“It used to be easier,” she said absently, eying the moon rising above the treetops. It was winter, the sun had set early, and it couldn't be any sooner than seven, Eddie realized, amazed that so much had happened in a day. It seemed like years ago that Wendy had fetched him from Nana Moses and Emma, not a hair more than half a day.
“What?” Eddie joked. “Did you all used to ride horses or something?”
“Yes, actually,” she said. “It is how we got our name. This way.”
Guiding them in the rising moonlight, Lily skirted the edge of the canal, leading Eddie unerringly through the least debris-strewn path of rubble. Still, despite her caution, Piotr was jostled fiercely along the way. Moaning, his head rocked from side to side, and he muttered in his delirium, alternately crying out for Wendy and cursing extensively in what Eddie could only assume was Russian, though it sounded different from his normal tone, more guttural and strange.
“Is this place close?” Eddie asked when they paused to rest, his voice pitched low and worried. “Because I don't think he's gonna make it much further. Look at him. Even hugging that quilt like it's his last friend, he's barely a shadow.” He frowned and examined his hand. Eddie was pale nearly to his shoulder now. “Though, to be honest, I'm not much better off.”
“We will be there soon,” Lily assured him, rising fluidly and doubling their pace. “Do not concern yourself overmuch on Piotr's behalf; he is strong, he will abide.”
Much to Eddie's chagrin, Lily had been telling the truth. Piotr's “treehouse” turned out to be an abandoned steel mill in the nexus of crumbling office parks.
Keeping an eye out for Walkers, Lily led Eddie inside. Eddie realized that Piotr and his Lost had squatted amid the squalor on the cleanest level available, the thirteenth floor. He wasn't a particularly superstitious person, but the idea of a bunch of dead guys picking the thirteenth floor to hang out on amused him. It was like Piotr had no sense of irony whatsoever. What did Wendy see in this guy anyway?
Still, thirteenth floor or not, Piotr in his prime must be tough as nails; huge sections of the stairs were broken away and had to be traversed carefully. Eddie struggled to do his part in carrying Piotr over the holes. He couldn't imagine having to carry kids over the gaps by himself as Piotr must have done time and time again. Undaunted, Lily urged them on, though she was the one to carefully gauge the distance and crab-crawl over the smaller gaps or leap the larger ones. Once across, Lily waited for Eddie to pass the handles of the stretcher across the divide as, together, they hefted Piotr further up and up again until every muscle in Eddie's body blazed.
“I'm practically dead,” he panted as they rested on a creaky, rotting landing. “This shouldn't hurt this much. Man, I am out of shape!”
“This task would be arduous even for a brave; carrying the kill back to the huts was often aided by horses or other hunters, rarely a hunter alone or in pairs, ” Lily said. “Do not fret; I have run you harder than I would have at any other time. You have done well, Eddie. You should hold your head with pride.”
“Really?” Eddie flushed. “Geeze, Lily, uh, thanks.”
Lily paused and then, suddenly, held out her hand. “Give me your palm.”
Eddie blinked in surprise. “What?”
“I…I wish to help you. You have been a great boon to me, to Piotr. It is the least I can do. Give me your hand.”
“I don't understand. Help me? Like how?”
Lily scowled and, leaning forward, snatched up Eddie's hand, cradling it between her palms. “Like this.”
When Lily poured her essence into Eddie it was the purest form of giving—something like what she'd done for Piotr but…different. Piotr had begun gulping her essence at the end, taking what Lily had been willing to give in great yanking, starving jerks. Whereas Eddie, either too young a soul to know what to do or too confused to take advantage of the situation, simply held very still as Lily pressed his palm between hers and poured herself into him. Through their connection Lily could feel him—thin and rapidly weakening and tired and scared—and Lily marveled at what a generous, sweet soul Eddie was deep down inside.
He hid, she realized, behind his sarcasm, behind his flippancy, because words were a wall and Eddie was a master at turning words to his advantage. Lily inhaled deeply, opened her hands wider, and felt him tense beneath her grip, straining against her and caught in the waves of her essence, lifted up and gently twisting beneath her hands, yearning in her touch. Moved, Lily leaned forward and tugged Eddie closer. Moving under her guidance, Eddie drifted closer, until they were nose to nose, palms clasped close, and Lily could breathe in the spicy scent of him, feel the hidden, wiry wrestler strength beneath his jacket, could taste the heart of who he was as she poured her soul into his.
