Never (14 page)

He stabbed it in the face.

“I'm sorry?” Wendy frowned. She hadn't been alive during the time period Frank was referring to. “What do you mean, Mom introduced the Council to me?”

“Mary had a brain, a beef, and a baby on the way.” Frank looked Wendy meaningfully up and down.

Wendy flushed. “She was pregnant with me when she came to see the Council.”

“There was this crotchety old ghost on the Council back then—some Chinaman brought over when they built the railroads—who refused to listen to Mary unless she could prove she had something to lose by teaming up with those of the dead persuasion. She let him stick his face into her gut. He went in up to the neck.”

Wendy shuddered. “You're kidding me.”

“Not in the least little bit. It was enough to get that old coot's attention. Ada's too. So we listened to the plan…and it was a good one.”

“So the Council gathered every ghost they could get their hands on and hid,” Wendy said. She knew this part by heart. “Mom made the entire city a—pardon the pun—a graveyard. No one to do Elise's dirty work, no one for the other Reapers to send into the Light.”

And
, Wendy thought, smirking,
if there were no Shades to send on, no ghosts to banish into the Light, then all the Reapers in the city would start to have a nasty buildup of Light, just like the one that landed me in the hospital. The Council would have no way of knowing that side effect of reaping,
but Mom would have, certainly. What better way to send the Reapers running for greener pastures than to hide all the cows?

“Every mother-born-and-died of us. If you think herding cats is hard, try organizing Walkers.” Frank stood and walked to the bar. Slipping through a thin space, he reached down and pulled out a shot glass. “Sure I can't convince you to join me?” he asked, waving the glass. “The beer we scavenge is terrible, but there's fantastic harder hooch. Lotta bourbon and wine snobs in this town.”

“No, thank you,” Wendy replied.

“More for me,” he said amicably, and gathered up his glass and a tall, amber-colored bottle from beneath the bar before returning to the table. Though she itched to keep the conversation flowing, Wendy waited for Frank to pour himself two fingers of the spicy-scented liquor and down it. His Adam's apple bobbed as he drank; when finished, he set down the glass and poured himself another glug, but instead of drinking this shot he held the glass and swirled the liquor.

“Tell me about Elise,” Wendy urged as Frank stared into the glass. “Tell me about the Reapers.”

Jon, lost and scared, had closed himself in the car. He frantically texted Chel but the ‘No Bars’ signal blinked at him. Blink. Blink. Blink.

Hitting the side of the phone with his hand, Jon turned the cell off and on again. It took forever to power on and then…blink. Blink. Blink.

“Come ON!” Jon yelled, pounding the phone against the steering wheel. “Come on! Come on! Please? Please! COME ON! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT, FUCKING WORK!” The screen cracked on the last yell, sharp shards jamming themselves into the meat at the base of Jon's thumb. Cursing, Jon yanked his hand back, letting the cell fall to the floorboards, and sucked his wound reflexively.

His head felt strange—hot and heavy and pounding. Jon licked his lips, his tongue rasping over the dry, cracked flesh, and wished that he'd eaten more with dinner, gotten a shake, a larger soda, something. He felt shaky, weak, his heart was thudding painfully in his chest, and Jon could actually
feel
the thrum of blood rushing through the byways of his body.

That's when he noticed it…

His hands were glowing.

Jon raised first his left hand and then his right, holding them up at face level. White light glimmered at the edges of each fingernail.

“Wendy?” he whispered, forgetting that his big sister was upstairs playing politics with a bunch of dead guys. “Chel?”

No answer. Jon was on his own.

Holding his hands out as if they were dangerous weapons, Jon twisted in the driver's seat and shoved the door with his shoulder. He was a big guy and the latch on that side had never been much good; the door popped open.

On the ground near the trunk of the car Eddie, wrestling with a Walker at least a foot taller than he was, was the first to spot Jon's glow.

“ELLE! LILY! Back up!” Eddie let go of the Walker, Lily's knife embedded deeply in the creature's chest, and the Walker fell back a step and then turned, facing Jon, arms hanging against its sides.

Jon couldn't see what the girls did but he was surrounded in seconds, his butt pressed against the car door and his hands outstretched. The Walkers stumbled toward him, forming a sloppy half-circle. Many of them were utterly silent but two or three were sobbing.

