by Sarah Porter
“I’m sure you wouldn’t, Never. You would have backed out of her apartment sputtering if she so much as glanced at you. That’s why I thought you could use my help—getting over the hump, if I can express it that way.”
It takes me a second to get what he’s saying. What makes it even more obscene is that it’s coming out of Ruby’s mouth, and it’s Ruby’s lips quirking that sick smile at me, and her green eyes casting that sly look. In my window the sky is getting lighter: depressing faded gray. “Screw you, Dash.”
“You know, Never-Ever, I’ve come to realize that I haven’t been a very good brother to you. There’s so much you don’t know, simply, and I should have taken it on myself to show you how things are done while I was still living. Luckily, though, we’ve been presented with a fresh opportunity. I’m ideally positioned to help you.”
“You’re the one who asked for my help. I didn’t ask you for anything.”
“Your little friend Elena. I thought she was charming.”
God, I’m slow. Because my brain goes thud, thud, thud in response, and then: Elena? You mean Elena Shawn, from school? And it’s only after that whole sequence that I start to get mad.
“Don’t you dare touch her.”
Ruby’s eyebrows shoot up. “I think she’d be a far more appropriate cynosure for your attention. Don’t you? And I believe she’ll be at that party on Friday, quite possibly hoping to see you.”
He can do it, too. I know that. All I have to do is tell him to go ahead and he’ll have Elena’s dress on the floor this Friday by midnight. He’ll use me to use her, and she won’t have any idea; he’s that good at faking my voice. She’ll even wait for me to text her afterward.
“Do not freaking breathe on Elena. Dash, if you do, I swear I’ll never stop fighting you. Okay? I’ll shove back as hard as I can whenever you’re in me. You won’t get to do anything. You—”
“Oh, I’m well aware that you can complicate my situation, Never-Ever. God knows you did enough of that today.”
Even if I didn’t already know for sure that this is Dashiell, I would recognize him by his incredible knack for spinning the subject around on me so that he always has the upper hand. I know when he’s doing it but I’ve never figured out how to stop him while it’s happening. “You were the one who was doing almost everything.”
“I should have been doing everything, you mean. We had an arrangement.” No mention of the fact that he’s blown whatever arrangement we had sky-high, and I guess that was always his plan. No mention of him playing me for a sucker. “Really, Never, you picked a remarkably ill-considered moment to start thrashing around on me. I needed my concentration. And in the course of doing what was necessary to maintain control, I knocked you down—deeper than I’d meant to. You nearly did immense harm to us both.”
“Harm?” And I give up trying to resist; I just plain collapse and start asking him the questions he’s been waiting for all along. “You mean those things chasing us? What were they, Dash?”
“I told you what that place is, Never. Didn’t I?”
“You said it’s the Land of the Dead.”
“Specifically, it’s the borderlands. A margin where the Land of the Dead overlaps the deepest reaches of the unconscious mind. So the only place, really, where the living and the dead are likely to come into contact.”
“So those were dead guys.”
“Dead guys. Precisely. The very same dead guys I’d already warned you against.”
The men that money belongs to—these are not perfect gentlemen we’re talking about. That must have been them. I’d just assumed he meant people who were still alive, but if this whole possession thing is a regular racket for ghosts, then I guess having gold stashed would be a smart thing for them.
“They didn’t look like guys. Dead or not dead. They really didn’t look like you could call them human.”
Dashiell rolls his head—or that would be Ruby’s head—in exasperation. “And are you really going to make me get pedantic on your ass, Never-Ever? Can’t you sort through any of this on your own?”
I don’t say anything, just glare at him—because how am I supposed to make sense of this mess without help? And it’s not like Dash ever really minds an excuse to keep spouting off, anyway.
“We’re dead, Never. Our bodies, the faces we used to have—those things simply aren’t in effect anymore. So what you see while you’re there might incorporate a certain amount of suggestion on our side—some of us are better at nudging the imagery than others—but for the most part it’s supplied by your own mind.”
