Never
Page 30
“No, you're right, I'm…I'm being selfish.” Then, without warning, Wendy flung herself into Piotr's arms. He caught her just as she pressed her lips to the cup of his ear and whispered, “I'm going to miss you.”
“I'll miss you too, Curly,” he whispered back, wrapping a finger in an errant curl and tugging. “More than you will ever know.”
Resting his forehead against Wendy's, Piotr threaded his hands in hers, took a deep breath and asked, “Are you prepared?”
She wasn't, and she never would be, but Wendy sniffled and nodded just the same. “What happens to you now?”
“I've been a teenager for two thousand years…now…” Piotr broke off and chuckled, shaking his head. Wendy felt the wetness of his tears as he drew her close again, pressing a damp, warm kiss against her cheek. “I think it's time that I grow up.” He hugged her again. “Thank you, Wendy. For everything.”
Stepping back, Wendy reached into his pocket and grasped the real Brísingamen. It was surprisingly heavy and slippery from Elise's blood still on Wendy's hands, thrumming in her palm. Hands trembling, Wendy slipped the necklace over Piotr's head, hiding it beneath the collar of his shirt, noting the pitch change as the somnolent siren hum at the edges of the purple-white ring of Light ratcheted up several notches. In her periphery, standing at the edge of the roof, Wendy noticed that several of the Walkers had dropped to their knees, and were shaking and rocking back and forth, what remained of their hands pressed flush against the sides of their head, uselessly trying to drown out the song.
“This will hurt,” Sanngriðr warned Wendy, drawing out the knife that Wendy had just used to kill Elise. Sanngriðr had wiped it clean of blood but Elise's Light had warped the blade into a waving shape.
“Do it,” Wendy said.
She held her arms wide at her sides, palms up and open. Piotr's fingertips brushed her wrist. His touch was cool and comforting.
Wrapping her fist around the end of Wendy's cord, Sanngriðr pulled it taut and slashed down, severing the cord from her navel in a stroke and slapping the silver coil into Wendy's palm. Wendy jerked as Sanngriðr jammed her fist into the hole she'd created and sliced the bindings free, gathering up the edges of Wendy's Light and rolling it together. The sensation hurt but was also cleansing, like lancing something inflamed inside her. Wendy felt the heat that always traveled with her stretched and pulled from her veins, from behind her eyes, from deep within her heart. Wendy squeezed her cord to concentrate on holding off the pain and breathed deeply. Sanngriðr was taking longer than the White Lady had, but Sanngriðr knew exactly what she was doing.
She felt it the instant the Light was gone.
“Done,” Sanngriðr said triumphantly, snatching Wendy's cord from her hand and smoothing it between her palms, encasing the Light in the glossy, satiny length.
The silver length was cool and soft to the touch, like slippery satin in her palm. Wendy rolled it in her hand; she felt hollowed out.
“Now, boy,” Sanngriðr said. “It's your turn. End this. End our suffering.”
The hair on the back of Wendy's neck rose as, in the distance, the wail of the hole in the sky lengthened and rose to a high-pitched scream. The Walkers and creatures on the ground were writhing now, shaking and twisting on the stone. The noise was deafening.
“Are there words?! Some spell or something?!” Wendy shouted, trying not to stare at the jittering Walkers. The blackness was close now, maybe only a few miles out to sea, the heavy space between the worlds teeming with shrieking, screaming faces and watching, filmy red eyes.
“As was done,” Sanngriðr yelled, “let be undone. The stipulations of my penance, of Piotr's penance, have been met. The Never is no more! WE ARE FREE!”
“Are you ready, Piotr?” Wendy yelled, straining to be heard over the cacophony. The creatures within the hole could see what was happening. The noise from beyond the Never was so loud it filled the world, setting even her teeth to aching.
Standing at the edge of the roof, Piotr grabbed Wendy and kissed her. “Time to fly,” he said and shoved Wendy's Light into his own chest.
The blast of Light drew the fracturing sea up, a reverse rainstorm pattering against the underside of the bubbling, frothing clouds. The raging sea whirled up and up, huge waves crashing up and out. The creatures of the dark shrieked and screamed, furious to be losing their prey, and were thrown back, the space between worlds flung far, far away once again.
“Freyja, you bitch,” Sanngriðr snarled. “I'm coming for you!” She ran at the hole and jumped, her body twisting in midair, becoming a dirty-winged gull and vanishing into the darkness.
Cupping her cheek one last time, Piotr winked at Wendy and ran at the edge of the hotel, flinging himself over the rim, and falling through the hole stretching across the sky.
