Never

by K. D. McEntire

  “WENDY!” Elle yelled from the top of a nearby mailbox. “WHATEVER YOU'RE DOING, HURRY IT UP! I AM RUNNING OUT OF ARROWS OVER HERE!”

  “I can't—” Chel began, looking past Wendy to Elle. “Is she…is she going to be okay? Shouldn't we—”

  “Pay attention to me, not her!”

  “But I can't do what you're telling me to do. There's no…no burn or whatever. I can't!”

  Wendy slapped her. “Yes,” she said coldly. “You can.”

  “Hey!” Chel snapped, hand pressed against her reddening cheek. “That hurt!”

  Wendy slapped her again; it was a flat crack, an almost professional sound, like the bang of a gavel or the clack of handcuffs closing. Suddenly she understood how her mother must have felt, all those times she'd protested her ignorance, her fear of the unknown in the Never. “Did it?”

  “Look, bitch,” Chel warned, “you might be a ghost or whatever but I can still—”

  SLAP. “Can still…what? What can you do to me?” SLAP. “I mean, after all, I'm essentially dead, right? You can burn me a little with your touch, sure, but even then you're like a warm bench on a spring day compared to other Reapers.” SLAP. “You know what? I'm actually kind of digging this. I've always wanted to beat the crap out of you. You and your buffy friends—”

  “Fucking hell! That's it, if you do that one more—”

  SLAP.

  “BITCH! You asked for it!” Chel swung at Wendy and Wendy neatly stepped back, dodging. Then she sidestepped and slapped Chel again.

  “Too slow,” Wendy taunted. “Too slow, too weak. Not watching your back. Letting me in because you're scared.” SLAP. SLAP. SLAP. “Afraid of hurting me. Afraid of hurting yourself.” SLAP. “Except you're not afraid of screwing yourself up, right? You'll down a bottle of pills a day if it'll make you popular.” SLAP. “Why is it I'm the one who's practically dead, when you're the one with the fucking death wish, you pill-popping—”

  “DAMN IT, WENDY! STOP IT! I'm not MOM! I'm not the one you're mad…mad at!” Gasping, furious and scared, Chel tried to block the next slap but Wendy was too fast; she darted in and under, poking Chel hard enough in the center of her chest that Chel dropped her guard. Then Wendy shoved her sister. Chel, not expecting the attack to escalate, stumbled back. There was a patch of ice behind her.

  Coming down hard, Chel cracked her elbow on the concrete trying to avoid tripping over a straggling loop of spirit web and slipping on the ice instead.

  “No wonder your boyfriend dumped you,” Wendy said—the cruelest cut she could think of.

  There.

  Wendy felt it happen. The fear vanished with an audible pop, sending a small shockwave through the close space of the Never. Chel's rage peaked in a sharp spike, pulsing in a wave out from her core. Light, bright and brilliant, bloomed in Chel's chest, growing too almost quickly for Wendy to track with her eyes alone.

  Chel's breast vanished under the encroaching wave of Light, her torso, her legs and arms and head, until she was nothing but a glowing figure…and then her shape was lost amid the expanding corona of warm Light and sweet, lilting siren song.

  “Good,” Wendy whispered, expecting the fear of the Light to overcome her any moment, the same way Piotr had described all spirits felt around the Light, but she wanted to point her sister in the direction of the Ada-beast first. If Wendy had to sacrifice herself to wake Chel to the Light, so be it. So long as Piotr and Eddie and Jon were safe—that was all she cared about.

  “That way, Chel,” Wendy said, reaching into the Light's fire and taking her sister by the shoulders. She turned Chel toward the Ada-beast, but Wendy needn't have bothered; the creature had heard the siren song and was barreling toward them.

  “I've got this,” Chel said and Wendy shivered at the tinkling cadence of Chel's voice. She didn't feel attracted like a moth to the flame, the way Piotr described the Light to her, but it would probably come at any moment. Wendy sat back to wait.

  The creature, growling, flung itself forward. Wendy thought that the encounter would be over in moments—it was a ghost, twisted and terrible, but just a ghost nonetheless.