“I…I…” Eddie whispered and Lily opened her eyes staring directly into his. His pupils were huge; Eddie's lashes swept down when he recognized Lily's regard. He swallowed deeply. “I…I don't know what to…”
“You love her,” Lily replied serenely. “More than anyone else. I know. I can taste it.”
“I do,” he admitted as if it were a shameful thing. And then, as if gasping for air, like a shadow yearning toward the light that would destroy it, “She's…she's Wendy.”
Lily nodded. “She is.”
Lily kissed him.
Eddie tasted of strawberries and honey and clover—simple, sweet, uncomplex. He smelled of cinnamon and smoke, of leather, and his hair beneath her fingers was crisp but soft. Lily poured herself through her palms, cupping the back of Eddie's neck and enjoying the sensation of him trembling beneath her fingertips. He was young, not terribly inexperienced, but his kiss was all sweetness and light, tenderness and gentle, delicate touch. He sent a sliver of a shiver down Lily's spine; Eddie wasn't her wonderful, passionately fierce James, but he wasn't new to the press of a lady's lips either.
In the end, when Lily felt that she'd reached a good stopping point either moments or millennia later, they both shuddered and Lily drew back, her hair falling across her cheeks, her eyes downcast as she assessed her rapidly thrumming heart, the tingle in her palms, and the pleasant ghost of pressure against her lips. “How do you feel?”
“Better,” Eddie sighed and held up a nearly solid hand. “Much, much better.”
“Good,” Lily said, smoothing her hair and straightening. “This is right.” She turned to gather up her side of the travois.
“Wait,” Eddie whispered desperately, “aren't we…aren't we going to talk about…what just happened there?”
He was such a sweet boy, Lily thought. James would have approved of him immensely.
“No,” she said and cupped his cheek. “Accept the gift I gave you, Eddie, and speak of it no more. We have much work to do and time is wasting.” Then, glad he was not the type to press, Lily knelt down and gathered up her end of the travois. She could feel that she was much weaker than she was previously, but she considered her temporary weakness worth it to help both Piotr and Eddie. James, she knew, would have been proud of her sacrifice.
“Let us continue our journey.”
Lost in thought over what had just transpired, Eddie was unsure how much longer it took to get where they were going, but when they reached Piotr's floor, he knew it.
Perhaps it was the sense that, not too long before, someone had lived and loved in this space. The walls of the offices were papered with immature but effective drawings and sketches of the landscape glimpsed through shattered windows, peppered occasionally with pictures of Piotr, a towheaded toddler, or a gangly boy with glasses. Or perhaps it was just the fact that this floor was debris-free and what few day-to-day items could be seen were well-organized, stacked neatly against walls and covered with threadbare comforters or tattered tarps.
Touched and vaguely creeped out at these remnants of a family as threadbare as the scavenged supplies, Eddie brushed a finger against a yellowing page, old enough to have curled up at the bottom corners. Piotr, smiling, knelt on one knee wit
h a jumble of fabric grasped loosely in one hand, a dagger pressed between the floor and his other palm.
“Piotr's pallet,” Lily said suddenly from behind Eddie. Eddie jumped, painfully aware of Lily's presence as she brushed by him. “Bring Piotr here.”
Beneath one of the few windows that still boasted intact glass, Piotr's pallet was larger than the others, the sleeping bag rolled and secured with rope at the foot of the stained mattress. There was no pillow but Lily gathered several from another corner, stacked haphazardly beside a tumbled pile of paperbacks and a cracked camping lantern.
“How do we—”
Without a word, Lily took the poles at the end of the travois, lifting Piotr up abruptly. Eddie scrambled to grab the head of the stretcher as together they lifted Piotr over his pallet and then, under Lily's silent guidance, tipped him gently on his side onto the mattress. He slumped onto his back, one arm flung over the edge of the bed.
