Never

by K. D. McEntire

  “Hey, the truth will set you free,” Chel protested, stung. “I love the butterball more than anything, I just—”

  “Right, you care about Jon's feelin—”

  “Excuse me? Of course I care about Jon's—”

  “Sure you do. Sure you do! That's why you led off with calling him a fatass loser and then rolled right into—”

  “BOTH OF YOU, SHUT UP!” Eddie yelled, slamming the counter with both fists. Thankfully, Wendy noticed, Eddie had picked a solid place in the Never to do his slamming; half an inch over and his fists would have gone through the countertop, ruining the effect of his anger.

  “Eddie, come on,” Chel grumbled, “do you really thin—”

  “I don't care,” Eddie interrupted. “I don't. You cannot even measure how little I care. You can't count the fucks I don't give with a microscope, okay? All I care about is—”

  “Wendy?” Chel said, raising an eyebrow. No one missed the way Piotr, standing beside Lily, stiffened.

  “Nice, buffy, just keep flapping that mouth,” Eddie said, crossing his arms over his chest. “It's getting you so far in life.”

  Chel rolled her eyes and flipped Eddie the finger. “Like yours is getting you so far in, what, your unlife? How's your body handling, Eddie? Feeling thin?”

  “We're going upstairs to fix this,” Wendy interjected, stepping between Eddie and Chel. “You,” she told Eddie, “sit here, cool off. You,” she said to Chel, “are coming with me. We've got to get Jon out of this house. That Reaper-wanna-be was just the first in line.”

  “Let him stay,” Chel said. “What're they going to do to him, really? You can't just kill a person in this day and age, Wendy.”

  “Oh really?” Wendy jammed her arm through the thin spot in the countertop that Eddie had barely missed, pushing it in up to her elbow. “They sure did a good job with me. Not to mention whatever happened to Emma.”

  “Fine,” Chel groused, hopping to her feet. “But I'd like to point out that you're not technically dead.”

  “Not yet,” Wendy said quietly. “Yet.”

  “Whatever,” Chel sneered and wiped her palm against her cheek, whisking away angry tears. “Semantics at this point, right? You've been hanging out with the dead so long that you might as well be, right? You and Mom, dead together. Woot and frickin’ yay.”

  “Chel, this is important,” Wendy replied, not ready to address her sister's inexplicable jealousy. It wasn't like Wendy would have chosen this life for herself, whereas Chel seemed to be reveling in it. Maybe the White Lady had been right—maybe Wendy had been the wrong daughter to wake to the Light all along.

  “You might—might—get away with staying here, Chel, but Jon has to go. I'm not fooling around; the Reapers will hurt him if they get a chance. Boys don't call the Light. It's a rule. Do you want to risk finding out all the things they'll do to him? Because if they did this to me, a chick, just what do you think they're going to do to him? Not only a natural but a boy?”

  “Fine,” Chel sighed. “Let's go make nice.”

  Scowling, Chel stomped all the way upstairs, stopping at the door to Jon's room.

  “Jon?” Chel tapped on her brother's door with one fingernail. “You okay?”

  “Go away.”

  Chel knocked louder. “Come on, Poindexter. Unlock the door. You can't hide in there forever.”

  “Says who?”

  Wendy pressed her face against the door to be better heard on the other side. “You do realize that we don't need your permission to come in, right? Not me and definitely not Chel.”

  Trying the knob, Chel blinked. It was locked. “I don't?”

  A moment later the lock clunked and the door cracked open. Jon warily looked out. “She doesn't?”

  Sighing, Wendy rolled her eyes and poked a finger through the solid door. “The Never is very thin here, any spirit can come in easily. Mom's room is the only solid one.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Jon grumbled, stepping back to let his sisters pass into the room. “Just go, okay? I'm done.”

  “Have I told you lately how big a dumbass you are?” Chel asked, storming into his room and slapping her hand down on Jon's desk. Several of his fiddly anime figurines toppled over, arms and legs akimbo. She grabbed up Jon's most prized action figure and held it by its articulated elbows. “Hur-dur, I'm Jon! Watch me sit here and sulk like a big baby until a bunch of crazy ladies and their pet zombies come kill me!” She made the figure dance around and waggle its rear at Jon.

  “Give me that!” He snatched the figure out of Chel's hand. “This is a collectible!”