  Instead, the monster, snarling, nearly tore Chel's face off. It shot forward, snapping at her head, and Chel fell back and grabbed the beast around the torso. Tendrils of Light spun out from Chel's body—Wendy hadn't had time to describe how to control the ribbons of Light, but Chel managed to feel her way soon enough—and stabbed down, impaling the beast through the eyes and mouth, stripping the spirit webs from Ada's flesh with a wet ripping noise.

  The web came away and Chel's tendrils darted forward again, cauterizing the exposed tendons in one fast swipe. There was a stink like burning fur and spoiled meat, all overlaid with the coppery smell of spilled blood and the too-sweet scent of dripping essence.

  The beast howled and jabbed a sharp-fingered hand out. Chel yelled in pain—Wendy found even her pain sounded startlingly musical—and staggered left, half-supporting herself against a thin and twisted tree planted in the sidewalk.

  “Ada is burning away,” Lily gasped, joining Wendy and taking her by the shoulders. She held her side and staggered with each step, as if hurt. “We must step back…Lightbringer, please, being this close…it hurts. It is dangerous. Please…we must flee…”

  Startled, Wendy looked at Elle and Lily. Both wore highly pained expressions; Elle had wrapped herself around the mailbox to keep herself from moving toward the Light. Both were shaking with the urge to fling themselves into the Light.

  “She…she's calling to you?” Wendy asked stupidly, unbelieving what was right before her eyes. If Lily and Elle were so affected, why wasn't she?

  “Worry not for us. Ada is…being…saved,” Lily replied, shivering and clinging to Wendy now, using the Lightbringer as support, rather than holding Wendy back. “We…we must go now. We can stay no longer. It's growing…hard to con…concentrate.”

  “But Chel…” Wendy shook her head. Chel was holding her own, but not winning. “It's not dying. That thing…this isn't what I was expected. Give me your knife!”

  Lily, shaking, managed to free her blade and hand it to Wendy once more. Wendy slid the knife to Chel's side.

  “CUT THE THROAT!” she screamed. “BEHEAD IT!”

  Chel didn't take the knife. Instead the tendrils of Light, the sweet ribbons Wendy was used to handling, spun into a tight rope of Light in Chel's hands. She used the Light in ways Wendy had never thought of, looping the Light rapidly in a controlled spin that she slipped over the Ada-beast's head.

  “What is she doin—” Wendy broke off, gaping, as her sister snapped the Light closed like a garrote, slicing Ada's head off her body in one rapid yank. The beast's body jerked twice and fell over, bleeding sluggishly all over the sidewalk.

  Her Light shut off as if Chel had cut it closed with a switch and Lily, sagging beside Wendy, giggled like a drunk woman and shook her head. “That…that was unexpected.”

  Blooming with the remnants of Light, like a distant afterimage, Chel bounced on the tips of her toes, grinning. “That thing almost killed me! And I kicked its ass!” she yelled giddily, laughing like a loon. “I wanna do it again!”

  “Wooboy,” Wendy sighed, taking Chel by the shoulders and wincing at the heat. Her sister had most certainly unlocked her Light; Wendy could now feel the heat of it just beneath Chel's skin, like coals of a banked fire. “Well, don't go crazy with it yet, cowgirl. There's a ton you still have left to learn, and I don't even know half of the stuff I was supposed to learn either. We're still nothing close to a match for a normal Reaper.”

  Piotr and Eddie limped up to the side of the car. The spirit webs were backing away from the vehicle now, giving them enough of a berth that Wendy was positive they'd be allowed to continue on. Piotr, though pale, did not seem to be in as much pain as before.

  “It is the webs…and the beast,” he explained when Wendy, without speaking, strode to his side and pressed her hand against his chest. “They are connected to one an
other and I…I am somehow connected to them.”

  “We are going to talk,” Wendy said pointedly. “Not now, no time. But soon. You and I. And we're going to talk about keeping your mouth shut when you're in pain—i.e. how you're NOT to be all silent and manly if you're hurting. And…and about that mind-meld thing. Understand me?”

  Sheepishly, he nodded.

  “Great,” she said. “Now…um, about Ada.”

  “She's gone,” Elle broke the news bluntly. “Sorry. At least Chel here did the deed and not the Lady Walker. Chel was…surprisingly efficient, actually.”

  “I knew that Ada had passed into the Light,” Piotr said, squeezing Wendy's hip as she slid through the car door into the backseat. Wendy absently swatted at him but smiled as Eddie, sagging and tired, slid into the seat behind Jon.

