The Arrivals

by Melissa Marr

  “No.” Kitty paused. There were too many individual conversations happening. “No, Jack. Yes, Edgar.” In her head, she added, “You need to stop talking to me. I have to focus.”

  She stepped away from Edgar, and in a moment she’d caught up to Chloe and Jack. Edgar kept pace with her, and a hasty glance at his expression made it abundantly clear to her that they would need to deal with the problem of her keeping this secret from Jack sooner than she’d like. It seemed increasingly impossible that her secret could stay hidden.

  “Sorry, Jack. I thought I saw—”

  Garuda interrupted, “One of the newborns says two monks are out creeping up on the rest of your pack. He can see them from his shelter. Fell Road. Near the bakery.”

  “Monks,” she said.

  “I have told the newborn to assist them.”

  “Where?” Jack looked around.

  “Fell Road.” Kitty took off running.

  Edgar didn’t hesitate to follow her. However, when Kitty looked back, her brother shot her a look that said there would be questions later, but he and Chloe followed as well.

  When they reached the others, Hector was trying to get past a monk who appeared to be as competent with knives as he was. Both he and the monk were bleeding from several wounds. Melody was being held by two other monks. Her shotgun was on the ground beside her, but with two captors, she wasn’t having much success at getting to it. Her tidy twist hung lopsidedly from the back of her head, and her face was snarled in rage as she shouted orders.

  Francis was trying to respond to the garbled commands Melody called out, but he was struggling. Both sides of his face were red with his blood, and he had a ripped piece of his shirt tied over the left side of his head, covering his eye. He turned, and Kitty could see that his uncovered eye was bleeding too.

  “Chloe, help Francis,” Jack called. “One of you, check for others.”

  “I’ll take Hector,” Kitty told Edgar.

  The division took mere moments, as if the words and actions were simultaneous, but even those few moments felt too slow. Their entanglement with the brethren had already led to one permanent death. Kitty couldn’t bear the thought of the monks killing another of the Arrivals.

  “The brethren aren’t what caused her death.”

  Garuda’s words startled Kitty. For a brief moment she’d almost forgotten that he was in her head, and she’d definitely forgotten to keep her shields in place. This time, however, she didn’t regret it. There were hidden meanings in the old bloedzuiger’s words, implications in the things unsaid that she wanted to ponder—just not when they were in the midst of an attack.

  “Later, you need to explain that. I don’t want to get shot because you’re talking,” she told him as she continued toward Hector while searching the windows and doorways of the buildings that surrounded their location for other enemies.

  This time Garuda remained silent, a fact for which she was grateful.

  Like they did in most altercations in Gallows, the locals stayed away. The Arrivals were useful for solving a quarrel, caging a demon, or taking out monks, but they weren’t accepted by the Wastelanders—and they certainly weren’t helped. A familiar bitterness bubbled up in Kitty, but she did her best to squelch it.

  The monk facing Hector retreated when he saw Kitty coming, and she had an unpleasant moment of having to decide between helping Hector and pursuing the monk.

  “I’m good,” Hector said, even as he swayed a little on his feet. “He’s almost as hurt as I am.”

  She had to trust his judgment. After a quick glance to see if anyone else needed backup, she took off after the monk. He darted around a corner, his robes tangling around his legs as he tried to turn quickly, and Kitty was certain that she had him.

  But then Melody screamed, “Jack! Down!”

  Everything in Kitty’s world skidded to a halt at the sound of those two syllables. She spun around and ran back to where Hector still leaned against a wall. As she lifted her gun, she saw Jack drop, and Chloe—who was kneeling on one side of Francis while Melody knelt on the other—calmly and cleanly emptied every chamber into the monk who’d had his gun trained on Kitty’s brother.

  The monk fell, his gray robes flooding red.

  Simultaneously, Jack fell backward. It was his shoulder that bled, though, not his chest. Melody stayed with Francis, who was trying to get to his gun despite Melody telling him, “He’s fine, Francis! Stay still.”

  “I can still shoot even if I can’t see,” Francis insisted. “Just tell me where to aim.”