“Nice,” Eddie said approvingly. He followed Lily away from the corner, glancing back once at Piotr and wondering what they were going to do now. The gulls might still find them here, but at least no one else could be caught in the crossfire if it came down to a fight. Wendy would worry, though. Eddie wished he'd taken the time to leave her a note. Wendy was smart, he told himself, trying to reason away his concern. She would figure it out.
Making sure Lily's attention was elsewhere, Eddie wrapped his own hand in the edge of his shirt and cautiously held up Piotr's hand to the light, eying the blurriness at the edges of his fingers. The smear of Piotr's flesh was more pronounced than it had been before Lily had run him so hard to get them there.
Dropping Piotr's hand, Eddie took a deep, calming breath. He was glad of what Lily had done for him, confusing as it was, but he was beginning to feel a little nauseous. Between he and Piotr, Eddie didn't think Lily would have it in her to help him or Piotr again. Eddie shook his head and tried to ignore the worry gnawing at his own gut.
It didn't matter. Lily would be fine because Wendy would get to the bottom of it and that would be that. They'd both be completely healthy and happy in a matter of days. Wendy would figure it out. She always did.
She had to.
Some time later, Piotr roused. He felt marginally better, though the ceiling still appeared to be made of filthy water, waving and drifting in slow arcs. The malevolent faces and wild women were nowhere to be seen.
Groaning, he sat up. This wasn't Wendy's room; her ceiling was speckled with green glow-in-the-dark stars. This ceiling was…Oh…he'd sat up too fast!
Piotr flopped back onto the bed. His head was spinning, his stomach churned, but at least he'd figured out where he was.
“Oh Specs,” he murmured. “Dora, Tubs. Zhal. Zhal, zhal, zhal.”
He could remember the tang of fear in the back of his throat, the remorse at having to leave their nest and venture out into the city. Elle had taken his Lost into the safety of her haunt as Piotr had known she would, but it had pained him to leave them with her nonetheless. He'd sworn to protect them, even if he couldn't even recall how he'd met them. He'd been their Rider, they'd been his Lost. They'd been family.
And now they were gone.
“I should have just taken you,” he whispered, resting his forearm across his eyes. “We should have just left. Gone to Santa Cruz, there are hardly any spirits there. Or headed east, perhaps. But instead…” he broke off and trembled. Instead Specs had been sent into the Light by Wendy, Dora had been obliterated in the battle with the White Lady, and Tubs was long gone, taken to safety by the remaining Riders along with all the Lost who hadn't been kidnapped in the last White Lady raid.
But…if they'd left when the Walkers had begun sniffing around, if they'd left as a group rather than Piotr leaving them with Elle while he planned to scout out a new haven for them, then he never would have met Wendy.
Bitterly, Piotr laughed. “I should have left.”
He loved Wendy. With all his heart, he knew they were connected. She was like no woman he'd ever met before—dead or alive—and the fact that she'd seen something special in him was mind-boggling. Yet, despite that, Piotr knew that they weren't any good for one another.
Wendy had given up so much for him: school, friends, even her job as a Reaper, as the Lightbringer. She'd nearly abandoned her search for her mother's spirit once they'd met. Piotr had been just as bad. He was supposed to have been hot on the trail of whomever had been taking the Lost, but instead he'd spent all his spare time in Wendy's room, talking about what it was to be the Lightbringer, trying to dimly recall what it was like to be alive.
Her touch had been fire and ice, though. Her lips had been sweet. Piotr had tempted fate every single time they touched; he could have drained her dry and Wendy, lost in his arms, might have let him. Likewise, when they were together her hold over her powers was much weaker; she could have lost control at any moment and blasted him into the Light without even realizing it.
Leaving her in that hospital room, alone and thin and freshly roused from her coma, had been one of the hardest things Piotr could remember doing. If he'd been smart he should have left town then. Yes, Lily and Elle wanted time, a few days, a few weeks, to tie things up, to scavenge and scrounge and prepare for their trip, but he could have gone without them, waited for them in some appropriate place. Route 66 might have been nice; the Grand Canyon might have been better.
Now, facing his illness, feeling the cold pouring off him, icing his pallet to the floor below, Piotr was finally willing to be honest with himself. He'd stayed behind for Wendy.
