Wicked Hungry

by Jacobs, Teddy

  Chapter 36: THE EMERGENCY STAIRWAY TO EVERYWHERE

  Everything goes dark and then explodes with a bright green light, and then we’re standing in the midst of nothingness, on a great green disk.

  In the middle of the nothingness, there is a little table. On top of the table is a piece of paper.

  “This isn’t right,” Nye says.

  “I want to go home,” says Rewsin. “Why am I still in this dog skin? Where are we?”

  “Yeah, where are we?” I ask.

  Karen walks forward and grabs the paper. She reads it, then hands it to me. “They’ve put us in a trap,” says Karen.

  The letter is short: “Welcome to our trap! I’m sorry it had to end this way, but you’re better off here than out there — at least once the ceremony starts, which should be any moment now. (I can hardly wait — soon we’ll start over with a clean slate!) All the best, Zach.”

  “Zach,” I say. “It figures.”

  Nye nods. “It appears we are stuck inside the gateway, instead of having gone through it.”

  “Like a fly in amber,” Karen says. “We could stay here a million years.”

  “Wouldn’t we starve?” I ask.

  Nye shakes his head, sadly. “We’re stuck in a moment in time inside the gateway.”

  “What’s that mean?” I ask.

  “That means it’s 11:52 forever,” Karen says. “Until we get out of here.”

  “Which could be never, I’m afraid,” says Nye.

  “There must be some way out,” Connor growls.

  I just close my eyes. I’ll never see Meredith again, or Carolina. Or my family. Or Enrique’s family. It’s all this Seelie queen’s fault. Or is all my fault?

  I open my eyes to see my companions pacing around aimlessly. Everyone except Karen, who’s just standing there.

  “I’m sorry, Karen,” I say. “I should have listened to you.”

  She shakes her head. “You did listen, Stanley. There’s no way you could have imagined all this. And I never could have imagined what happened to me. I still don’t understand.”

  “There has to be some way out,” I say to myself, but maybe she hears me, because suddenly Karen is right next to me. I can feel her pale, cold skin close to mine; her blood red lips whisper into my ear: “Maybe there is, Stanley. Let’s close our eyes and concentrate, and maybe we’ll see something besides this green nothingness.”

  “Together, then, Karen?”

  “Together, then, Stanley, now and forever,” she says with a cold little laugh, and she grabs my hand.

  My body is wracked with cold pain and pleasure, my senses overwhelmed with the taste, the color, the fragrance — everything is blood red rose. There’s no way to overpower it, so I ride it, floating on waves of sensation. I need to focus on something else. What are we doing? I want to pull Karen to me, but no, that’s going about it all wrong. Should I knock her away from me? No, not that, either. We’re trapped, and I need her help. We need to get out of here.

  Meredith. I need to get to Meredith. But most of all we need to get out of here. There has to be some way out, for emergencies like this. I mean, if people get stuck on an elevator, there’s a way out; if you get stuck in a tunnel, there’s a way out; and if you get stuck on a bridge, you can walk off too.

  When I open my eyes there’s a really thin string hanging in front of our faces. At the end of the string there’s a tiny tag. I let go of Karen’s hand, reach out and grab it, and hold it close to my face.

  PULL ONLY IN CASE OF EMERGENCY.

  “Watch out, Stanley,” Karen says. “It could be—”

  “We’re already in a trap,” I say. “And we’ve got to get out of here.”

  The tiny tag dangles in front of my face. Is it even real? I’m going to pull it before it disappears.

  I reach out and pull.

  What was I expecting? A wailing siren? A rush of color and sound? Nothing of the sort happens. Nothing appears to have changed. But then Karen gasps beside me.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Stanley, can’t you see it? There’s a door,” she whispers to me.

  I look where she’s pointing. There’s a door, all right, rusty brownish red in the middle of this big green disk. I walk over to it. There’s a handle. My outreached hand grabs the handle and turns it, and the door opens, revealing a stairway.

  Nye is behind me now. “Go on, enter, before it vanishes,” he says.