“You look like yourself there. You look exactly how you used to.”
“Because you know what I’m supposed to look like. I have my old appearance courtesy of your memories. Strangers who are meeting you postmortem won’t have that luxury.”
Okay. “So they looked like scary freaks because I thought they were scary freaks. That’s what you’re saying? But they were really just ex-people?” Everything Dash has been telling me is still sinking in and fear is just starting to kick inside me. “So would they have killed me?”
Dash sort of lolls back, and in the dawn light I can see his expression enough to know that there’s something going on that he doesn’t understand, either. “There would be no percentage for them in that. Killing you in the dreamspace without your active participation. To forge the kind of connection that you and I have, your host has to approach you voluntarily. You can’t simply hunt them down. The ritual aspect is essential.” Ruby’s lips purse as he thinks about it. “But they could try to keep you there, Never. Prevent you from waking up again.”
That sounds bad. “Why would they bother?”
“To cause trouble for me, probably,” Dash says. “They know I’d do anything for you and Miss Slippers.” But Ruby’s mouth is still drawn tight and her green eyes have gone shadowy. Dashiell’s worried and there’s something he’s not telling me. As usual, I guess.
And then a harsh buzz starts blasting from the end of the hallway: Dad’s alarm going off. Dash’s expression seizes up and mine must too; I’m wondering how we can get Ruby back downstairs without Dad noticing. And wondering if he might have heard a voice that really, really shouldn’t be talking in his house in the sludgy November dawn.
RUBY SLIPPERS
I feel my head pitching rapidly forward, and there’s a loud crack as my brow collides—with what? The pain chiming through my skull brings me up blinking. I have a confused feeling that I’ve been falling in a dark space for a long, long time, but now I’m in a room lit by hazy yellow-gray glow and I’ve just slammed my head hard against what appears to be a bedpost. Someone catches me by my shoulders and pulls me upright. “Dashiell?”
A choked laugh breaks out at my back. “Not exactly, Ruby-Ru.”
I turn and it’s Everett in a sloppy T-shirt and a tangle of blankets. Right, this is his room with its silver metallic walls, and that glow in the sky is probably dawn, and I have no possible reason for being slouched on his bed at this hour. There are footsteps out in the hallway and a brisk knock on the door before the knob starts turning.
“What is going on in here?”
Dad. He’s in the doorway, and I can’t think my way to the tips of my own fingers, much less through to what I should say. My head is throbbing and sparks flash in my eyes.
“I think Ruby must have been sleepwalking?” Everett says, looking up at him. “She just hit her head pretty hard, and I can’t tell if she’s okay or not.”
That was the best excuse anyone could have possibly come up with, and now that I think about it, it might even be true. Because how else did I get up here? Dad has already made the transition from peeved to concerned, and he’s tipping me back to inspect my forehead. I flinch when his cool hands probe the swelling. “She’ll have an impressive bump, that’s certain. Ruby, sleepwalking? Is that how this happened?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I just woke up now, I think? I mean, the last thing I knew—ther
e was this dead body with these pink things crawling out of it? That must have been a nightmare, though.” And Dashiell was there, dripping wet and golden in the darkness; Dash said it was a dangerous place for me and somehow he dragged me away, but I don’t mention any of that.
Everett starts. “Whose body was it? Could you tell?”
“Everett, please. Your sister is disoriented. There might be a mild concussion.” Dad is staring at me, looking older than he ever has before. “Ruby? Tell me today’s date.”
And then I see his face shift; he’s sorry he asked that particular question, because it’s the anniversary of something he wishes never happened at all. I’m still foggy enough that I might have had trouble remembering if I didn’t see the grim pinch of his mouth.
“November nineteenth,” I say. “It’s Dashiell’s twenty-third birthday.”
“You’re right,” he says, a little curtly. “Maybe that’s why.”
“Why what?” It’s Everett again and our dad glances at him, not trying to hide how annoyed he’s getting.
