Never

by K. D. McEntire

  Elise smirked. “There are times you show such spiritual savvy that I forget you have barely cracked the first of our books. Winifred, dear girl, you've heard of Seers, correct?”

  Like yesterday, the memory swam over her. Piotr, sitting on the edge of her bed during the short, sweet time they'd spent getting to know everything they could about one another, holding her hand, telling her that he was impressed a Seer of her capacity was willing to deal with him.

  “Most Seers,” he'd said, caressing a circle in her palm, “they are…how do you say…they are cynical. They are jaded and angry at the world, da? They do not like to deal with spirits. We ask far too much of them. We make them tired.”

  And Wendy, who hadn't had the heart yet to tell him that she was more than just a simple Seer, had let Piotr cling to this notion, that all she was a girl who could speak and see the dead, a girl who knew of the Never and was not flustered by it. She'd lied to him so that he wouldn't hate her. That time, albeit wonderful, had lasted far too briefly.

  Wendy swallowed deeply. “Yeah,” she said, poking a nearby stick with a toe. It snapped beneath the pressure of her foot. Not good enough. “I've heard of them.”

  “Seers are our kind,” Elise said. “Simply that. They are simply Good Workers who have lost the thread of our family, pruned from the main trunk for the good of us all. Frequently they are naturals who have never seen a soul pass on—completely harmless to us, for all they can do is listen to the moaning of the dead. They cannot interact with the Never, they can touch nothing, can do nothing. So we allow them to live their simple, basic little lives, unmolested. Seeing but not touching. Harmless. Mostly.”

  Wendy rubbed her hands up her arms. There, next to the pier and boat-on-a-bush, was a stack of bricks. Wendy concentrated on them and, one at a time, the bricks vanished from their current location and reappeared in the flat ground next to the pier, settling firmly in the grass, end to end. She quickly shaped the door's initial rectangle, amazed at the feeling of power simply arranging the dreamscape bricks had given her. “I'm sensing a big ‘but’ coming.”

  “Indeed. These Seers, especially those who are unnoted naturals, still have the capability to become naturals. They have a great power slumbering deep within themselves. In the right hands, they could be a weapon. I used to think your mother was planning on finding a Seer and using them to blast the hole open. Then I learned about your inborn skills. And that you have a sister, an—as yet, so far as I knew at the time—unawakened sister.”

  Wendy thought of her mother; the way Mary's lips always pinched when she spoke of Chel and the opportunity for Chel to possibly become a Reaper like Wendy. The lingering circles beneath her eyes, the worry lines bracketing Mary's mouth.

  “You think my mom was considering using Chel like some kind of bomb?”

  For the first time Wendy had known her, Elise's expression grew pitying. “I think she was planning on using you both. Mary would have been a fool, given her family line, to not take into consideration the possibility that you or your sister was a natural. Mary was a smart woman; no, she doubtlessly knew. And she was biding her time.”

  Wendy felt sick. Everything Elise told her twisted in her gut, like the snakes wriggling in the grass, sliding sinuously across her toes, all going in the same direction, all the snakes slithering toward her freshly constructed door.

  “I'm done,” Wendy whispered. She pushed past Elise, yelling, “You can rot here for all I care!” and dove for the door, praying that she'd constructed it correctly, that she'd felt her way around the problem the way she was supposed to. Nothing would be worse than slamming face first into a brick door in front of Elise while the Reaper laughed and judged her from behind.

  Luck was with her; Wendy had shaped the door well. Her hand wrapped around the handle and it shifted in her grip, transforming from a ragged, broken brick to a smooth handle against her palm. Wendy pressed down, the door opened, and she stepped through.

  Wendy knew she hadn't hit her head, but when she opened her eyes she sensed that time had jumped forward. Minutes had passed. The shared memory was done, the dreamscape was complete; Wendy was back in the shattered remains of the car, her siblings were in the front seat and Piotr was beside her, gripping her hand, his body mostly turned away, half in and half out of the car. Wendy couldn't tell if he was awake or unconscious.

  Slowly she reached out and rested her free hand on the concrete block—once part of the divider separating the highway—that was broken in large chunks and littering the ceiling of the car, on which she rested. The concrete pieces sat alongside the shattered remains of the side window, the blasted bits of the rearview mirror and the jagged curls of metal and plastic from the side door.