  “Whatever,” Chel sneered. “These bitches put our sister in the hospital. Doesn't that bug you at all? In the least little bit? Or are you all, ‘herpaderpaderp, lalala, Wendy's hospitalized again, oh well, I guess I'll sit on my ass until Dr. McCreepster calls CPS on Dad’?” She pounded a fist on the desk again. “One of them, whats'er'name…Jane! She nearly cut me apart tonight, Jon! With a…a really, really big knife! Doesn't that twist you up even a little?”

  Scowling, Jon crossed his arms and glared at Chel. “What kind of asshole do you take me for, Chel?! Of course it bothers me!”

  “Guys,” Wendy protested, startled at the unexpected rancor simmering between the two of them, “take it down a notch. Chel's fine. I'm fine. We'll get out of here and we'll be even more fine.”

  “Yeah, you're fine. You're just fine and dandy…at least your soul is,” Chel mocked, jutting her chin out. “Until Dad comes back to take you off life-support. Or the insurance company does. Or the interns get too busy to keep your temperature down. Or that creepy doctor trips a breaker. Or your brain crisps up like onion strings—”

  “I don't—”

  “And some med students crack your skull like an egg—”

  “That's just—”

  “And they go digging inside to see what running a long-term super-high temp does to the ol’ noggin. You know, for science.”

  “Okay, okay!” Wendy grimaced and shuddered. “Thank you so much for that visual, Michelle. What the hell is with everyone picturing me in pieces tonight?”

  “Maybe it's all the people who've tried to rip you into pieces tonight,” Jon muttered, sulking as he straightened his action figures and posed them carefully into their original positions.

  “My point is that we don't know how long your body can hold out,” Chel snapped. “That doctor was a jerk but he did have a point. Your heart is working triple-time, Wendy.” She waved a hand around Wendy's head. “You're dying. You even look like you're dying. Or can't you feel it?”

  Chel had a point. Wendy decided to try a different tactic. “Chel, you're worried about me. Jon is too. I get that both of you are feeling lost right now and maybe—”

  “Don't psychoanalyze me,” Chel snapped. “You're dying and he's a coward. What I don't get, Jon, is why you're not gunning for these bitches hardcore! Everyone's all, ‘Let's run away like a bunch of scaredycats, drrr.’”

  “Run away today, live to run again another day,” Jon said, chewing a thumbnail. He was starting to really sag, Wendy noticed. Jon staggered like he was punch-drunk.

  “What do you suggest we do then, Chel?” Wendy asked. “If you were in charge?”

  “I don't know! Attack them for once! Make them see that naturals aren't anything to mess with! Maybe sick the Riders on them. Piotr and the girls can fight.”

  “Like spirits,” Wendy stressed. “They fight like spirits. Flight versus fight is an intimate part of their daily existence. The thing is, Chel, if you put any ghost—any ghost at all—up against the weakest Reaper, they're going to lose. The Riders know that.”

  “Everyone seems to just know this laundry list of crap that Chel and I don't,” Jon grumbled, resting a hand on his desk. His fingers played with the edge of a sheet of pale purple paper. At first Wendy thought the note might be a love letter but a closer glance revealed that the script on the page was no-nonsense and crowded. “That's what's got me pissed, Wendy. C
an't you see that? We're flying blind and all I want to do is curl up in bed and sleep.”

  Wendy, frowning, strode to Jon's side. The way he was fiddling with that paper was setting off all sorts of nosy, big-sister signals in her brain. “For fuck's sake, Jon, grow up. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and smell the burned cookies. If you stay here someone will come for you—either to kill you or to use you to get to me. You don't have to fight but you do have to tag along, unless you want to be the one we're visiting in the ER.”

  Wendy leaned over and glanced at the lilac letter; it wasn't addressed to Jon, it was addressed to her. Scowling, Wendy pulled back. “What the hell is this?” she demanded pointing. “Just what. The hell. Is. This?!”

  Jon flushed. “Um…a letter?”

  “My letter!” Wendy growled, vibrating with anger. “My letter from Emma, unless I'm mistaken.” She slapped the desk. “This letter was supposed to tell me where EDDIE was, Jon! It was supposed to tell me about the Reapers WEEKS AGO! I was worried SICK, Jon! I thought Eddie was going to DIE and you had the damn letter THIS WHOLE TIME?!”