  “No!” Melody slapped his hand away from his gun. “Jack’s fine. Everyone’s just fine, Francis! Behave yourself.”

  By the time Kitty could reach Jack, Chloe was at his side. With a resolve that unnerved Kitty as much as it assured her, the recently arrived woman tore Jack’s shirt open to examine the wound.

  “Clean through,” she said as Kitty joined them.

  “Stop.” Jack tried to push himself to his feet, using his good arm for leverage. He glanced up at Kitty and snapped, “Damn it, Katherine! If you’re going to stand there, you could at least help me up.”

  Kitty couldn’t bring herself to mind his surliness. She crouched down. He put an arm around her shoulders, and in a moment they were standing.

  He’s alive. He’s not dead. He’s just a little hurt, she told herself. He’s not dead.

  Already, Kitty could see that Chloe was right: the injury wasn’t severe, and with the Verrot in his system and the odd healing powers that the siblings shared, Jack would be fine. No doubt it still hurt like a bitch, but pain alone wouldn’t kill a person.

  “Where’s Edgar?” Jack asked.

  The fear she’d felt at hearing Melody scream Jack’s name flashed over her again, but before it could settle in her bones, she saw Edgar coming toward them. Her gaze swept him from toe to top, and when she met his eyes, he was doing the same to her. She let out a breath in relief.

  “No survivors,” Edgar said as he approached. “I got the one that was running from Kit.”

  “I can’t see out of either eye now. Someone care to tell me what’s happening?” Francis snapped in an uncharacteristically angry tone.

  With more effort than she’d have liked, Kitty pulled her gaze from Edgar. “We’re all fine, Francis. Jack’s got a flesh wound. Hector’s a little worse for wear.”

  “And I hardly got to kill anyone,” Melody complained.

  “Sorry, Melly.” Hector limped over to Melody and Francis. “You shot a monk when we arrived.”

  “True!” Melody perked up. “Who wants to grab a drink?”

  Chloe frowned at her. “Jack’s shot. Francis”—she gestured in his general direction—“is blind, and you want to—”

  “I’m not traipsing across the desert right now, Jack,” Melody interrupted, pointedly turning away from Chloe. “I was up early, hiked out here in the heat, dealt with Blight and monks. I’m going to a tavern.”

  For a moment the guise of sweetness that Melody tried to wear slipped so obviously that Kitty remembered again why she wouldn’t share quarters with the humming woman: she was unstable and mean.

  Melody glared in turn at Chloe, Kitty, and Jack, but she wasn’t fool enough to glare at Edgar. The last time she’d gotten too confrontational, he’d lost his temper. Jack had made him promise not to shoot her again, but Melody didn’t know that.

  Hector draped an arm over her shoulder. “The monks are dead or gone. A break wouldn’t hurt.”

  “My newborns can watch,” Garuda said. “If you want to tell Jackson, he’ll feel better.”

  Quietly, Kitty told her brother, “Let them go. Hector will keep an eye on her. We’ll catch up in a minute.” In a split instant, she made a decision she’d avoided for years. Maybe she was being silly, but seeing her brother bleeding—even from such a tiny injury—made her want to do anything she could to ease his worries. She whispered, “Garuda says his newborns will keep watch from the shadows. He’ll . . . let me kno
w if there are any monks—”

  “Or Ajani,” Garuda interrupted.

  “If there are monks or Ajani nearby,” she finished, still in a whisper.

  Jack turned his head to stare at her, and she met his gaze without squirming much. They were both silent, but the next move was his, so she waited.

  “Jack?” Hector prompted.

  “Go to the Gulch House. We’ll be there soon. ” Jack glanced at Chloe and said tersely, “Go with them. Keep Francis safe.”

  Once they’d all left, he stepped back from his sister and asked, “Now, how exactly will Garuda tell you?”

  Chapter 22

  Jack watched his little sister debate how much truth to tell him with the same transparent expression she’d once worn when she’d stolen the candy he’d been hiding to give her for her birthday. He knew she was weighing out how much to admit and trying to suss out how angry he’d be.

