Writers of the Future, Volume 29 (29 page)

This city was small, but it was his. So long as He stayed in His place
on Bone Rattler Street, the Shaker was mysterious. As long as He stayed in Bone
Rattler Street, He was something to be feared, an unknown, and as long as He stayed
there, He would not remember just how small this city He had been given was.

It was His kingdom, and for a time, Vivian was His queen.

T
hey called people like Vivian
Shades
. Shades served the Immortals however they
were required, walking between the streets of the living and the streets of the dead
as ambassadors. In the city of Arlington, where Vivian had moved after her divorce,
they had another name.
Ghost Wives
.

In His time, the Shaker had taken three men as Shades, and the rest had
been women. His Ghost Wives became a facet of Arlington culture, to the point that
whenever a new Shade was chosen, her family would prepare a wedding for her.

Vivian had come to Arlington not knowing any of this. She was escaping
her ex-husband, and had stumbled into Bone Rattler Street on the night of November
first, in the middle of a rainstorm. She hadn't known she was in the city's Dead
District, and had run for the nearest place with light, hammering on the door.
“Please, please let me in,” she'd called, “I need help.”

The door had swung inward without a person there to greet her, and
Vivian walked into an empty—but warm—Chinese restaurant, dripping icy rainwater on
the floor.

She shivered in the entrance for a few moments, and seeing no one there,
realized too late where she was.

“It's considered impolite to intrude without saying thank you.”

Vivian whirled, but no one was there. “Th-thank you,” she stammered.
“I'm sorry; I didn't realize where I was—”

“You must have been terrified not to realize what part of town you were
in.”

“Not terrified, just…running. Running, and very, very lost.” She still
couldn't see the speaker, but she knew it had to be a ghost, or this city's
Immortal.

“Yes, very lost indeed.” He stepped out of a side room. Back then He had
looked like a boy, wearing dirty clothes. “Sit down. I would like to talk to
you.”

How He got her to pour out the entire story, Vivian would never
remember—only that He made her feel as if she could trust Him. He had listened as
she cried and babbled about her divorce.

When she finished, He said—“I can give you a new purpose.”

Vivian knew what He meant. She had never wanted to be a Shade, but now
she gave it thought. What did she have in life? No job, no marriage…she didn't even
want to see her family, not after what had happened.

So she nodded. “I'd like that.”

He gave her the red umbrella that night, and sent her off with an
address where she would find a place to sleep.

They knew when they saw the umbrella. This new woman, this stranger, was
Arlington's new Ghost Wife.

There were no ceremonies for Vivian. There was no mock wedding dress, no
ring purchased by her family. She was the first Ghost Wife in Arlington in a hundred
years to go without a sort of wedding to her new profession. She simply slipped into
it, and for four years, she had gone her rounds every Sunday and holiday.

She rather liked the term
Ghost Wife
.

It felt more human than
Shade
.

T
he morning of the next Sunday,
Vivian woke sick.

Miserably sick.

“Oh, God,” she groaned, realizing she had a fever on top of a sore
throat and a congested nose. She crawled out of bed and forced herself to get some
breakfast.

It wasn't as if she could call in sick. There was no one to fill in for
her on the walk, and no one who would even be accepted on Bone Rattler Street if
they tried. She was the only one they would let pass, and the only one the Shaker
would see.

People noticed she was ill as she passed, and offered her things—tea and
the like. For all that they feared her, and wouldn't speak to her, they were as kind
to Vivian as their fear would allow. They wanted this stranger to Arlington to be
the Ghost Wife for as long as possible, to prevent one of their own daughters from
taking her place.

A cup of hot lemon tea in her hand, Vivian did her best to make her
usual run, leaving irises and the other gifts at their destinations. By the time she
reached the Shaker's house, she was exhausted, and trembling.

She didn't even make it to the door, and sat on the steps before she
collapsed. She heard the door open behind her, and felt the Whispers flood down
around her. That's when she fainted.