  “How's that?” Jon asked, peering into the Never in front of them. Wendy could see thinner spots now, places where the webs had retreated, leaving them enough space to squeeze through.

  “The fabric of her dress has faded,” Piotr said. “As Specs’ glasses did when he passed into the Light, and Dunn's cap.” Piotr brushed a hand across Wendy's wrist. “She did not turn to dust; her soul was set free. I wish her well on her journey.”

  “So, wait,” Chel said, turning in her seat, “I sent a ghost to Heaven?”

  Wendy sighed. “What happened to being an atheist-maybe-agnostic-at-best?”

  “Screw that noise,” Chel declared, bouncing in her seat. “That was amazing! I'm totally calling myself an angel now! Angel of…dumdumdum…DESTRUCTION!”

  When Chel laughed again, Wendy shook her head and met Jon's eyes in the rearview. Chel needed time; she was hurting, and reacting poorly to what they'd just seen. They knew their sister—she was not like this.

  “Soon,” Wendy mouthed, and Jon nodded, revving the engine and pulling slowly forward.

  The spirit webs parted before them, allowing them passage. They were on their way to the Top of the Mark and the Council once again.

  When they reached the Mark Hopkins Hotel, Jon dropped Wendy off at the front door. The spirit web forest hadn't stretched this far yet, but at the rate of growth it would overtake Nob Hill in a matter of days at best.

  “Wait, I shall go with her,” Wendy heard Piotr say as Jon began to pull away. Jon obligingly stopped the car a second time and Piotr hurried after Wendy, leaving the others behind. Wendy waited for him at the foot of the hotel, watching the people milling within. She knew that she ought to feel something—anger, or perhaps joy that these people were untouched by the spirit webs—but all she could feel was a heavy, encompassing weariness.

  The storm clouds seemed to pulse on the horizon.

  “Think I can't handle the Council alone?” Wendy asked pointedly, trying not to let her mind circle back to the way Ada's skin had ripped, the way her teeth gleamed in the dim Never-light.

  “Net, never,” Piotr said, and held open his arms. “I just wished for a moment alone with you.”

  Leaning forward so that his lips brushed the curve of her ear, Piotr's breath fanned her cheek and his hands curled around her upper arms as if he were cupping delicate glass. His thumbs ran idle circles against her flesh and Wendy fought to keep herself from shivering. How did Piotr always know just the right place to touch to soothe her when she was stressed?

  “Thank you,” Wendy said. “Thank you.”

  Piotr drew her close and hugged her, tucking Wendy's head into the curve of his neck and shoulder, patting her back, relaxing her.

  Snuggling into his hug, Wendy took a deep breath, inhaling the clean scent of him—the evergreen and smoke, cool tang of ice and snow, all underlain with an earthy scent like rich loam and soil, like the fields of fresh-turned dirt warming in the sun Wendy passed when she drove through Napa Valley.

  Wendy snatched the moment of peace and calm and rubbed her chin against his shoulder. “I am not looking forward to being skin and bone again. Being like this, here with you, is really nice.”

  “I am not…Edward,” Piotr said softly, looking over her shoulder, “I am not alive. But know this: I cherish every moment I have left with you. Every. Single. One. And one day, when you return to your flesh, you will remember this night and know…that I care.”

  Wendy flicked a glance in the direction of the disappearing car and groaned; Eddie's face was a pale smear against the darkness. Wendy was too tired and on edge to deal with any sort of jealousy between Piotr and Eddie, perceived or otherwise, but before she could grouch at Piotr for putting pressure on her at a really inopportune time, Piotr's head dipped down.

  All was, for one brief and glorious moment, still.

  “Wendy,” Piotr murmured as Wendy sighed and, regretfully, stepped away from the hug, “I…I wonder if you would do me a favor.”

  “For you, Piotr? Anything.” She said it without thinking, without hesitating and, Wendy belatedly realized, she meant it. She would do anything for him.

  “I…think I may remember why I can do…why I can touch some of the living and have them do as I desire.” Piotr held out his hand and Wendy instinctively rested her palm in his. He smiled. “Will you allow me to show you something? Something important?”