  In the front seat Chel was crumpled, hanging upside down, arms and legs dangling limply. The airbag had gone off, pinning Jon's bulk in place, but he didn't look okay either; blood poured from his ears and the corners of his mouth, his obviously broken nose gushing through the tear in his face over the bridge of his nose and dripping down his forehead into his hair. In his delirium, Jon coughed raspily and spat. The first result was bright, crimson red, the second chunky and dark. The third, he spit out a tooth and moaned.

  “The car's upside down,” Wendy said dumbly, not entirely sure what was going on, how this could happen to her again? Hadn't she been in enough car accidents in her life?

  Except…this wasn't exactly life anymore, was it?

  Wendy turned her head and found herself face to face with Elle…or what had once been Elle. Twisted limbs were close enough to touch but Wendy desperately hoped the thing stayed far, far away. She thought that if she brushed up against it, she might die screaming.

  “Wendy,” Piotr whispered beside her, his low, even voice startling Wendy painfully and nearly surprising a yell out of her, “back away. Back away slowly. Go through the thin spot in the door.”

  Easing backward, Wendy tried to only look at what had been Elle out of the corner of her eye. The creature inhabiting her had turned Elle's face into something resembling a pincushion, all splintered bones and long, jagged tusks poking ragged holes in her cheeks. “What…what happened?”

  “It took her over right after the wreck, while you were out. It ambushed us, caused the wreck, probably for this very reason,” Piotr said, barely breathing the words.

  “Piotr…Elle…” Wendy whimpered. “Elle's…face…”

  “Shhh,” Piotr hushed her, eerily calm as he eased the rest of the way out of the car. “Slow and steady. Back away.”

  Wendy, knees grating across the rubble on the ceiling of the car, eased backward out of the vehicle. Elle's ruined face stretched after her, the cartilage in her neck popping and rippling as her body remained crouched just outside the car and her head followed Wendy.

  “Chel's unconscious,” Wendy hissed to Piotr, who helped her stand outside the car. They could hear the wails of the ambulance very dimly in the distance. “I don't know what to do! I can't reap it, as I am…”

  Piotr, who'd never taken his eyes off his old friend, shook his head. He was still backing up, one hand on Wendy's elbow guiding her over the detritus strewn across the highway as the Elle-creature pulled its twisted, torn body after them.

  “If you can't reap it,” Piotr hissed, “then we have to destroy her.”

  “What? But it's Elle…”

  “Walkers eat the Lost. Shades lose all will to live. Wendy, the Never is just as complex an ecosystem as the living lands. You can destroy that thing. Elle would rather die than let herself be perverted like this.”

  He was right, Wendy knew that, but the idea of trying to fight and kill this creature that had once been the sardonic, quick-witted flapper seemed incomprehensible.

  Wendy scrabbled inwardly against the bindings around her Light. She'd make do with anything—Light, dark Light, anything, anything at all, that would keep her from having to go hand-to-hand with this spiny, sharp creature who stood where Elle once had.

  The Ell
e-creature stalked toward them, blond hair hanging limply against its torn and tenderized cheeks. It snarled low, deep in its throat and paced back and forth, like a stalking cat. The thorny spines thrust from Elle's spine quivered with a terrible life of their own, throbbing and bobbing to the beat of her steps.

  Wendy cringed, expecting the pounce any moment…

  It never came.

  The Elle-creature—horrible to look on, growling like a trapped wildcat—snarled at them and paced, blocking off any avenue for escape that wouldn't leave Chel and Jon—both glowing faintly—completely helpless against the Elle-creature's frenzy.

  “Wendy,” Piotr said after several long seconds of tense standoff. “Is it me…or is Elle…not going to attack us? She seems lovushke…she is trapped, she is torn.”

  “You noticed that, too? She's not even playing with us, like a cat might, or like that other thing did…she's just…pacing.”

  Piotr frowned and held out a hand. The Elle-creature snarled and snapped forward, swiping her elongated, razor-sharp fingers at him. Piotr yanked away at last second, but not before a cut opened up on his hand, the essence dripping over the back of his hand and pattering on the ground. The Elle-creature made a noise Wendy could only describe as a cross between a chuckle, a growl, and a soft, desperate moan.

