Betwixt

by Tara Bray Smith

  “We are of the greater sphere, love. And that’s where we’ll return.” He waved a hand around majestically and Morgan followed but could only see darkness, and the barest outline of an even blacker darkness. “We inhabit the larger universe — the one that humans can feel only the lightest pricks of. When they are afraid of the night. When the hair on their arms stands up. When they walk in the forest and understand that they are not alone. We are fay. We come from the holes — in the earth, in the trees, the graves, hurricanes and tornadoes and storms. The black holes that swallow stars.

  “Cutters, too.” His voice lowered. “The invisible world makes room for good and evil and everything in between.”

  For a moment he almost seemed sympathetic. Morgan eased.

  “Cutters … what are they?”

  But speaking before she was spoken to was not welcome, so instead of answering, Bleek coughed and shook his head, sighing.

  “Did I say that it was question-and-answer time? No. I didn’t. Listen to me. Wipe that pathetic little frown off your mouth and listen to me. That crying of yours — puh-lease. Must have taken some energy to do that. We don’t cry, Morgana, in case you hadn’t noticed. Since that first time in the forest, have you cried? No. The inhabitation dries us all up.” He snorted and laughed. “But why am I letting you waste my time?”

  And then, as if to show her that she’d be sorry if she allowed the kind of softness she’d always, in a sense, longed for in her life, as if to show her that yes, he did survive on hate and cruelty — he scratched her with a long nail, just on her cheek. Morgan felt wetness, and after putting her hand there, she drew it down and looked at it. There was a black, thick substance coated with phosphorescence that she recognized as whatever had seeped from that girl she had scratched at the Ring of Fire. Just as quickly, it disappeared. Had she never seen her own blood before? No, never. She had never been hurt. Her period hadn’t yet come — something she had just chalked up to being thin — amenorrhea, it was called, though she still told her mother to buy her tampons so that Yvonne, the nosy bitch, wouldn’t ask.

  “Corpa do bleed, my dear. It isn’t easy, but they do bleed.” Bleek moved closer again. “Nasty, stinky things, aren’t they? Our human bodies? Especially when they get old. I mean, look at me.” He pulled a particularly saggy bit of flesh from his jowls and wiggled it. “I used to be quite handsome. I used to get all the girls.”

  He continued, pacing in the small clearing. “Cutters don’t want to leave. We like it here. We have power on earth. In Novala we’d be just one of many. At the ring we decide, nah, why take what power we have there when we can use it right here on earth?”

  “What kind of power?”

  “You like the sound of that? Never mind. Soon enough you’ll find out. In any case, it’s verboten to stay, Morgana. Changelings are required to join the exidis, even though she pretends like it’s a ‘choice.’ Problem is, Viv wasn’t lying when she said that the inhabitation — it wears on us. To put it lightly.” Bleek opened his mouth and bared his horrifying muzzle. “My poor teeth, for example. Our human corpus — it can’t handle it. We break down starting at eighteen. I’m twenty-two. And how old do I look?”

  Morgan started, but Bleek waved a slender, long-nailed hand.

  “Don’t answer that. I’ve even considered a face-lift. They’re much less invasive these days….” He sighed and shook his head. “But what I smuggle in dust can’t pay for it. And though I’m a good dealer, a man’s gotta eat. So I’ve lit on another …” He paused and looked at Morgan directly, as if to suss out her trustworthiness. “Avenue. Much tidier. Much more fun. But I’ll tell you about that all later. No need to spoil you so soon. Of course, this little tutoring session we’ve set up, it’s not free. You realize that don’t you?”

  She said the words deliberately, fighting her dizziness. “What do you want me to do?”

  He paused again, retreated and turned away, then began reciting his instructions.

  “That darling little tinfoil-for-brains Neve Clowes is close to becoming my pet. I have been feeding her dust now for long enough; she is my slave, or close to being so.” He turned, looked at Morgan. “It’s not easy getting a human to become one’s pet. Don’t let Varicose Viv fool you. They have to want it. And your farm animal of a brother is my main concern here, since she must be alone, and while he is around, they seem to be attached in a most inconvenient way. I suggest, then, that you occupy him or otherwise distract him over the next few days while I snare this particular prey.”