S
he woke sometime later, in the
Shaker's bed. She felt a thousand times better.

The Whispers haunted the corners of her room, and this time didn't flee
when she looked at them. This time they looked back.

“Feeling better?”

Vivian looked up. The Shaker stood in the door, watching her. The
Whispers crowded around Him, tugging at His coat. “Much,” Vivian murmured, hugging a
pillow against her side. “Thank you.”

“I could hardly let my ‘wife' suffer.”

He smirked at her surprised expression. “What, you thought I didn't know
that one? Ghost Wife…a good name, I suppose.”

Vivian laughed softly and stretched. It had grown dark outside. “I
wondered if we could talk about something,” she said.

“We talk about many things.”

“You know what I mean.”

He brushed away the Whispers and they fled, and the Shaker walked to the
foot of the bed to listen. “What did you wish to talk about?”

Vivian looked at Him from under her eyelashes. “Children.”

T
he Shaker studied her a long
moment in complete silence. His eyes—she couldn't name the color, but they were
somewhere between blue and green— took her in.

“Children.”

“I'm completely alone,” Vivian murmured. “Someday even you'll want me
gone…I want someone to remember me as their mother.”

“You know what my children are, what they become.”

“The Whispers,” Vivian said, nodding, “But, Shaker—”

“Is that what you want, Vivian? Children never really alive, never
really dead?” His voice never rose, but she could hear anger in it. His eyes blazed.
The Shaker whirled on His boot heel, striding to the door. “Rosa,” He called. A
Whisper appeared, her indistinct form that of a girl of about eight or nine. Rosa
clung to the Shaker's coat, her eyes—like blue fire—staring at Vivian.

“She was born ninety-three years ago,” the Shaker said.“Her mother died
and now she lives here. I say
lives
…you know what she
is. A shadow. She died, and this is what she became.” The Shaker patted her head,
and Rosa fled. A ghost. A shadow. A Whisper. “Unlike you petty mortals, she'll never
move on. She'll always be here, with me.” The Shaker looked coldly at her. “Is that
what you want for your children?”

Vivian had tears in her eyes. “I didn't mean it that way.”

He pursed His lips, and swept out of the room. Vivian hugged the pillow
to her chest, trying not to cry.

She hadn't thought He'd get so angry.

Rosa came creeping back, and climbed onto the foot of the bed. “He
doesn't mean it.” Her voice was hollow, tremulous, as if it wasn't quite there. “He
loves you,” Rosa said. “He wants you to be happy.”

Vivian wiped at her eyes. “And you?”

“It's not so bad,” Rosa murmured, “You don't have to be scared of Death
when an Immortal is your father.” She smiled. Her shadowy figure flickered. “Momma
moved on, and it got lonely…but He takes good care of us.”

“How many are there?”

“Only sixty-two. Some Immortals have thousands.”

Vivian couldn't help but laugh. The number seemed so ludicrous, but she
knew it was true. “Is He terribly angry with me?”

“Just a little, but more at Himself. He'll come around. Just wait.” Rosa
hesitated, and touched Vivian's hand. Her touch was cold, but not as icy as the
Shaker's.

“Thank you,” Vivian said, grasping the little Whisper's hand.

Rosa smiled again. “You're welcome, Vivian.”

S
he stayed in the bed until He
returned at almost midnight. “Stay a little late?” He asked.

She nodded, holding out her arms to Him. He put a fervency and
tenderness into that night, holding her close until she could hardly breathe.
Vivian's nails scratched His back and she kept saying the same thing over and
over—“I love you, oh, God, oh, God, I love you.”

He burned her a little, but not nearly as much as he'd used to. Vivian
gently traced out previous scars, the scars that would mark her as a Shade for the
rest of her life. Even if He dismissed her, she would never be able to keep it
secret that she had been a Shade, a Ghost Wife.