  I look back at Karen to see if she’s telling me this could be trap, too, but she just looks impatient. So I climb in. Karen, Connor, and Nye follow, followed by the demon, who shuts the door behind us.

  We’re in a huge spiral staircase, made out of very old stone. How can I tell the staircase is so old? Because it’s worn underneath our feet, so worn that the steps aren’t quite at right angles, and there’s a big dip in the middle.

  “Where are we?” I ask, looking back at the others.

  “I’ve heard rumors of a place like this,” Connor says. “But Whelan is new, and I’m not sure he’s worked out all the secrets of his job.”

  “Wasn’t he trained?” I ask.

  Connor shakes his head. “The last gatekeeper died unexpectedly, before imparting much of what he knew. I know Whelan has been looking for these stairs for years.”

  “I myself thought they were destroyed when the gateway was still outside Salem,” Nye says.

  “Where are we, then?” Karen asks.

  “You see those marks on the walls?” Connor asks.

  There’s this circle with an eye in the middle.

  “Yeah,” I say. “What is that?”

  “That’s the mark of the gatekeeper,” Connor says. “These are his private stairs, used only by him, or in the case of an emergency by those qualified to use them. At least that is how it was supposed to work.”

  “But where do they lead?” I ask.

  “Nowhere?” Connor says. “Everywhere? Wherever you need to go? Whelan told me the little he knew, but he’s never used them.”

  “Will they take us to the Seelie queen?” I ask.

  “If that’s where you need to go,” Connor says. “That’s how I understood it, anyhow.”

  Karen whispers in my ear, “Is that where you really want to go?”

  “I need to see Meredith,” I say. “I need to find her and Carolina.”

  “I’ll follow you, Stanley,” Karen whispers. “Wherever you go.”

  “You don’t have to,” I say.

  “I’ve gone this far,” she says. “I’ll go as far as it takes.”

  “Where do the rest of you want to go?” I ask them.

  “I want to go home,” Rewsin says from behind us.

  “And you, Connor?” I ask.

  “I need to find Carolina. And I must open the gate,” he says. “And go home.”

  “I too wish to open the gate,” Nye says. “I can’t leave my knights stranded in your world.”

  “Do you live in our world, Connor?” I ask.

  “No,” he says. “But I serve Clan Whelan.”

  We come to a small landing with an enormous door against the far wall. We assemble in front of the door, which is inscribed with runes I can’t figure out.

  “Home,” says Rewsin, turning to us. To me, I realize. “Stanley, if you ever need me, say my name three times backwards, then bite your lip and spit blood on the floor. I will come and fulfill my debt.”

  Then before we can react, he turns and wrenches the door open, revealing pure red fire. He leaps through the doorway with a cry of joy. His body collapses there in the doorway, shrinking until it’s just a dead dog.

  The doorway shuts behind him.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “He went home,” Nye says, “but he left his host here on the stairs.”

  I look at what was once Frumberg’s dog. “It deserves a burial, at least.” But the body melts, dissolving, leaving behind a nasty stench. The process continues until there’s nothing but a dark stain on the gra
y stone, then nothing at all.

  “We must keep moving,” Nye says then. “Time is passing here, I think.”

  I climb again, the others following me. My legs are heavy and weak, and I’m filled with questions. How long will we climb, and at midnight, no less? When was the last time I ate? Will the next door lead me to Meredith?

  My fist still squeezes the tiny tag, but it feels funny in my hand — solid, metallic and cold — and I bring it up to my eyes as I walk. In the faint light emanating from the walls around us, I see a tiny golden key in my palm.

  Without thinking about it, I stick the key in my jeans pocket.

  We come to another landing, and here the door is normal-sized. My size. On it, written in script, I can read: “Meredith and Carolina.”

  Underneath, more is written.

  “The Seelie queen’s chambers.”

  “Are we just going to burst into her room?” Karen asks. “That seems foolish.”

  “Or we could just waste the rest of our days on this stairwell,” I say.

  “The boy has a point,” Nye says, pulling out a blade.

  “Would you draw your blade against a queen?” Connor asks.

