared behind the Veil?” She frowned. “People would notice him being gone.”
“No one would miss a druggie if he went missing. They would just think he overdosed somewhere and died,” Beckett said, his eyes drifting back to the wraith’s remains. “I’m thinking the boy could have already been very much aware, more than anyone else we’ve tried it on, and it crossed him over to the Veil. I’ll have to get my hands on him before I can tell you exactly. But I can’t imagine how he killed a wraith. Unless he had some sort of weapon.”
“He would have had to have a knife.” She walked closer, drawn by the amount of blood. The scene was different from the places she was called to. More personal. It spoke to something inside of her, and not for the first time, she wondered if she’d been made the wrong immortal.
“He might have had a gun,” Beckett supposed. “I wouldn’t be surprised about that.”
“A gun wouldn’t have worked. It would have passed right through the creature or any one of us,” she replied softly. “Once the bullet left the gun, it would cross over and only be deadly to something mortal. Crossbows, any kind of projectile weaponry, it is all the same. It could only be killed with something anchored to the Veil.”
The small wraith chewing on the wraith’s corpse stopped, its head popping up, spotting the immortal in the Veil. She waggled her fingers at it, bursting with a giggle as it popped out, a wisp of smoke dust trailing behind it. Swallowed back up, it left nothing but its scent behind, a trace of nothingness conjured by some human emotion. Either it would find something else to eat or quickly die of starvation, its existence an eternal struggle between its burgeoning consciousness and its horrific hunger.
“I’m glad we found him, but we’ve lost him again.” She looked about the motel grounds, not understanding what would draw anyone to live in its broken-down squalor.
“Frazier tracked him down to here,” Beckett said. “Maybe there was a gardening tool or even something on the illegal they dragged out of here. Unless the drug changed him, made him stronger….”
“It could have.” She sounded unconvinced. “That would be something unexpected. None of us seem any stronger than a human. If it has ill effects, then I’m not certain we want to continue.”
“Nothing’s certain,” Beckett replied. “Let’s wait and see. It could just be chance.”
Her wavering made him unsteady. The last thing Beckett wanted was to jeopardize everything they had worked on. Something unexpected meant something unplanned, something neither one of them could control. If that were the case, there could be other unwanted surprises, and that definitely wasn’t something Beckett wanted to risk. The crossing over had to be perfect for both of them.
“I’m sure you can solve anything that might come up.” The woman gazed up at Beckett’s open face, shining under his crooked smile. “Do you think the boy will return here?”
“I don’t know. Frazier went to see what he could find.” Beckett sighed as yet another round of official-looking vehicles arrived, including a black van with Coroner painted on its opaque panels. “I would think so, providing the police don’t scare him off. I can’t imagine he could have gone through everything he bought last night.”
“That would be unfortunate.” She cocked her head. “But then, if he can’t come back here, he’ll be forced to find more drugs, yes? Isn’t that how that sickness works?”
“It’s not a sickness. It’s a weakness,” Beckett scoffed. “He’s a coward. Running away from his problems with drugs. He probably can’t go for a day without them. People like that make me sick.”
“People like that are helping us bring you over to me.” Reminding him of their plan, she drew up close to his chest, hovering near enough to hear his breath in her body. “But that is how it works, yes? He has to have this drug?”
“Yes, and we know who he goes to. We can make it easy for him to get more,” Beckett agreed. “He’ll go mad without it. I’m certain Frazier will get the manager to tell me something about the boy. At least which rat-hole he lived in.”
She gazed into the crowd, seeing past the stink of death and into the pool of humanity. “If the boy is his friend, perhaps he won’t help us.”
“Money will make him cooperate,” Beckett replied. “I’m sure a few well-placed hundreds, and he’d chain the boy to a chair until one of us gets here. The kid could be the son he never had and he’ll cooperate. These kinds of people don’t have a lot of faith or loyalty.”
“That’s the problem with humans, isn’t it?” She began to drift off past the Veil, becoming a shade in front of his eyes. “There’s no effort to be better.”
“I’m sorry, Faith.” Beckett reached out, his hands momentarily snagging on what little there was to touch.
“I have to go. I have a calling to attend to.” She smiled at the sound of the name she’d chosen. It was nice to hear it spoken aloud, as if hearing it in the air made her more real. “See if you can find him, Beckett. If he’s the answer we’re looking for, it would be the end to all of our problems. It’s lonely here. I want you with me.”
“I want to be there,” he insisted, talking to empty air as she ghosted away. Anger clenched his guts, rolling frustration tangling up his feelings of affection and the anger at the Veil that kept them apart. “Just give me time. I’ll find him. I promise.”