The Shaker kissed the back of her shoulder. He would never apologize for
anything—that she had learned quickly enough.

“Do you
really
want children?”

“I wouldn't have brought it up if I hadn't thought about it,” she
murmured. “I've been thinking about it for two years.”

He drew a fiery hand up her arm, gently clasping her shoulder. She could
feel Him trying to force it to cool, for her sake. “Say it again,” He whispered.

“I love you.”

S
he winced as she made her walk
home, the new burns paining her. She would have to apply a salve before she
slept.

She heard it then—the keening cry coming from the living part of the
city.

Someone had died.

A shadow passed over Bone Rattler Street, and the temperature fell to
wintry levels. Vivian shivered, looking upward even though she knew she wouldn't see
Him. The Shaker had just claimed a new occupant of Bone Rattler Street.

She heard a girl singing as she made her way back home, asking Death to
spare her another year. The song never failed to make Vivian feel like an outcast,
serving this Immortal everyone feared. People glared at her whenever someone died,
as if she were responsible. Vivian hurried past the singing girl and through the
darkness to her house, thinking of her previous conversation with the Shaker.

What have I done to them that's so
devilish?

What you were made to do.

You mortals. You understand so little.

Unlike you petty mortals, she'll never move
on.

He loves you. He wants you to be happy.

Vivian choked back tears as the realization hit her—he envied them. She
would die. She might haunt Bone Rattler Street for a few decades, but eventually she
would move on to whatever awaited her. The Shaker and His Whispers never would. They
would be trapped in that same place until Arlington ceased to be, until all people
were but dust on the wind, and the world was dead.

The Shaker would always be there.

I could hardly let my wife suffer.

He loves you.

Had He loved all His wives? Had He watched each of them fade, and die,
leaving Him behind in eternity?

Just inside her front door, Vivian fell to her knees, a hand over her
mouth as tears rolled down her cheeks. She thought of the Shaker, adjusting His
forms to suit each of His Shades, looking for what they most liked. Learning what
most pleased them. Doing His best to make them happy.

How many loves had He lost to time?

“Oh my God,” she whispered, “Shaker, I'm so sorry.”

W
inter came softly but surely on
Arlington that year. Vivian wore thicker coats, and that was why it took the
citizens so long to realize the obvious change in their resident Ghost Wife.

It wasn't until she attended the Christmas service and draped her coat
over the pew that they saw she was pregnant.

They were stunned—only the oldest of Arlington citizens could remember
the last time a Ghost Wife had been with child, and only the bravest of girls dared
to ask her what it had been like to sleep with Death. They were a group, around
sixteen or seventeen, and dreadfully curious.

Vivian laughed a little, shaking her head. “Dangerous,” she replied,
“but like nothing you could ever imagine.”

The child did not stir once during the pregnancy.

The Whispers had begun to follow her on her walks, though they never
left Bone Rattler Street, and they helped her with her deliveries. And the
Shaker…well, He fussed over her like a mother hen.

Christmas night He filled the room with His heat, pacing as Vivian
watched Him. “I love you,” she murmured, unprompted. He kissed her.

“Again.”

“I love you.”

A deeper kiss. “Again.”

“I love you.”

He forced down His temperature for her safety, pulling her close. Vivian
caught a glimmer of what looked like tears in His eyes, and kissed Him softly.
“Shaker,” she whispered, “I love you. It's okay. I love you.”

He trembled a moment but He would not cry. Vivian wondered how many
years He had practiced that. She kissed His face gently. “I love you.”

The Shaker held her close, without saying a word, without moving. He
held her, and asked for nothing more. Vivian stroked His hair, feeling His skin cool
under her touch. He smelled of ash.

W
hen Vivian had first begun her
life at Arlington she had never expected the sudden position in society she now
held—both a power and a pariah. “Ah, you're the Black Coat's, then?”

“The Bone Rattler took you in?”

“Picked you right off the street? I don't know if the Devil's ever done
that before…”