The moment he vanished the Never began to crack apart in earnest, huge silver cracks spreading from beneath the hotel and swallowing the writhing Walkers whole. The distant darkness at the very edges of Wendy's vision were swallowed by the wash of Light, the world, the universe, everything cradled in a sudden siren song.
Uncaring, Wendy stood alone at the edge of the abyss, numb as the Never broke like glass and shattered around her. Across the water a brilliant beam of Light streaked across the sky, spearing the city and cracking across the Top of the Mark, stabbing down in one sharp burst.
At last, everything was Light. She stood upon the last shreds of Never as the cracks neared.
“I never said goodbye,” Wendy realized, laughing as the ground peeled away.
Arms encircled her from behind. They were pale and thin, but strong, and the perfume was familiar.
“Mom,” Wendy whispered. She felt a brief pressure against her cheek, the barest touch, and felt more than heard her mother's throaty chuckle against her cheek.
It was good. She was good. But the illusion was not quite good enough.
“You're not my mom,” Wendy said and could not stop the tears from burning her eyes, pooling and spilling down her cheeks. “It's been you this whole time, hasn't it? I saw you earlier, hiding around the corner. I…I kind of had an idea. You were the greaser at the Westglen, weren't you? You were the White Lady. You were in my dreams.”
“I have been with you since your birth,” the woman using Mary's voice murmured as, all around, the Never crumbled. “My touch alone kept your soul from burning you alive. I have walked with you through the darkest nights looking for your mother. I marked you; you are my redemption. Even gods can err…I needed a living soul to undo what I have done.”
“That's it? That's all you have to say for yourself?” Wendy asked bitterly. “That's everything?”
The arms tightened for an instant and Mary's smell filled Wendy's nose; the sweet, silky scent of curling in her mother's lap when she was sad, the scent of sharing a midnight box of Oreos after a good reap, the scent of popcorn and movies, of Christmas and funerals, of hot summer nights and chill February fevers.
The scent of home.
Wendy swallowed thickly. The cracks were nearly at her feet. “What do I do now?”
“Close your eyes,” Freyja whispered in Mary's voice, her breath feathering the hair at Wendy's temple. “Close your eyes and dream.”
Obediently, Wendy closed her eyes…
…And opened them again.
Wendy recognized those ceiling tiles.
Hospital. Again. Long-term ward.
Typical.
Dad's insurance, Wendy thought, must really love her. Shifting, she glanced around the room. Eddie was sprawled half-across the foot of her bed, snoring and covered in his leather jacket. He held her hand, even in sleep, and Wendy marveled how even now, even after everything they'd been through, Eddie was unwilling to let her go.
Jon, stitched up and sporting a large cast on his left leg, overflowed the recliner under the window, head hanging off one arm and his good leg dangling off the other. Her dad wasn't in the room, but his briefcase was on the floor next to Jon. Wendy
smiled to see it.
Only Chel, both eyes blackened and beautiful face covered with a multitude of tiny scratches and stitches, was awake. She looked up from texting when Wendy shifted.
“Hi,” Wendy whispered. Eddie immediately stirred, lifting his head and smiling. He sat up and wordlessly hugged her, his strong arms pulling her close, the smell of him as familiar as sweet summer rain. Wendy felt him trembling and, for the first time in a long, long time, realized how much Eddie cared.
“I'm sorry,” she said. The words caught in her throat, choking her, coming out rough.
Chel, sensing they needed a moment, went to the bathroom, locking the door behind.
Eddie held her face in his hands and shook his head. “No need to be.” Then he kissed her. “I missed you.”
“Piotr's dead. The Never is…the Never is gone.“
Eddie nodded. “I know.” Then he hugged her again and Wendy realized that it was over. She squinted but could make out nothing. If there were any spirits around, Wendy couldn't see them. The Never really was no more.
“I love you,” she said. “You're my best friend, Eds.”
He smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I know that, too.” He kissed her temple and relaxed back, and Wendy, tired, curled into his side. She'd slept so much lately, had drifted in and out of dreamscapes and the nightmares of the Never. Now, just for a little bit, all she wanted was a guaranteed…
Dreamless…
Sleep…
Safe in her best friend's arms,
Wendy closed her eyes.
And didn't dream.
“You know that place between sleeping and awake,
that place where you can still remember dreaming?
That's where I'll always think of you.”
—J. M. Barrie
K. D. McEntire, author of Lightbringer, Reaper, and the short story “Heels” (which can be found in the anthology When the Villain Comes Home), lives just outside of Kansas City with her husband, children, and various pets. She spends her miniscule free time reading, writing, and battling her Sims 3 addiction (when reddit hasn't swallowed her soul whole) and is on the web at http://www.kdmcentire.com.