  Nye shrugs. “Who knows what we’ll meet there? It’s best to be cautious. Perhaps the queen needs protection from her own people.”

  Before anyone else can say anything, I push the door. It opens into darkness. My feet propel me forward, the others following me.

  The air is warm and humid, and the stink hits me before I’m halfway through the door. Fruit. Ripe, tropical fruit. It grows from the ground on short, stunted trees that sit in golden bowls, like some kind of strange bonsai. Mango. Passion fruit. Star fruit. Pineapple. Cantaloupe. The trees and plants stand arranged in gold inlaid bowls on dark wood tables, their fruit so ripe it must be fermenting, calling out to be picked. We have nothing like this in New England, not in my mother’s food co-op, not even at Whole Foods. My mother would be in ecstasy, but I just want to know: where’s the meat? My God, what would I give for a steak right now. Or a rabbit... I am so hungry.

  “Where are they?” Karen asks from behind me.

  I tear my eyes away from the plants, from my dreams of food. This isn’t a garden, but sleeping chambers, and they’re here somewhere. There, past a pair of pineapple bushes, Carolina and Meredith lie on two cots.

  Where are the guards?

  Where is the queen herself? But then I see a larger bed, up above us on a raised platform, surrounded by passion fruit and prickly cactus trees. The woman lying there has a head full of thin white hair, but paradoxically seems young, and her skin glows faintly in the near darkness.

  Then, from outside, I hear voices.

  “I’ve done as you asked. I hooked half the middle school and high school on those stupid pills. I built you a zombie army, and now I want my reward.”

  Zach. What’s he doing here?

  “You are too impatient, son.”

  “That’s not my fault,” Zach says.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You sent me to live among them. Made me a changeling. Forced me to live with those impure humans. Among the meat eaters.”

  “Nowhere else but in a human family could you have developed such fine talents. Such rage and such desire for purity.”

  “But it’s not fair, and besides, you never let me use them. I want to help with the sacrifice. Help with the cleansing. I want to help destroy all their factories, their cars, their meat-packing plants.”

  “You’ve done your part, Zach. You know it is not for us to destroy. We of the Summer Court make things grow. We create. But we can’t clean the slate.”

  “It’s not enough. I’m tired of growing fruit and vegetables. I want to take part in the cleansing and feel their suffering.”

  “You will, when we call the Old Ones.”

  “My Lord Gilroy?” says another. “Should we not lower our voices? Will we not wake Queen Eleanor?”

  “You know full well, Nevin, that my mother will not wake unless I wish her to wake,” says Gilroy.

  “But the servants,” asks Nevin. “And the guards—”

  “Have all had too much mulled wine to drink, those who weren’t drugged.”

  “Let me start the sacrifices, then,” Zach says. “I’m ready. Let me call the Old Ones now.”

  The voices grow nearer. I drop beneath Carolina’s cot and hope the others are hiding, as well. And that whoever was last out remembered to shut the door.

  A dim light enters the room. A candle, maybe, carried at waist-height. Before the three of them can enter, there’s just time to glance over behind me, and I see the door still open, showing the rock staircase behind it.

  It’s too late to do anything but wiggle farther underneath Carolina’s cot. Above me she breathes deeply and slowly, rhythmically, in and out.

  “They’re asleep,” says Zach.

  “I told you as much,” says Gilroy. “Better safe than sorry, Mother always said.”

  “And look at her now,” says Nevin.

  “I would have liked to know my grandmother,” says Zach.

  Gilroy laughs, and his laugh chills me. “She would not have appreciated your mixed blood. We had to hide you; she would not have approved.”

  “But she’s my grandmother,” Zach says.

  “She would have disowned you,” Gilroy says.

  “He’s right, you know,” says Nevin. “She can barely stand her own son.”

  “She can’t stand me, actually,” Gilroy says, with a laugh. “But she doesn’t have to, now, does she?”

  “Let me wake her up,” Zach says. “So I can at least meet her. She doesn’t have to see the sacrifices.”

  “Out of the question,” Gilroy says.

  “Father, please,” Zach says.