“Does it matter? Help me get your sister downstairs, please. Ruby, you don’t look well at all. You’ll be staying home today.”
I pull away and stand up. “I’m fine. I’m totally fine.” But my vision bobs with firefly lights and I’m swaying on my feet when somebody catches me.
“I think you’ve proved my point, Ruby. Everett?” And then they’re both holding me by my arms and maneuvering me out into the hallway and down the staircase. Once we get as far as my room I break free from them and stumble to my bed.
“Why what?” Everett asks again. “Why does it matter that it’s Dash’s birthday?”
A sharp glance from our dad, from Everett to me and back. “Ruby isn’t the only one who was troubled by disturbing dreams, that’s all. I must have had an unconscious response to the date. Ruby? Can I bring you something for breakfast?”
“I think I just need to sleep,” I say. I don’t know why, but I’m exhausted and everything I see looks blurred, like the dream-fog is flowing after me.
“I’ll call you every few hours today. It’s important that you don’t sleep too deeply,” Dad says. Everett is a smoky silhouette in my doorway, but I can still see him flinch.
“Dad? What did you dream?” Everett can’t let it go, and I’m just starting to understand that he must have a reason. “Did you dream about Dashiell?”
“Everett, I hope you’re aware that the two of us have more serious issues to address than an entirely predictable nightmare? My firstborn son died in appalling circumstances two months ago, after a life spent wreaking havoc on anyone foolish enough to care about him. Today would have been his birthday. If he had lived, maybe he would have condescended to let his family take him out for dinner tonight. Ruby would be planning his cake. Of course I dreamed about him.” Dad is pulling blankets over me as he says this, but his eyes are fixed on the wall above my head; he doesn’t want me to see the tears swelling on his lashes. “So, what time did you come home last night? Everett, I’m not used to that kind of behavior from you.”
Then the tears break loose and he swings his face away from me; it’s the first time I’ve seen him cry for Dashiell. Even at the funeral he was locked down, cold and rigid and blank, but maybe it just took him this long to really feel it.
“Dad?” I’m struggling to sit up and hug him but he’s already walking toward my door, snapping his steps down and holding his head too straight. Because if he didn’t he would crumple, I can see it.
“I got home around one,” Everett says. “You can go ahead and punish me, I don’t care. Just tell me what you dreamed.” And now our dad is standing inches away from Everett, obviously wanting to escape and go sob someplace where we won’t see him, but Ever won’t move. He’s holding both sides of the doorframe and his feet are planted so that you’d have to shove him viciously to get past. “I really need to know.”
Isn’t that exactly what Everett said to me, when he was asking what I’d dreamed about Dash?
“I truly don’t think it’s any of your business, Everett. And I don’t appreciate your obstructing me.”
“It’s—” And Ever stops dead, staring into space, almost like he’s listening for something. “It’s family business. Just tell me and I’ll stop bugging you.”
Dad sighs and shoots a worried look my way. “I want to hear, too,” I say, but only because it’s normal for me to back up Everett when he needs me.
Though maybe I don’t want to hear it. Maybe there are things it would be better not to know.
“All right, then. I dreamed that Dashiell was back in our house. I could hear his voice incessantly, coming through the walls and out of the vents and from around corners. I kept searching for him, for what felt like hours, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. Now are you satisfied, Everett? Can I proceed where I like in my own home? And I suppose you’re grounded, not that I’m here enough to enforce that effectively. It will have to be on the honor system.”
Everett folds himself out of the way, stepping deeper into my room, and our dad stalks through. His words stay behind him, though, like curls of paper whispering on the floor: I dreamed that Dashiell was back.
So Dad senses it on some level, too, even if his mind can’t come to terms with what it almost knows. Dashiell is all over this house: the walls are made of his laughter, he permeates our skin, and the breath inside my lungs has the same wave as his hair. So why can’t any of us say it?
Everett is staring at me, layers of gray sliding in his eyes. He bites his lower lip and steps closer, and from the angle of his head I know he’s seen something in my face.