  He snorted and shook his head, almost mournfully.

  “She is really second-rate, this one. The first girl … Evelyn. Much better — would have given me a strong corpus to inhabit, but she was terribly” — he paused, searching for the right word — “stubborn, and there was that insect, Finn, and I lost her. And that other one. Ugh. I had to eliminate her right away.” He drew a line across his throat and widened his eyes. “Who knew she’d be such a bleeder?” He shook his head. “But I am really not well and must do something about it. Neve is almost too easy, unfortunately. Not much fun at all.” Bleek eyed the shivering Morgan. “But I am talking too much. You turn your brother’s head for me.” He smiled evilly. “But you know how to do that already, don’t you, darling?”

  She felt heat creep up her neck.

  “Of course you do. It’s so — exciting that the two of you aren’t really related, isn’t it? I mean, tell the truth, Morgana. You’ve always thought he was a little cute, huh? The perfect guy.” Bleek’s voice raised in imitation of a teenaged girl’s. “Smart, handsome, nice, funny. Shucks, too bad he’s my brother.”

  Morgan stared.

  “Closer’s better, huh? But that’s your business. Mine is much more simple: deliver Neve to me and I will give you your first, well, second, lesson — this wasn’t exactly a chat at the Krak, was it? — which will give you a distinct advantage over that self-righteous little twat in your ring, Ondine. Viv’s favorite, need I remind you. Whom Moth, by the way, seems to like a great deal as well. Too bad. The two of you seemed to hit it off at that little party. God, that was a disaster. Moth really can’t do anything right.”

  The memory of Moth shaming her made Morgan’s face burn and she stepped closer.

  “How do I do it?”

  “You’ll need to figure that out. Be creative. Jesus.” He rolled his eyes. “But just do it. The sooner the better. And I don’t need to tell you that you aren’t to speak of me with anyone, especially that other one, Nix. But you wouldn’t do that, would you? Because you know where that cold jewel of a heart in you lies, and for that, there is only one way.”

  She didn’t need to say a word. Bleek stopped. His eyes were very black, and his skin pale.

  “The one that I am on. The dark one.”

  He smiled and turned to leave, but Morgan stepped after him. “Please just tell me. Why are we called cutters? What does that mean?”

  “We? Me. Morgana, I am a cutter. You are nothing yet.”

  She shook her head, amended herself. “I mean, you. Why are you a cutter? What do you do?”

  He grinned and tipped his head back, rocking on his heels. “Of course she didn’t tell you. That’s good. That means she’s afraid.” He paused. “We’re cutters because we cut the current that effects the exidis. We short it. We stop the ring. No one gets in until we’re eliminated. Thereby damning us to existence as an everlasting particle of pain, passed from one being to another, for eternity, blah blah blah. She told you that part, right? Gentle Viv loves that part. ‘Forced to relive the entire history of the universe,’” he recited, “‘as an original particle of pain. Searing, hopeless, unimaginable pain.’ Yawn. Easy for her to say. There are more of them than there are cutters. Usually it’s easy as pie to defeat us. And Viv has extremely nice ways of selectively directing the circuits at the Ring of Fire.”

  Morgan’s eyes narrowed.

  “The way that blond boy died? Almost every year someone dies like that. Viv p
retends it’s an accident, something about how the guides didn’t prepare them, et cetera, but it’s happening more and more as they’re bringing changelings in. She wants to eliminate anyone she thinks might endanger the exidis. Anyone who slightly reeks of cutter.”

  “But do you believe it?” Morgan spoke quickly, remembering the girl who sniffed her in the parking lot. “The exidis? Do you really believe that we’re” — Morgan struggled with the word — “fay?”