  It stretched its impossibly long and lithe neck forward, pressing Piotr out of the way as it leaned down and lapped up the spilled essence from the ground. When it pulled back, it licked its chops. For a brief moment it gazed longingly at Piotr's hand and the essence still welling there, before the neck shortened again and the Elle-creature curled on the ground, tucking its paws beneath its body.

  “This isn't the same as with Ada,” Wendy whispered. “I think…I think Elle sometimes has a kind of control over the creature. Not much, but enough for now.”

  “I believe you may be correct,” Piotr replied and knelt down. “Elle…are you in there? Elle?”

  The creature shook, head lashing from side to side, droplets of stinging hot and freezing cold drool splattering Wendy's arm. She yelped and used her skirt to wipe off the liquid; the smear quickly ate a hole in her skirt.

  It's like the poison Ada was making, Wendy thought to herself. Dime-sized acid holes, eating through essence.

  “Elle,” Piotr began again when the creature's flailings had stilled. “Elle? Elle, can you be separated from this beast? Do you know? What do you wish us to do? Elle?”

  The Elle-creature snarled at Piotr and leapt up, charging. Piotr danced back, darting out of the path of the swipes, spinning side to side like a berserk matador as he dodged her razor-claws.

  “Elle!” Wendy yelled trying to move like Piotr did, but failing and nearly being swept off her feet by Elle's enormous, slashing tail. “Elle! Stop this! STOP! You can stop, Elle, you can…”

  Wendy stopped and backed away. This was no use. Elle—if she really had control and it wasn't some figment of their wishful imaginations—had already lost it. The beast was in charge now and it seemed intent on ripping Piotr apart. The Elle-creature stood on two legs and used its immense reach to swipe and claw at Piotr. Her belly—its belly—was exposed.

  “I can do this,” Wendy muttered under her breath, striding to the car. There, in the back, were Lily's bandolier of bone knives and Elle's arrows, bow, and quiver. Wendy gathered up both sets of weapons and strode to the edge of the fight. She'd only ever shot a bow and arrow once, during Girl Scouts when she was nine, and she'd been dismal at it then. Wendy was fairly sure she could remember the basics of archery if it came to that, but she was hoping that it wouldn't.

  Instead, Wendy drew two of the bone blades, slipped the bandolier over her head, took a deep breath, and dove into the fray. Elle, concentrating on Piotr, didn't notice Wendy at first. The bone knives were wicked sharp but dulled quickly against whatever Elle's skin had become. Still, Wendy was persistent and she had an idea.

  Wendy angled her body so that Elle's belly was always exposed; she directed the blades into Elle's gut, hacking and slicing in a loose perforated circle at Elle's core. Elle's claws opened up holes in Wendy's shoulders, her hips, her arms. None of the damage Elle inflicted was too severe though. Wendy got the sense that the beast was holding back or, rather, that some nearly-gone part of Elle was holding the beast back.

  When the last, nearly dull knife plunged through the hole Wendy hacked around Elle's cord, Wendy yelled in triumph. Her hand shot forward and she grabbed the end, drawing the diseased remains of Elle's cord forward, pulling it taut and firm.

  Then she sliced Elle's cord off.

  The resulting explosion was rainbows and Light.

  When the paramedics arrived minutes later, Wendy and Piotr were ready to jump into the back of the truck as they trundled first Chel and then Jon's stretcher on board the ambulance. Wendy had so much she wanted to ask Piotr but now was not the time.

  “Hang in there,” Wendy whispered, dodging around the paramedic to lean over her sister. “Hang in there!”

  Jon moaned around the tube jammed down his throat. Piotr, kneeling behind Jon's head, brushed his hand over Jon's forehead, cooling him. Neither Piotr nor Wendy looked out the back of the truck at the ruined remains of the car or the black smear of ash where the Light had blazed from the sky above and burned Elle to nothing right before their eyes.

  Piotr and Wendy remained silent as the ambulance wailed all the way to UCSF. There they jumped off as Chel and Jon were wheeled past the ER doctor who, on seeing them, cursed loudly.