Above the sad sobs the air began vibrating with the strangest, sweetest sound.

“RUN!” Eddie yelled to the girls and Jon saw, out of the corner of his eye, both Lily and Elle take off in the direction of Lombard Street, hands pressed over their ears.

“Eddie?” Jon said. He could hear his voice cracking somewhere beneath the siren song and Jon loathed himself for his weakness. Chel hadn't been shaking when wielding the Light. Chel had been fully aflame by now, laying waste left and right. “Eddie, please don't leave me.”

“I'm here, Jon,” Eddie said, voice steady and soothing, somewhere to the left and behind him. Jon felt rather than saw Eddie climb back up on the car. His welcome voice whispered from above. “I'm not leaving you.”

“I…I don't know what to do…”

“I don't know what to tell you.” Eddie's voice caught on the last words and he coughed. “Wendy says…Wendy says to just let go.”

“But…I can't…” Jon wanted to. His hands were burning now, his entire body felt like it was alight; his fingers were splayed, his palms open, but still…nothing. Just the slow, painful heat growing hotter by the second.

“Eddie?” Jon whispered. “I can't turn it off. It hurts, Eddie. It hurts.”

The Walkers were in his personal space, crowding close. The nearest was inches away from touching him, the rot overpowering, the gaggingly sweet-sour scent of death permeating every breath.

Jon shuddered when the Walker touched him.

Its arm blazed white fire. The Walker didn't scream or cry or writhe. It simply stood there, the brilliant blaze eating up its arm, over its torso, engulfing its head and licking down its legs, cooking the rotten skin in a charred, sickening corona like burned bacon and melting plastic. Within seconds it was a shining skeleton, lit from within and without.

Then, and only then, it did a shuddery dance, the last remnants of scorched sinews and tendons jerking in an epileptic jig until the bones alone remained.

The Walker crumpled to the ground and the next nudged forward to take its place.

“I'm gonna puke,” Eddie whispered. “Jon…Jon that thing's not dead…”

Jon, horrified, looked down. The bones of the first Walker were shivering as if whatever spark of life that connected them together still existed in the pile of broken bits.

Then the next pair of hands descended and the next Walker lit up.

“Tell me about Elise,” Wendy urged. “Tell me about the Reapers. Tell me what Tracey had planned and what my mom did for her. Everything you know.”

“What do I get in return, kid?” Frank's eyes crinkled as he took another sip. “You don't seem to have a lot of salvage laying around.”

Wendy's hands closed into fists. “My undying gratitude?”

He chuckled. “Undying. Funny word choice there. You know, considering.”

“Reapers can concentrate on an item in the living lands,” Piotr pointed out from the doorway, “and make it appear in the Never. Given time.” He gestured at the table full of guns. “Like gunpowder, perhaps. Flint. Or more useful items of salvage…say, tents? Items that the living take for granted but don't pour much energy or thought into. Crowbars. Hammers.”

Smile widening, Frank leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers. “Now we're talking.”

“So it's a deal?” Wendy said, trying not to think too hard on the repercussions of arming the Council with working weapons in the Never. “I promise to make a couple items solid for you when I get back and you tell me what's up?”

Frank nodded and ran one hand through his hair. “Keep in mind, Lightbringer, that Mary kept most of her plans close to the vest. She learned a lot but she didn't share much.”

Scowling, he poured himself a third shot and tipped the booze back. “You, girl, have your mother's eyes, you know that? It's nice,
seeing those eyes…sane. Er. Saner.” He laughed. “In the end, Miss Mary quite contrary turned out to be crazier than a…a…bunkhouse rat, didn't she? Nuts, the both of you. Deep down where it counts, where the crazy can save you.”

“I don't think being unbalanced can save you,” Wendy replied stiffly.

“Oh yeah?” Frank slammed the shot glass on the table with such force Wendy was surprised it didn't shatter in his hand. “You're here, aren't you? Here, but completely powerless. At our mercy, if you will. A Reaper just busting with Light all locked up so she can't get at it. Some people would call that downright stupid—right now you're essentially walking Walker-chow, yeah? But me? Me, I think you're just whackado enough to be brave. Elise isn't stupid. She knows you're here, visiting me. Eyes and spies, Wendy, eyes and spies. Back then, now, always, that lady's got
people
everywhere.”