  As he waited as patiently as he could, he took in the faces of Wastelanders who were watching them from their windows, the blood that was spilled in the sandy street, and the ache that was quickly dulling in his arm. The Verrot he’d consumed, from the bottle he’d shared only with Chloe, had given him far more of the bloedzuigers’ traits than he was used to having. Healing was not usually part of the package. A little speed was normal, as was the ability for Garuda to find him, but the speed at which he was healing this time was unusual.

  Finally, Katherine sighed, swallowed, and in a slightly trembling voice said, “I can talk to him in my head.”

  “You can . . .” He took a moment. There were only a few possibilities here. Either his sister had lost her mind, she’d developed some new skill, or she was lying to him. Carefully, he prompted, “Ask Garuda how many bloedzuigers were w—”

  “Two,” she interrupted. “He says that’s a foolish question, though, considering how many bottles of Verrot you brought to the camp. A wiser question would be what happened before you drank from the newborn?” Katherine scowled at him then. “Apparently, he isn’t sure you’ll want to tell me that, though, because he fears it might lead to other questions about ‘drinking from the source.’ ”

  “I see,” Jack muttered—and he did. He saw that his sister had hidden something major from him and that Garuda was up to something.

  Jack considered Garuda a friend, but he also knew that the bloedzuiger was angling for something. There was a reason he’d hinted at a topic that would lead to Jack’s admission that he’d kept secrets from the others. Perhaps it was simply Garuda’s way of pointing out that both siblings were keeping secrets.

  “Did you drink from that bony bastard, Jackson?” Katherine poked Jack in the chest, and as he flinched away from her, he realized that his bullet wound was already nearly healed.

  Before Jack could answer, Katherine snapped, “Well, you are a bony bastard . . . I don’t care if you like my etiquette.”

  “Katherine, just hold on a sec—”

  “You drank from a bloedzuiger right after it drank from Garuda? No wonder you were so high. Idjit.” She stomped away.

  Jack looked to Edgar for help.

  “Kit?” Edgar said.

  Katherine turned. Edgar’s level voice stalled her next burst of temper before it could begin. “Why don’t we walk toward the Gulch while you two argue. We should hire out a few rooms for the night. Francis and Hector would probably appreciate a rest, and the monks are dead. You and I can stand watch.”

  “I know what you’re doing.” Katherine folded her arms and stared at Edgar.

  But there was no one more capable of facing down an angry Katherine than the calm gangster who had loved her all these years. Edgar just grinned at her. “Of course you do. If you prefer, Jack will stand watch, and we can drink or enjoy some privacy.” When she narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to argue, he said in a low voice, “We are putting on a show for the locals. Is that what you want here?”

  All of the steam left Katherine at his words. She stepped closer to the men, smoothed down her skirt, and said, “I’m still angry.”

  “Because I kept a secret, Katherine?” Jack met her gaze. “One like Garuda being able to talk to you like you were . . .” His words faded midway as he realized that he was about to say precisely the wrong thing.

  Katherine’s temper didn’t start up this time. She stared back at him with what looked suspiciously like teary eyes and finished his sentence: “A bloedzuiger.”

  At that, she walked away from them, headed toward the Gulch House. Edgar gave Jack a look that said that there was an increasingly short distance between here and a fist. Edgar had consumed Verrot too. He might cope with the rush better than some folks did, but he was still a lot closer to volatile today than he usually was.

  “Did you know?” Jack asked.

  “Not until today,” Edgar said. “You know Kit doesn’t like being different than us. Any of this magic stuff bothers her.” He strode forward to keep pace with Katherine.

  Jack lagged behind them a little. Katherine needed a few moments to calm herself, and Jack needed a minute to think about the reality that his sister and Garuda had been keeping a significant secret from him. It was no wonder that she’d had such an objection to Verrot—and always made herself scarce after drinking it.

  In his head, he called out, “Garuda?” and immediately felt foolish. If Garuda could talk to him mentally, he would’ve done so by now.