  “Oh yes. It’s real. It’s happening. The exidis is growing. Human life is” — Bleek put his tongue between his lips and blew — “pffft. Don’t you doubt that.” He sneered. “But you think Viv cares about you? You’re a common morpha as far as I can tell — expendable. You might have a few trifling powers, birthday party tricks, basically, but you can’t come back. Like me. Ringers like Nix — they take a little more care about them. Prepare them better. But you and me? We’re nothing. Believe me. Viv doesn’t care about you and neither does her lackey, Moth. That’s why I joined the cutters. It’s dangerous — we’re often eliminated, but I’ve proven extremely hard to catch. See, I was born into this sick in-between world and I know every nook and cranny of it. Why, I even sort of like it. Me dam, she was a whorish pet,” Bleek sang, slipping into a cockney accent. “A lazy, squalid piece of ass for the scia. Very soon that will change.” He eyed her. “There are many of us left, Morgana. Many who could be made to remember what they once were …”

  Morgan tried to let the tide of information soak into her, but she couldn’t stop her questions. She wanted to get started. She felt there was no time to lose.

  “When do I get my first lesson?”

  “Impatient, aren’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. One thing cutters don’t have a lot of is time. Meet me in the tunnels tomorrow morning. You’ll get your first lesson there. Of course, you’ll have to do that little thing I asked of you before then —”

  “That’s not a problem.” The words had barely left her mouth before he turned. She realized she did not know what he was talking about.

  “The tunnels?” Morgan called out. “Bleek?” Morgan listened for his footsteps, but the cutter had already sunk into the inky woods around him and disappeared.

  CHAPTER 17

  AT FIRST IT FELT LIKE A VACUUM had sucked his insides out; Nix was clean as a seashell on the beach. Then the memories came, fast, like notes of a song. Splashes of his life: silver fish in a small white boat, his mother laughing, the smell of cedar and blood. Traveling from Alaska down the coast. Run, walk, hitch, hop a train, take a bus, a car, a plane if you could scrimp and had ID. The sweetpea girl, apple picking at sunrise. His SpongeBob sleeping bag, Finn, K.A. The first time he’d seen Neve. Her sleepy brown eyes. The soft tangle of her whitish-blond hair. He’d fallen in love with her — Nix knew that now, though he’d never do anything, out of respect for K.A. Then, just as surely, he’d damned her. Was it always going to be like this? As soon as he loved someone, as soon as he got close, they’d be marked to die?

  He who giveth, also taketh away.

  He needed to get to Ondine’s. Ondine would be able to help him. He’d tell her all about it, about Jacob and Neve and how he’d made the light jump. If she’d just remember what they’d shared. Was it only a few days ago? Nix thought of Ondine’s smooth body next to his in her shaded and cool bedroom, the light slanting in, and felt ashamed. Though nothing had happened — at least not that — their bodies had wanted something else, and those weeks were such a dream….

  Ondine had stayed. She had heard what Viv had told them. She’d know what to do.

  He careened away from the Cloweses’ so fast he forgot that he’d driven Ondine’s car there and had to take the Burnside bus along with the rest of the crazies. No way was he going back to face Neve until he knew what to do. An Indian man was sitting in one of the front seats: slumped, handsome in a way, with long hair, which meant that not so long ago maybe he’d lived on the rez. His face was red, his nose pocked. A drunk. My father, Nix thought, faster than he could hold on to it. Then the undeniable: a thin glowing light, white and electric, surrounded the man, not gaining, not lessening, just hovering there. How had he missed it when he got on the bus?

  He had ignored it. That’s what dust had allowed him to do. That’s why he had taken it. Then he did it out of habit. But now his eye was keen. He wasn’t going to blind himself anymore.

  When Ondine’s door opened, he was surprised to see her eyes red, her nose, too. She didn’t look well. She shook her head and looked at him coldly — “God, Nix” — but held the door steady, and without a word he stepped inside.

  For a moment, nothing passed between them; Nix kept his head down. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. He had left Ondine at the gathering without so much as a good-bye.

  “Where are the keys?” She wiped her nose and stared at him, but her eyes were unyielding.

  He passed them to her, head still down. He noticed she was careful not to touch his hand. “I … I left the car at Neve’s.” He raised his eyes to hers.