KISMET WAS still unconscious when Ari carried him into the Horsemen’s penthouse, Mal hovering close by. A thin Chinese woman stood at the far end of the open space, carrying a bowl of nood
les into the living area. Nearly as pale as the young man Ari carried, she scratched at the rise of her collarbone, mouth twisting into a frown.
Dressed in a pair of loose cotton pants and a thin white tank top, Min was prepared to settle in for a peaceful night, a tumbler of iced green tea already waiting for her on a low table set in front of one of the couches. The noodles’ steam clouded her features, a face of all sharp angles and hardness. With her thin mouth fully set with disapproval, she paced around Ari, taking a good look at his burden. Setting the somen down, Min placed a hand on her hip and stared at Ari, her black eyes glittering with harsh annoyance at Kismet’s presence.
“What the hell is that doing here?” Min pointed at the young man. Her spiky hair stood straight up, a few inches of black sprouting up over her skull. She’d left the front a bit longer, shoving the fringe aside with impatient fingers. “What are you thinking, Ari?”
“This mess is Mal’s idea.” Ari cast about, looking for someplace to dump his burden. “Open your suite door, Pest. I’m dumping him in there.”
“Him and his damned ideas. Does he have any idea what he’s done with this?” Min’s fury raged, a tempest barely contained in her voice. Min strode over to Mal’s bedroom, then pushed the door open. “Gods, this is worse than that disease he let loose. What the hell is he thinking?”
“He doesn’t think.” Ari strode past, looking for someplace to dump Kismet. “You try talking to him. He seems to think he’s above the rules. I either left him and the boy, or I took both of them. I didn’t want to have to explain to Death why I left his latest Pestilence behind.”
“I’m standing right here,” Mal muttered, closing the front door behind him.
The impact of what he’d done, bringing a human into their house, sank in. The young man’s body still bore the bruises from the attack, a purple quilt of pain stitched over his pale body. His clothes had suffered in the fight, torn from his slender torso. The worn pair of jeans hitched down over his hip bones probably weren’t much better looking before the wraith got ahold of him, but the dried blood had turned black in spots, acidic spit burning enormous holes into the denim.
“Is Death home yet?” Ari cocked his head at Min, moving her aside with a jerk of his chin.
Mouth pressed even tighter, Min moved the throw Mal left on the couch in his upper room, mindful of the ichor on the young man’s body.
“Not yet. He’s still in Hong Kong. I’m glad you’re here. I think he needs to be brought home.” Min sighed with exasperation. “And I saw the Vanquish. He’s going to kill you.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know.” Ari dumped Kismet onto the couch, then caught the young man before he rolled off. “You deal with this. I don’t care how you deal with this… just deal with this. I don’t want Death to see him. You keep him out of sight until we can figure out what to do with him.”
“What did you want me to do?” Mal drew up close to War, nearly in his face. The light caught on Mal’s glasses, a shimmering white running over his eyes. “I couldn’t leave him.”
“Why not?” Min poked at the prone Kismet with her bare foot. Her wiry form held a hidden strength, and the artist rocked slightly with the prod. “He looks fine. A bit beat-up but fine. Okay, so he looks closer to death than fine, but they do that. Sometimes they die. You just leave them where you find them. You don’t bring them home like a lamp you found at a garage sale.”
“A wraith got him,” Ari muttered. “Biggest wraith I’ve seen in a bit. If I’d known we were going to be bringing Mal’s pet home, I would have let the thing eat the boy and then killed it.”
“Well, at least it’s dead.” Min’s eyebrows rose. She noticed Ari’s clothes and healing face for the first time, whistling under her breath as she walked around the tall Horseman. “I take it you kicked its ass. Well, after it kicked yours. You look thoroughly ass-kicked.”
“It’s dead. Had to leave it there because of this shit, but it should rot behind the Veil, and no one will be the wiser. Oh yeah, by myself, no thanks to Mal.” Ari grunted. “He’s no help in a fight. He didn’t even bring a fucking knife with him. Sat there and wailed about the human for the most part.”
“Fuck you.” Mal turned on Ari, biting back. “I don’t fight. You know that. Shit, you’re the one that’s always telling me I just get in the way. Don’t start on the ‘Mal didn’t help me out’ shit now.”
“If you….” Ari bristled, stepping away from Min and ready for an argument.
The room grew hot, the air closing in on Mal’s face. He cocked his chin up, daring Ari to hit him. Mal had no illusions of being able to stand up to the older Horseman. Ari had muscle and skill on his side.
“War, you need to go to him. Just grab him and come back. We’ll still be here.”