  As they walked the not quite half mile to the Gulch House, Jack tried to work out why it bothered Katherine that she could do something that was such an asset to them. Whatever this was that let the bloedzuiger talk to her, it was likely tied to her ability to work Wastelander magic. Her magic had helped them almost as often as Hector’s skills with blades and Francis’ affinity for medicine. Katherine was unique among them. Rather than take pride in that, she resented it, and Jack didn’t understand.

  They’d almost reached the inn when Jack decided it didn’t rightly matter if it made any sense to him. What mattered was that he told his little sister what she needed to know. Quietly, as if that would mean Edgar couldn’t hear his words, Jack told her, “You’re better than the rest of us. I wish you hadn’t thought you had to hide this, but I know that of all of us, you’re the one I’d trust enough to handle the burden of this.”

  Katherine darted a glance at him as if to read a lie in his expression.

  Keeping his voice pitched low, Jack continued, “So Garuda can hear me? He can pass messages to you?”

  “It’s like he’s right here,” Katherine admitted. “I hate it.”

  Jack shook his head. “You could’ve told me, Katherine. We could’ve . . . I don’t know, but I hate that you hid it from me. Don’t you know by now that you can lean on me?”

  “More than enough people lean on you . . . Garuda reminds me to tell you that Verrot still makes me stronger and faster. He says I respond exactly like a bloedzuiger.” She paused. “He thinks I could drink from the source because of that; he has thought it for years. He also says that’s why he killed you that time.” She frowned, and when she spoke again, there was a knife’s edge to her voice. “He killed you?”

  At that, Jack admitted, “I don’t know that he meant to. He—”

  “Garuda didn’t,” Katherine interjected. “He says to tell you, ‘I would never injure you carelessly.’ Apparently, he didn’t mean to kill you, and he’s glad that you recovered.” She gave Jack a sharp look.

  “Right, then,” Jack drawled. “I drank from Garuda. Not much, mind you. It killed me.”

  “I’d have noticed you missing for six days, Jack.”

  He took his sister’s hand and made her stop for a moment. “I woke after only a few hours.”

  When Katherine didn’t reply, Jack felt himself looking to Edgar. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the man, but he wasn’t keen on sharing secrets he’d guarded for good reason. One of the things Jack had learned long ago was that the Arrivals all clung to old superstitions even when they didn’t realize i
t.

  Without hesitating even a moment, the big man shrugged and said, “Weird shit happens in the Wasteland. You two are all I trust here, so no matter how much you’ve hidden, I don’t think it matters.”

  The realization that Garuda was listening to their entire conversation hit Jack then, and in that instant he understood part of why the effects of the Verrot made Katherine so unhappy. Jack called Garuda a friend, but he wasn’t sure he’d want the bloedzuiger—or anyone, for that matter—hitching a ride in his head, seeing all that he did, hearing all that he heard.

  “Garuda, we need to meet to discuss this,” Jack said as he stared into Katherine’s eyes, as if by the sheer intensity of his will he could find the gaze of the bloedzuiger who watched them from his hidden den.

  Katherine opened her mouth to speak, but Edgar’s voice silenced anything she or Jack would’ve said. All Edgar said was, “Ajani.”

  Both Katherine and Jack turned. The man himself was nowhere in sight, but several of his guards were watching them as they neared the Gulch House. One of the guards, Ashley, nodded at them, and then she walked away from them to parts unknown.

  Garuda had been right: Ajani was here, and he was obviously anticipating their arrival. Better here in public than someplace where there were no witnesses. Jack had plenty of faith in the Arrivals, but since Ajani’s people never stayed dead, altercations with them were more than a little tense. Melody was a hair-trigger shooter on the best of days, and when it came to Ajani’s guard, she was a shoot-first, never-ask-questions woman. Edgar’s rarely glimpsed possessive streak inevitably came out of hiding after Ajani unsettled Katherine, and that left Hector and Jack as the only reasonable ones—except that Hector preferred a fight to a conversation and Jack had a burning need to kill Ajani. If he could be killed, Jack would’ve done so by now, but Ajani was clearly not a native Wastelander because, like the Arrivals, he didn’t stay dead. Witnesses are for the best. When the Wastelanders watched, Jack found himself striving for more self-control, and right now that was the best plan he had.