  “Show me?” Wendy frowned. They were at the edge of the long curved driveway, the car idling at the end of the drive, near the corner. How was he going to show her anything here?

  “Show you,” Piotr said. “Do you trust me, Curly?”

  Wendy smirked at the nickname. “Of course I do. Fine, fine…show me.”

  Taking her other hand, Piotr leaned forward and pressed a small kiss on the tip of her nose. “Spasiba. Close your eyes.”

  Still smiling, Wendy did so. She felt Piotr's hands grip tighter…

  tighter…

  tighter…

  There was a pulse, like heat, followed by an overwhelmingly chilled flush of air. Opening her eyes, Wendy found herself standing on the edge of the forest, the icy wind whipping her hair into a tangled knot. Piotr, beside her, sighed and took her hand. Wendy wanted to ask him what was going on. It was like what had happened before, where she had been briefly in his head, but this was…more. More vivid. More realistic. More disconcerting. More.

  Where were they? Was this a dreamscape or something? But Piotr's expression was so drawn, so grave, that she didn't dare break the silence with questions.

  The dreary, gray snowscape grew brighter as a small band of men, in the distance, trudged down a hill toward them. Piotr's hand tightened on hers. As they neared, Wendy realized that they carried a bloody man on a travois, two in the front, one behind. Despite the startling splashes of red, he was handsome and wiry, strong of jaw with a shock of blue-black hair.

  He looked like Piotr.

  When they passed close, Wendy waved a hand in front of the closest man hauling the travois. He did not alter his path or look at her.

  “This is a memory,” Piotr explained, voice pitched low. “Not my memory—I did not exist yet—but a memory given to me. As I am giving this memory to you, now. With a touch.” He held up a hand. “This is my real strength, Wendy. This is my real power…I can feel so many memories, many of them not my own, thrumming under my skin…given to me so they might carry on. That is what we experienced before…except that you were living a memory then as I made it. In my mind.”

  “Memories…given to you?” Wendy asked. “How is that even possible?”

  Piotr smiled. “My memories…my recollections of my time on Earth and in the Never…they've been coming back so slowly. Too slowly, I thought. Lily, she said to me, Piotr, be patient, they will come in time.”

  He sighed and pressed a hand to his chest. A terrible looking flower was blooming from his ribcage, very much like the one that had been curling out of the deep wound in Ada's side, and Wendy realized that the spirit web really was still inside him. Piotr had been grabbing his chest not just because it hurt but because it was eating him alive from the inside out. His flesh moved as the sprouts beneath shifted
beneath his skin.

  Piotr rubbed a hand across his ribs, grimacing. “I think…I think whatever we just went through jarred more memories loose. I think…no. No, I remember…so much now.” A tear tracked down his cheek. “Perhaps too much now. Isn't that always the case, though? What you most want is the thing that is worst for you.”

  “Piotr…your chest…it's so bad…why didn't you tell me it was this bad—” So many questions—hopefully the right ones—sprung to Wendy's mind but she wanted to remain respectful of this strange place and Piotr's odd, withdrawn expression. She broke off. This, she realized, was the wrong question.

  Piotr pulled her close, half-hugging her, and pressed a soft, sad kiss high on Wendy's cheekbone. The spirit web bloom shivered at their closeness but did not hurt her.

  “This was my father,” Piotr explained, eyeing the men. “These men are my uncles. The man you waved your hand in front of is…was the youngest in the family. My father was second born.”

  “He's…was…hurt,” Wendy said, knowing how dumb, how feeble she sounded, but incapable of not saying anything at all. “Why are we here, Piotr? What is this place?” Then, remembering that he was dead, she added, “When was this place?”

  “When I was alive,” Piotr said quietly, “when my parents were…alive…we lived upon the vast and snowy steppes. I suppose I could find these ancient rocks on a map if I studied hard enough, if I had the proper coordinates and GPS and whatnot that the living lands are rife with, but even so I could not tell you exactly which year this was.” He chuckled quietly. “Over two thousand years, I think.”

  “Really?” Wendy stared at Piotr but his face was impassive. “You're…you're over two thousand years old? Dead. Are you kidding me?”

  “I've been taking care of the Lost for so long,” Piotr murmured, resting a palm against the bloom working its way up his chest, “that the only way I know how to tell tales is to begin with ‘Once upon a time.’”