  “I didn't mean to keep it!” he protested. “Before I read it, I thought it was something of Mom's! I was saving it! I wanted to have something of hers no one else did!”

  Wendy buried her face in her hands and breathed deeply through her nose. She held it for one minute…two…

  “Wendy?” Jon asked nervously. “Look, it was in a pile of papers I picked up off the counter downstairs on Friday. It was a bunch of stuff that got jumbled together while you were in the coma and right after. Hospital bills Dad hadn't paid yet and stuff. Most of it was trash, it only needed a quick go-through to make sure before chucking it. I only opened it yesterday afternoon, okay? I didn't know. I'm really sor—”

  “Shut up, Jon,” Wendy said, laying one hand across her eyes and forcing herself to breathe long and even, calming herself. “Just…just shut up.”

  “Wendy?” Chel whispered, automatically coming to Jon's defense the way they always did when facing outside anger. Wendy was touched by it; even now, no matter how they ripped at one another, when the chips were down they were always family. “Wendy, he didn't mean it.”

  “I get that. I'm not mad, I'm just…just…ah, screw it. I'm done. We're fine. Go,” Wendy said heavily, waving her hand, not daring to look at the twins.

  She might try to punch one of them.

  “Just…just go to your room. Grab your backpack, nothing bigger. You'll want comfy, durable clothing. Jeans. Heavy t-shirts, thick socks. No holes. Think light layers: a couple long-sleeved shirts, sports bras, cotton undies. Nothing that rides up or chafes. No thongs, Chel.”

  “Ew, Wendy, gross!” Chel sneered.

  Wendy ignored her. “Well-worn boots or sneakers. Nothing new, nothing with a heel, and nothing that can rub or cause blisters. No makeup. You will want lots of hair ties. A small toiletries bag—deodorant and stuff—but make sure you leave room for a first aid kit. I had to raid it yesterday when I was burning up but it should still mostly be in the usual spot. Two kits, if you can fit them both in the bag. Mom kept emergency cash in a baggie taped under her bedside table drawer. There's, like, five or six hundred bucks there. Get that too.”

  Chel rolled her eyes. “Sure thing—”

  “I mean it,” Wendy snapped. She glared at both of them, hands fisted at her sides. “I'm going to teach you two everything I learned in three years in three or four days. That means you need to shut up and listen to me. Go. Pack. Now.”

  “Geeze,” Chel grumbled, turning and heading for her room. “Was Mom such a hardass?”

  “She was worse,” Wendy said under her breath, but Chel was already through the doorway of her room, slamming the door shut.

  “I don't think my sports bra still fits,” Jon joked nervously, shoving the extra flesh at his pectorals together to form cleavage. “How about a push-up instead?”

  “Same essential kit,” Wendy replied dully. “When you're done, run out back and grab the camping supplies. The tent and camp stove are next to the broken mirror in the shed. Make sure you snag the sleeping bags from the linen closet and the water purifying tablets from the eart—hell, just grab the whole earthquake kit. Better safe than sorry. But no bottled water. We'll snag a case at Safeway on the way to the highway.”

  “Are you serious?” Jon asked, groaning. “We're not going to be spending the next few years dancing in the desert, Wendy. It's just getting out of the way for a few days until Dad gets back and we can sort this whole Reaper thing out, right? Don't you think this is a bit overkill?”

  Wendy, irritated, reached forward and tapped the lilac-colored paper on the desk. “No,” she said coolly, “I don't. Do what I say. Mom taught me—she taught me to cover my back, to be prepared for every contingency, and most of all she taught me that if you have to run, you run, okay? If you don't want to listen to me, listen to Mom through me. Okay? We run. We run hard, we run far, and we don't come crawling back until this whole thing is settled. I lost Mom. I'm not losing you guys, too. Okay? Okay, Jon?”

  “Okay,” Jon whispered, head and shoulders sagging with shame. He swallowed thickly. “But…I mean, we're coming home, right? This is just short term? Hiding from the Reapers and the Walkers and all the other stuff?”

  “I have no clue. This could all be over tomorrow, or we might not be coming home ever. Emma was supposed to take over when Nana Moses passed, but she's not exactly in the running right now, is she?”