“Ruby. You know, don’t you? You do!”
I promised Dashiell I wouldn’t say anything, though. “Know what?”
“You’ve been lying to me. Ruby, we never lie to each other! That is not what we do.”
Everett is almost sputtering, he’s so upset, and I feel heat flushing my cheeks, because he’s right. No matter how badly Ever and I argue sometimes, we’ve always been basically loyal to each other no matter what else we do.
“Well, then you’ve been lying to me, too.”
And there it is: everything we haven’t said is seeping like cold wind between our words. “I had to. It didn’t work, but I was trying—God, Ruby, has he talked to you? Just in your dreams, or—” Everett’s eyes go wide for a moment, then squeeze closed, and he breaks out in shocked, gasping laughter. “Oho, that bastard. That bastard. I never even thought—Ruby, you didn’t tell me that? You just sat there watching him use me, and you didn’t say anything? Really?”
“He told me not to.” The words sound thin, little scratches on the air. “He said you wanted to protect me from knowing the truth, and it would just make you worried about me.”
Everett snorts. “It’s my body, Ruby. So maybe I have a right to know what the hell he’s doing with it?” He gives me a disbelieving glare. “But I guess you’re completely on his side now, not mine. You don’t care what he does, and you’ll just tell whatever lies he wants you to?”
“He’s our brother,” I say. “We should all be on the same side.”
“Should,” Everett says contemptuously. “Do you have any idea how he’s been playing with you?” And he spins away and slams my door behind him.
I told you Dashiell needs us, I think. I told you we had to be ready to fight for him. How could you expect me to ignore him, when he asked me to keep quiet?
Ready to fight. Yes, those are the words that have been whispering in my mind, ever since that day when I walked into the river. A sense of something awful, closing in on all of us.
When I turn to my window, I already know what I’ll see: a dozen yellow eyes, waiting to meet mine.
NEVER-EVER
Where is he now? That’s the worst of it, he can knock back and forth between me and Ruby and I can’t guess where he’s hiding until the moment when he happens to feel like letting me know. He can bash Ruby’s head into my freaking bed
post—and I know he did that on purpose, I know he wanted our dad to hear, even if I have no clue why—and then hunker down under somebody’s brain and laugh at how he’s had us both so duped.
I’m on my own with this mess, because I can’t trust my twin sister to tell me the truth anymore. Everything I did to protect her backfired straight into my face. And I definitely won’t get any information out of Dashiell unless it’s convenient for him to tell me, and half of what he says is probably lies anyway. I’m so pissed I’m shaking as I get dressed, yanking up my jeans and pulling on my sweater so hard that I rip its holes even wider.
Oh. It’s not my sweater at all but Dashiell’s black cashmere one, and I didn’t even notice that I’d reached for it. Hi, Dash. Nice job looking after Ruby. Is that your idea of a fun way to spend your birthday, giving her a concussion?
No response except for maybe a vague hint that I don’t know what I’m talking about and that I’m being an unreasonable douche. I nearly tear the sweater off, but the problem is that all my own clothes really do look like ass, and with Dashiell hanging around in me I might get to talk with Elena again. I’m not going to let him mess with her, I swear it, but this is probably the only chance I’ll ever have to get to know her for real.
Or maybe he’s tricking me into thinking this way. Maybe I’m only half myself, and the other half is like some dead insect that’s crawling just because Dashiell is zapping it. I thought she was charming. Yeah, absolutely, Dash. That’s what she is, and cool and funny and smart as hell. And there’s no reason on earth why she’d ever bother with someone like me.
When I head downstairs I’m still wearing the sweater, though, and I don’t remember deciding to keep it on.
Dad is in the kitchen, making scrambled eggs, which is not a thing he would ever normally do. Takeout is pretty much his limit, or maybe toast at a stretch. Of course; the eggs must be for poor, hurt, oh-so-special Ruby. He takes one look at me and winces.