“Deal with that thing, Pest. Keep it hidden, and don’t let it out for Death to see.” Ari jabbed at Mal’s chest. “I’ll be bringing him home. I don’t want more trouble.”
“I STOPPED in Hong Kong before I came home.” Min finally spoke, her voice troubled and muddied. “He couldn’t get some of them to release. Humans are so unwilling to let go of what they have… even after they’re dead, they grip onto what they know too tightly.”
“How many?” Mal asked softly. “How many died?”
“I don’t know. Hundreds,” Min said, sitting down on the sofa, tucking her feet up. “He said he had to touch nearly all of them. I wouldn’t want to tell someone that they’re dead. That’s got to piss people off.”
“I couldn’t do it.” Mal sat down near Kismet’s head, stroking at the tangled mass of hair hiding the artist’s face. “I don’t know how he does it. After as long as he’s lived… it just makes my head hurt.”
“Your head’s not going to be the only thing hurting if you don’t come up with a way to get rid of this human.” Min motioned toward Kismet. “This is probably one of the stupidest things you’ve ever done.”
“I couldn’t leave him, Min.” Mal moved to the edge of the cushion, trying to make her understand. “He can see us.”
“A lot of them can see us,” Min said, shaking her head at her brother’s foolishness. “It just means that they’re crazy. You know that.”
“No. Not him. Well, maybe just a little bit, but that’s from seeing past the Veil,” Mal insisted. “He looked right at me and saw me plainly. None of the delirium or visions were in his sight. There wasn’t any madness in him.
“I don’t understand why I felt like we had to take him,” Mal admitted. “I just ached when I thought about abandoning him. Something in me understood that I had to get him out of there. Take him someplace safe.”
“So you brought him here,” Min said with a sigh. “Ari’s right. You’re a fucking idiot.”
“Here’s the safest place I know,” the youngest replied. “It became my problem. He became my problem.”
“Your problem is not understanding how things work. You expect us to watch you crap, dig through your own feces, and then worship what you end up holding in your hands like it’s some golden egg.” Min let out her exasperation. “Death lets you get away with it because he feels sorry for you. Hell, I feel sorry for you, but this shit has got to stop, Mal. Even if he can see us, why bring him home? Others can see us. You don’t see me asking them up for a cup of tea and a cookie.”
“Nearly all of those people are crazy,” Mal said. “The ones that can see us are usually cracked and slip between the folds in the Veil. He’s not crazy. I just know it.”
“Just because you think he’s sane doesn’t mean he’s still not sensitive to the Veil,” Min countered. “Doesn’t mean he’s not going to turn crazy. You’ve been at this long enough to know the differences between mortals. He’s a human. Mortal.”
“He healed up. Like we do. A bit slower, but still, healed right over,” he told her, meeting Min’s shocked gaze with a shrug. “The wraith tore him up, Min. There were pieces of him hanging out of his body.”
“You were probab
ly just thinking he was more hurt than he was.” The boy’s clothes were tattered and brown with dried blood, but she couldn’t remember seeing any visible wounds on him. But then, Min admitted, she was much more concerned about Death than the flotsam Mal found in a gutter.
Pushing up Kismet’s shirt, Min examined the boy’s thin body, noticing the punctured, deflated veins in his arm and the bruises mottling his pale skin. “Nothing left of the wraith on him. Death’s going to want to know about that in the morning. This isn’t right, Mal.”
“It didn’t feel wrong, Min. I didn’t feel like it left me sick to my stomach. His healing just felt… natural.” Mal rubbed at his face, tasting the salt of his own sweat from his hands “I only looked because I thought that he was going to die and I might have to call Death if he got stuck. He was mine. I didn’t want him trapped here because he was too far gone to realize he was dead.”
“You’d call Death just for one human,” Min said in disgust. “Even knowing he was called elsewhere and he would be dead tired and emotionally drained, you would have done that?”
“He would have come.” Mal realized how selfish he must have seemed, but he had been past caring. All of his thoughts had been on the young man writhing in pain. He’d never been so close to a mortal dying before, and the shock of seeing the light fade from those luminous brown eyes would have killed him inside. “Death would have come if I asked.”
“Only goes to show that you’re not right in the head yourself,” Min replied. “And Death’s not too stable either for humoring you. You need a good kick in that soft-hearted ass of yours, Mal. Ari might have to do it, because you’re just not listening to me.”
“Ari kept telling me to dump him,” Mal responded, pulling Kismet’s tangled mane back. “It looked like he was bitten clear through his neck. But when I held him, he got better, became more alive. There was so much blood. Then everything just began to come together. He’s still bruised to hell, but there were gaping wounds there… huge holes you could stick three fingers into, and they’re almost gone.”