  “I know these kids,” he snapped at the EMT as they rushed Chel past him. “What happened?”

  Wendy didn't get a chance to hear the EMT describe her sibling's condition; Eddie hesitated on the far side of the ER. Gasping in mingled joy and horror, Wendy rushed across the floor. When she approached him, he flinched back, taking in the damage she'd sustained in one angry, helpless glare.

  “Eddie?! You're here! Why are you here?! What are you—”

  “I don't know why you're surprised,” he said, giving Wendy a quizzical look. “You told me to find someplace safe to hide. What better place than next to my own body, right? So I caught a ride up here and have just been wandering Neurology for the past several hours. It's been a madhouse though. You will never guess who wandered in not an hour ago!”

  “Jane?” Wendy asked hopefully. “Tell me that she blew herself up messing with the Never at the Winchester. Make my day, Eddie. I'll kiss you if you can.”

  Piotr rolled his eyes at her declaration and Eddie looked wistful. “Um, alas, but no, our mystery guest is not, in fact, Jane. I'm guessing you had another run-in?”

  Piotr and Wendy shared a look. “You could say that,” Wendy said, deciding not to tell Eddie about Lily just yet. “Coming here wasn't exactly in tonight's plan. So what do we do now?”

  “You should visit your room first,” Eddie suggested. “We'll check in on your body and then figure out where to go from here. No offense, Wendy, but I'm not leaving you guys again. Things have gotten way too creepy and weird around here for my peace of my mind.”

  “Creepy?” Wendy said, perplexed. “What's going on?”

  He shook his head. “One thing at a time. Let's go check up on you first.”

  “You have no idea how glad I am to see you two,” Eddie said as he peered around Wendy's doorway into the hall. “I felt like I was gonna go crazy here by myself.”

  Piotr was resting a moment, hand pressed to his chest as Wendy stood over her still body, amazed at how emaciated she looked. Her skin was paper-pale and dehydrated, showing the thin blue veins snaking just beneath the skin. Four fans were blowing full-blast at her, and someone had piled up gel-packs all around her entire body.

  “I'm dying,” Wendy said, reaching out and touching the big toe on her right foot. Her flesh felt dull and distant, not like something she should feel at home crawling back into. “I don't know how to feel about that.”

  “Don't feel anything about it for now. So far you're safe,�
� Eddie said, frowning. “That's all that matters for the moment. So you're not looking your best, true, and you're still burning up but I'm sure…” he drifted off and then frowned, looking quickly between Piotr and Wendy. “Hey…wait a second. Where are the others?”

  “Chel and Jon both were in that car accident we came in on,” Wendy said flatly, examining how fast the saline was dripping into her veins. They had it turned all the way up but her body seemed to be sucking up the moisture like a desert. It wasn't making a difference. “The crash…it was terrible, Eds. Neither of them might survive. They can't help us right now. They can't even help themselves.”

  “Oh no,” Eddie whispered. “Like my dad?”

  “Yeah,” Wendy said, turning away from her body and taking his hand. Eddie drew her close and they hugged a brief moment, his chin resting on her shoulder as Wendy trembled in his arms. “Are you okay?” he asked. “It still freaking you out?”

  “I'll be fine,” Wendy sighed, taking Eddie's hand in her left hand and Piotr's in her right as he stood and joined them in the doorway of her room. “I'll be better once I know how they're doing. On the way to your weirdo thing, let's go see if there's any word on Chel or Jo— wait…hang on a minute…”

  Dr. Kensington, the pushy doctor from before, slipped past them, rushing silently down the empty hallway of the Neurology floor. In one hand he held a pair of faded bunny slippers. In the other, he had a pair of glasses.

  “Oh look,” Eddie said. “Hey, question, kind of important actually: that's the guy from before, right? The guy that wanted to call CPS on your dad?”

  “Oh me, oh my, yes,” Wendy said, “it's Dr. Asshole. Going off duty, Dr. Asshole? I never expected you to be the type to wear bunny slip—” Wendy broke off as the memory came to her.

  The EMT team pushed through the emergency doors, shoving a stretcher between them as a crying robe-clad woman in bunny slippers and glasses hurried behind.