It would have been madness for her to accompany him on his trek. He had no idea of where to even begin, much less of a plan or a manner of travel or any logical, sane, reasonable way to discover his roots.
Despite that, however, he'd foolishly asked her to go with him. She would have been fresh from the hospital, and she would have had to find her own food and lodging, a safe place to rest her head at night, a way to travel in the living world that didn't involve risking herself by thumbing her way down the interstate. She would have been alone. Her mother had just died; she would have had to abandon her family in their time of need. She would have been insane to agree.
And yet…
And yet…
Piotr had hidden his disappointment at her decision well. It had only made sense, after all, to turn his wild goose chase down. But he'd lingered. He'd stayed. In the weeks following their separation he'd wandered near Mountain View in the hopes that he'd bump into her on patrol, that perhaps she might even seek him out, that she might have changed her mind.
He was a fool.
Exhausted, Piotr closed his eyes, meaning just to rest them a brief moment. He knew he slept, just not how long. When he opened them, Wendy sat by his side, her legs crossed primly and ankles dangling over the edge of the mattress.
“What is this?” Piotr asked, disbelieving the proof of his own eyes. He reached out to touch her, graze her elbow with his fingertips, and Wendy proved to be solid, firm, there. “Wendy?”
“Shhh,” Wendy said, pressing a finger to his lips. “The others—even Eddie—they don't know I'm here yet. It took me forever to track you down and I wanted to see you first. How are you feeling?”
“Ill,” he admitted. “So very, very cold. But…better. Now that you are here, much, much better.”
“Flatterer,” Wendy said, smirking. Then her smile faded. “Ada is really gone?”
“Da,” Piotr said. “The gulls, the Lady Walker, took her. We do not know where.”
Frowning, Wendy threaded her fingers through his. Her touch was warm, reassuring. Unlike Lily or Eddie, Wendy was unbothered by his chill. Perhaps the heat of the Lightbringer offset it, or perhaps she could feel it but simply wasn't showing the discomfort. “She wanted to go to Alcatraz. That's as good a place as any to start.”
“Ada…your mother…she did these things for you.”
“I know.” Wendy brushed hair off her face and smiled wryly. “Mom sure knew
how to get around, huh? It seems like there wasn't a ghost in this town she didn't have some sort of backroom deal with.”
“She was certainly persuasive,” Piotr agreed. Then, smiling wickedly, he added, “But not nearly as lovely as you.”
“Oh really?” Wendy poked him in the side. “Remembering what my mom was like before she became the White Lady, huh? You finally starting to get your memories back?”
Piotr grabbed her poking hand and caressed the back of her knuckles until Wendy's fist relaxed. He pressed her palm to his cheek. “I do not know. What do you think?”
“I think you're a mystery even to yourself, Piotr,” Wendy replied seriously, brushing the pad of her thumb against his cheekbone. “She took your memories. They all did, even me, though I didn't know I was doing it at the time. Over and over and over again. Don't you ever wonder how? Or why? There has to be some beginning, right? You haven't been like this…forever. Right?”
“I…”
Piotr closed his eyes. Dreams and dreams and dreams again. Snow. Ice. He was so cold, so sick, so cold. What had those Walkers done to him? What was this terrible poison, to bring such horrible, icy visions dancing between the spaces of worlds?
“I do not know,” he admitted. “Even now, I do not know.”
“That's okay.” Lying beside him, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder, Wendy pressed her palm against his chest. “It's okay to not know.”
“Can you feel a heartbeat?” Piotr asked her, curious.
“No,” she whispered, craning her neck and pressing a soft, sweet kiss beneath his jaw. Her breath tickled the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. “You're dead, Piotr. Rotting in the ground. Remember?”
Twisting in her arms, Piotr yanked Wendy close and kissed her. No, if he were honest with himself, he did more than just kiss her. He punished her. For her smartass quip, for her refusal to go with him when he'd asked, for kissing Eddie, and for being better than someone long dead—someone like him—deserved. It was the moment she revealed herself to be the Lightbringer all over again; Piotr hated her and loved her and loathed himself all over again for not being able to walk away.
Reaper (Lightbringer) Page 27