  Gilroy reaches out to caress his son’s cheek. “I’m sorry.”

  “Then I’ll wake up the children and sacrifice them. It’s the only thing I’m good for here.”

  He reaches out to Meredith, who is sleeping on the couch, and cold sweat forms on my forehead.

  “Wait just a little while and have a pineapple. Or a mango,” Gilroy says, reaching out and stopping Zach’s hand. “Patience is definitely something you lack, my son.”

  “No,” Zach says. “I’ve eaten more fruit today than all of last year.”

  “It will cleanse your body of all that human food. Have some more.”

  “I will soon enough. There’s nothing else to eat here, anyway.”

  “I thought,” says Gilroy, “that you were sick of the human world. That you couldn’t wait to join us and live like us.”

  “Sure,” Zach says. “But I can’t just forget what I left behind, can I? You promised. There’s so much misery out there. It’s time to end it.”

  Peeking out from behind Carolina’s cot, I see him reach out with something long, sharp, and strangely familiar.

  It’s my athame. Blessed by the moon goddess, ceremonial, pure. But what has he done to it? It’s dark and shiny. Like he’s blackened it in a fire. And it’s sharp. And that’s not all. There’s a strange smell on the blade. Blood, but that’s not all. Something chemical, nasty.

  He reaches out and grabs Meredith’s arm. He puts the athame to her, presses the sharpened tip against her skin. He’s going to cut her.

  Not if I have anything to do with it.

  I jump up with a howl, and my friends rise around me. Gilroy jumps back three feet, but I only have eyes for Zach. He’s grabbed Meredith and holds her tightly, looking me straight in the eyes. In his hand, dark wood glints.

  “Back off, Stanley.”

  “You hypocrite!” I growl, taking a step forward. “And you called me a murderer.”

  “You don’t understand,” Zach says, stepping backward, still holding Meredith tightly. “Big problems need radical solutions.”

  “No,” I say. “You’re wrong. Nothing’s worth this.”

  “When the Old Ones come, the world will be cleans
ed. And all the impure meat eaters will be washed away.”

  “Spare me the prophecy, Zach,” I say. “And let her go.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Stanley. It’s too late for that. The process has already begun.”

  The room goes dark, and I hear Zach intoning words as he slices the athame through the air. “Ankaris, Tunilus, Canikos—”

  Before I can jump at Zach and Meredith, there’s a wall of sulfurous flame around him. In fact, the whole room is filled with fire and smoke. And still it grows hotter.

  “Who calls us?” booms out a voice from far, far away.

  The fire is everywhere.

  “Who prepared the sacrifice?” booms the voice again.

  “I,” Zach intones. “I call you, Old Ones.”

  “No!” I shout. “No, go away!”

  “Do you banish us already?” booms the voice.

  “Come forth!” Zach shouts. “Ignore the human!”

  “We come!”

  The room grows hotter, and I choke on the sulfurous smoke.

  “You fool!” shouts Gilroy. “You can’t bring them here!”

  But it’s too late. We are all going to burn to death.

  Chapter 37: NISWER, NISWER, NISWER

  Above the ring of fire, I see something coming. Something huge, made out of fire and smoke.

  “We’re all doomed!” Gilroy shouts. “You idiot boy!”

  “Father!” Zach calls out. “Help!”

  I feel Karen’s hand on my arm. “Do something, Stanley. Quick, now!”

  I shake my head. Do what? I bite my lip in frustration, taste my own blood.

  That’s it: blood in my mouth. I turn toward the demons forming in the fire. And spit not onto the floor, but into the flames.

  I can barely breathe. Holding my shirt up to my mouth, I take a breath of hot smoky air and shout out three words: “Niswer, Niswer, Niswer!”

  “Who speaks my name?”

  I never thought I’d be so happy to hear that voice.

  And he’s beautiful now. A column of pure energy, hot and bright, up above us.

  “What are you doing, you idiot?” he asks, looking down.

  Zach just stares.

  “Can you send them back?” I ask him.

  “No one can send us back!” the Old Ones roar in unison.