  “At Neve’s? Great. That’s just great.” Ondine shook her head. “And all that time I trusted you. How much dust are you doing, Nix? Huh? Does Moth give it to you by the truckload now?”

  When he spoke, his voice was soft. “Ondine, I need your help.”

  She stood a moment, then sighed. He felt the weight of all that time together slip out from under him.

  “I can’t help you.” The girl looked away. “I’m sorry; I can’t be involved in whatever happened out there. It’s not good for me. And it’s not good for you either.” Her voice became more tender then, but it was clear none of their former closeness remained. “I know you take dust. Whatever you’re hooked up with, those people … they’re dangerous. You need to get help. Professional help.”

  She spoke slowly, as if the last bit of energy in her body had already been sucked from her. Nix realized — too late — that he had not even thought about how she got home. Morgan D’Amici must have driven her. But what was going through her head now?

  He didn’t need to guess. Ondine stepped over to the door, picked up Nix’s backpack that was sitting there, and handed it to him. “I care about you. No. I cared about you. But you left me and I can’t be involved in this anymore.”

  “Ondine —”

  His eyes pleaded with her and he wondered whether she could feel their pull. They had looked into each other’s eyes when they were both naked, vulnerable.

  “I know this is weird. I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you. But there’s something going on that neither of us understands.” He took a breath and held it. He had to ask. “I think this is real, Ondine. I have to know what Viv said at the Ring of Fire.”

  “Viv? You mean the cult leader that has hundreds of kids messed up on dust? That Viv?” Ondine shook her head. “Nix, that was a messed-up place, and that was a messed-up thing Moth did to us, bringing us there. None of that is real. You realize that, don’t you?”

  Nix was begging now, his voice a thin whisper. “No. You don’t understand. This is real. This is real. It’s already started for me and I need to know what I missed. I have a problem. I need you — you’re the only one who can help me. You heard what she said. I … I see things, Ondine. Light. I see this light around people. And then they die. When I see it.” Nix knew he sounded confused, but her eyes — they were so hard, so unlike before. “Please, Ondine. I need to know what I am.”

  She stiffened and started to inch backward, shaking her head.

  “You need help. And I can’t give it to you.”

  He was scaring her, he realized. This girl whose bed he had shared, who had opened herself so sweetly to him. He was a monster now. She was shaking her head, slowly at first, but as he continued, begging with her, coming closer, deeper into the house, she started trembling.

  “Leave, Nix.” She put a hand to her mouth. “I don’t want you or anyone else here anymore. Not you, not Moth, not Mor
gan, no one. Please. I want you to leave.”

  She was sobbing soundlessly, but he couldn’t stop moving toward her. He had to get her to understand.

  “Please … Ondine. There’s something wrong. Something with Neve. I have to explain it to you —”

  He was close to her now, and he felt her fear. She was shaking. She thought he was going to hurt her.

  “I’m going to call the police.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you. Ondine —”

  She pulled the phone from her pocket and he could see her fingers hovering above the numbers. Her hands shook, but he knew she was going to do it. She pressed three digits and then held the phone to her ear.

  “Please,” Nix begged. “She’ll die if you don’t help me.”

  “Leave, Nix. The police are coming …”

  Her eyes flicked away.

  “Yes, my name is Ondine Mason, 1515 N.E. Schuyler. There is an intruder in my house and I am in danger. I need a police car here right away —”

  Her last words were a whisper, and Nix, though his eyes pleaded, said nothing more. Ondine held the door open and he put his backpack on and ran away.

  “Welcome to Cingular Wireless. … Para español, marque uno. For English …”

  Ondine shut her cell and slammed the door, not wanting to see his face anymore, not wanting to watch him as he ran, lonely and friendless, down the street. She had been about to call the police. She was going to dial the numbers. Why, at the last moment, hadn’t she? Nix was not her responsibility, she repeated to herself as she slid her back down the door, sinking into a ball on the floor. She was hysterical now — tearless, convulsive sobbing — and yet part of her, the part that was always there, stood outside and looked at her own pathetic, crumbling self.