  “Think she's still alive?” Eddie asked, voice high and reedy. “Emma, I mean.”

  “No clue. Probably not. For all we know the soul the Lady Walker used to crack open that hole in the sky was Emma. Now move. I'll meet you downstairs in ten.”

  “Time's a-wasting,” Jon agreed, opening the door to his closet and pulling out a large and battered backpack.

  “Wait,” Wendy said and tapped the letter again. “Pull it out so I can read the whole thing.”

  “Sure thing,” Jon muttered, tugging Emma's note out and flipping on the desk lamp so Wendy could better see. “It's only one page.”

  “Pack,” Wendy ordered flatly and leaned over the desk, eyes scanning the page.

  Winifred,

  I have no time to be coy and no desire to play games. I know that you, like your mother Mary before you, can see and speak with the dead. Please know that though Mary has been working separately from our family for some time you, as her daughter, still must meet with our matriarch, my great-grandmother Alonya, and be embraced back into the fold. Your mother was a remarkable woman but San Francisco is a very large town, rife with the dead, and has far too much territory for one Reaper to hold on their own.

  Please know that I have nothing but respect for Mary and regret not knowing her personally. She shall be greatly missed and we are all very sorry for your loss. You must understand that Mary was a legend to the Reapers growing up in her shadow and I can only imagine what she has taught you, the tricks and techniques she must have passed down. Only Mary could get away with giving you the Good Cup without Great-Grandmother's blessing! Please don't find me too forward, but I hope you will share these secrets and your training with me. If Great-Grandmother's permission is granted, it is my plan to stay in the SF area and help you maintain the amazing status quo. We could – and should! – work together.

  In closing, as I was leaving the hospital earlier today I encountered your friend Edward. You can imagine my surprise to see him wandering outside his body! I attempted to ascertain what separated him from his shell but was unable to do so on my own and in the time allowed. To keep him safe I insisted that he come home with me. My address is included, please come retrieve him at your earliest convenience and meet the rest of us. I swear that I will use all the knowledge at my disposal to keep your friend safe and help him back into his shell – I am so very glad I spotted him before a Walker did! Only a fool would miss how much he means to you.

  I am looking forward to seeing you again!

 
; Emma

  Mind whirling, Wendy pushed past Jon. It was hard to ignore the uneven wave of heat coming off her brother; Wendy made a note to work with him again on his control as soon as they'd settled down somewhere safe. He'd learn to manipulate the Light and heat and keep himself safe if it killed her.

  Wendy had barely stepped into the hallway when Eddie grabbed her by the wrist.

  “We need to figure out a plan,” he said, urgency underlying his tone. “Some sort of way that I can help or get some weapons or—”

  “No,” Wendy said, taking Eddie by the wrist. “Absolutely not, Eddie. Hell no.”

  Eddie dropped her wrist and stepped back, frowning. “Wendy, what's—”

  “I want you to stay here,” Wendy said bluntly, stepping forward and enfolding her best friend in a tight hug. “Not here-here, not at this house, but I want you to go home or to find someplace—any place—that seems safe enough, boring enough, to lay low at for a few days. Eddie…so much has happened…I couldn't stand it if anything happened to you. Not to you, too. I can't. I can't do it.”

  “Is this about Piotr?” Eddie asked bitterly. “It is, isn't it? You're ashamed. You want me out of the way.”

  “Ugh, Eddie!” Wendy drew back long enough to sock Eddie in the shoulder as hard as she could before hugging him again. “I care about Piotr, yes, and I love him, yes, but you're Eddie! Don't you understand that yet? I need you to be safe, you dumb butthead.”

  “Butthead?” Eddie muttered. “Thanks.”

  “Shut up. You know what I meant. I can't—repeat CAN NOT—keep going on the way I have. I can't. I'm worried about you all the time, Eds. Please, please, please for my sanity…lay low, okay? Hide. Find a safe place and just hunker down.” She thought of Emma, the way the doctor had kept Eddie in San Ramon, safe and sound from Walkers and the other Reapers, and how the first thing Wendy'd done on seeing Emma was accuse Emma of kidnapping him. Wendy's cheeks burned with shame.

  Eddie sighed. “Are you sure you're not just getting rid of me so you can go smooch Piotr without feeling guilty?”