Wendy nodded, shivering at the idea of being fed to the Walkers. “I know.”

“What I know about the Reapers,” Frank mused aloud. “What do I know, what do I know…well, Elise likes to get her fingers in something important of yours and
squeeze
.”

Grimacing, Frank tipped the bottle again. It clattered, empty, against the glass. He strode over to the bar and grabbed another bottle. “Reapers don't have to send you on, you know that? They can just burn all of your essence away until you're a pile of quivering bones. You're not in the Light. You're still in the Never. But you're…raw. Bare.
Exposed
. I'm told it hurts like a bitch. And then, if they've a mind, they can build you up again. If they're talented enough.”

“I…I didn't know that.” Wendy looked to Piotr and he nodded. The idea of it made her ill.

Frank poured a shot from the fresh bottle, downed it, and glared at the booze. “No matter what your shape, in the end you beg for the Light. Like a junkie. We'd do anything for a chance to finally die. Elise takes advantage of that. She'll use the Light like it's napalm.
Just carpet-bomb whole areas until every soul comes out of hiding, no matter how it drains her. No matter how weak she is in the end. Because even if she's physically weak, if the Never is bowing down and singing her praises, well, then Elise still wins. Elise hurts. She heals. She breaks you down and then raises you up, over and over again until you're utterly hers.”

He pounded the table with a fist. “You're in a coma but you're still
alive
. You've got no idea what the Light is like for us. The smell, the song…you're still kicking so you can't know how it grabs you by the gonads and
yanks
.”

Was that why Chel's Light hadn't called to me
, Wendy wondered.
Because I'm still alive?

“I'm…I'm sorry,” Wendy whispered. She hadn't done any of the things that had made Frank so twisted and jaded, but yet she felt responsible for her family and their transgressions. All this, everything Elise had been doing,
had to change
. “I'm not like her. You know that.”

Frank touched his cheek and smiled bitterly. “No, Elise only has ghosts
working
for her. She isn't
dating
’em.”

Piotr growled quietly from the doorway. Grinning, Frank tipped the glass in Piotr's direction and sipped it. “Oh, pipe down, comrade,” Frank told Piotr. “No offense meant. Look,” Frank leaned forward and slung a companionable arm around Wendy's shoulders, holding up his glass in the other hand. He tilted it left, right, swirling the liquid and watching the play of droplets on the side of the glass. “As for Tracey, what she might have done to sprint past that line…let me lay it out for you, Lightbringer. The only truly old souls in the Never have regular contact with the Lost. And I'm not talking Riders.”

“You mean Walkers.” Wendy bit her lip. The news wasn't as painful as she would have expected. So much about her mother was starting to add up, and Wendy wasn't sure she liked the final sum very much. “She dealt regularly with Walkers.”

“First Tracey, then Mary,” Frank said, pulling away from Wendy and tapping his glass on the table. “Though Mary's decision to dabble on the rotten side had more to do with her sister than any real desire to make nice with nasties, if you catch my drift.”

“You're saying my mother asked the Walkers about the Reapers, about where they came from, for Tracey. She saved up all of Tracey's inconvenient questions and kept asking them. Probably made deals to get them to talk to her, right?” Wendy crossed her arms over her chest protectively, hugging her elbows close, and grimaced. “I wish I didn't believe you.”

Raising an eyebrow, Frank touched his index finger to his nose and grinned, tipping back his cup and swallowing in one smooth motion. “You don't have to,” he said. “The truth exists whether you believe in it or not.” Frank shook his head. “Mary didn't enjoy it; she put up with them for a purpose. Just like any good Reaper. Duty over all.”

“Did the Walkers tell her anything?”

“Must've. Elise's been prying around town for weeks now, trying to trace back the places Mary went to, the spirits Mary communicated with.” He paused. “Or, at least, she was. Right around the time the Lady Walker walked into the spirit web forest and took it over, Elise stopped nosing around.”

“You think she found what she was looking for?
Who
she was looking for?”

“It's possible. Probable, actually—a lot of Walkers'd tell Elise anything she wants for a chance to look lovely all over again, let her fix their faces right up. Can't fix the sin, but at least you can hide it.”

Wendy wondered what the beautiful Walker who'd attacked her had given Elise and she was glad he was now dust all over again.