Eddie was waiting for her when Wendy returned. She slid into the seat and said, “I needed some personal time.” She flicked her gaze toward Jon, who had finished his fries and had started on Eddie’s. Eddie, catching on, pursed his lips and nodded.
Casually, Wendy set her glass on the edge of the table. Then, just as casually, she elbowed it. The cup toppled off the table, hit the linoleum, and shattered, sending shards of glass, ice, and a splash of soda across the floor.
“Crap!” Wendy grabbed a handful of napkins and dropped to her knees, furtively glancing around the room. Most of the other customers were staring at her—a few clapped and whistled—but within seconds most had returned to their own conversations and meals.
“Oh honey!” Lucy exclaimed, dropping to her side bearing a towel and a dustpan. “Don’t mess with that glass, Winni-girl, you’ll cut yourself.”
“I’m so sorry, Lucy,” Wendy apologized, grabbing the towel from her. “I won’t touch the glass, but let me get the Coke, okay?” Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted something faint and glowing under the booth next to her. Crawling to the empty booth, she mopped several pieces of ice back towards the pile Lucy was brushing up.
Beneath the table, half hidden by the table leg, was a ghostly Mets baseball cap. It was battered and ragged in several places—not just thin, the way ethereal objects got when their real-world counterparts had faded away, but covered in precise dime-size circles. Wendy was reminded of the movie Aliens and the acid-holes left behind wherever the creature wandered.
Quickly, so no one would see, Wendy snatched the hat from under the table and backed out. Not looking where she was going, she suddenly hissed in pain. A piece of glass, about the size of her knuckle, was embedded in the meaty bulge beneath her thumb. “Ow.”
“See what I mean?” Lucy reprimanded Wendy, kneeling beside her and taking her hand gingerly. “Oh poor thing. Let me see.” She plucked the glass free and squeezed the wound to loosen any remaining particles. It hadn’t gone in too deep; the cut bled only sluggishly.
“I’ve got it, Lucy,” Eddie interjected, extracting a miniature first aid kit from the side pocket of his backpack. “She’s always bumping into stuff.”
“Well, at least go wash it in the ladies room,” Lucy sighed, releasing Wendy. Half a dozen swipes later and the last of the mess was piled in the dustbin.
“Gimme that,” Eddie ordered, ripping an alcohol pad packet open, and swabbing the cut. Jon, uneasy at the sight of blood, hunched over his homework, refusing to glance up. Eddie tsked. “That’s not bad at all.”
Wendy sat through his ministrations until he tried to bandage it. “A band-aid will just come off,” she insisted, pulling her hand free. “It’ll scab over. Thank you.”
“But—”
“I think I need a breath of fresh air.”
Now that the gore had been cleaned away, Jon was willing to rejoin the conversation. “Again? But you just got back.”
“I’m tired and I just sliced my hand open,” Wendy snapped. “Lay off.”
Realizing that she was being too sharp with him, Wendy squeezed Jon’s shoulder as she rose. “Sorry. Bitchy-me is gonna take a walk. I’m just super edgy for some reason, tonight. Call when Chel gets here.” She shot Eddie a look—I will explain later—and he nodded, waving her off as he reached for Camus once more.
Piotr was waiting by the car. Wendy held the cap by the bill and passed it to him, conscious of the fact that even being in proximity to her must be unpleasant for him. Under normal circumstances, before her mother’s accident, Wendy would have already dug deep inside and called upon her power to reap Piotr, to set him free.
But now? Since her mother’s accident Wendy had sworn off reaping all ghosts, even the Shades, unless absolutely necessary. The accident had proven just how unprepared she was for the duties of a Reaper—reaping was too dangerous, impossible to control. But if someone deserved to be sent into the Light, wasn’t it Piotr? He protected children, watched over them, kept them safe. He’d told her about the other Riders who were watching his own Lost. They were in good custody, weren’t they? No one would miss him, and she knew it would be the right thing to do.
I think I really intend to do it, she mused. I think I’m gonna reap Piotr and set him free. But not yet. Piotr still had a job to do and Wendy, surprising herself, realized that she intended to help him do it.
When this is all done, she promised herself, I’ll release him. Protecting children. Waking me to my own abilities. If anyone deserves to be sent on to the afterlife, it’s this guy. Wendy ignored the increased thump of her heart and sickening tightness in her gut at the thought. Piotr was dead, she was alive. Cute or not, Piotr was long meant for the land beyond the Never’s eternal limbo.
“Blagodaru vas,” Piotr said, turning the cap around in his hands. “Thank you, Wendy. I owe you much. Was there anything else?”
“I didn’t get much of a look, but that seems to be it.” Careful not to get her hand too close lest she injure him in some way, Wendy pointed out the dime-sized holes peppering the bill. “Have you ever seen this before?”
After a surreptitious glance around the parking lot, Wendy settled herself on the curb and, remembering her cover, pulled out her cell phone again. The lot was empty of people beside herself and Piotr, but Wendy was unwilling to appear to be talking to herself, especially if Jon or Chel might see. With her luck, they’d run to Dad and tattle; then he’d slap her into counseling for acting crazy in public.
“Net.” Piotr raised the cap up to the sunlight, peering through the holes, and Wendy wondered what the world looked like on that side, if there were colors and textures or if everything was as washed out and grey as it appeared to her. “I must bring this to the other Riders and see if perhaps they’ve seen this sort of thing before.”
“If they’ve seen a hat?”
Piotr flapped the cap. “This hat is made of Dunn himself. His essence. If he were gone—into the Light or eaten—the cap would vanish too, da? But it’s still whole. Which means Lily was correct; Dunn is a hostage.” Folding the cap as tightly as he could, Piotr stuffed it into one of the pockets in his cargo pants. “This complicates things.”
“I’ll say.” Wendy shaded her eyes against the late afternoon sunlight, admiring him out of the corner of her eye. “So what now?”
“Nothing for now.” Piotr frowned and gestured with the cap. “I must take this to the others. The word must go out.”
“That’s it? All that and you won’t even tell me what’s going to happen next?”
“You know everything I do.” Piotr rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. “The cap, it is a mystery but it is enough proof that the Lost was taken. Where? Who knows? It is a place to start. Now I go north to tell the others. Again, blagodaru vas. My thanks.” He turned away.
“Wait!” Caught up in the moment, Wendy forgot herself and reached out to grab his hand. Wendy didn’t think about the action. If she had, she wouldn’t have touched him for fear of what her powers would do. She simply reached out and grabbed for him, hoping to stall him long enough to at least let him know how to reach her.
Just as before, his hand smoked where she touched him, but the smoke dissipated quickly and appeared painless for Piotr. For Wendy, it was another story.
Her memories couldn’t do justice to the strange feeling touching him wrought. Wendy had encountered other ghosts before, so many she’d lost count, but never had she been able to feel them as anything more than a sweep of chill air while she was not using her powers. There was a momentary sense of air pressure, a yielding, but nothing more. When she was in her other state, the touch of a soul was like grasping dry ice in her bare hands, and she kept her encounters as swift as possible to minimize any pain—both for them and for herself.
Touching Piotr shocked her into stillness. His flesh was cool but not icy, almost as firm as real skin under her fingers, and where her palm pressed into the bone of his elbow a sharp jolt ran up her arm to her shoulder, a tingling wave like static electricity. The shock left the muscles of her arm jumping and twitching in its wake.
“Wendy?” Piotr pulled his elbow out of her grip, breaking the connection that bound her silent and still. “What—”
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Wendy gasped. “Just then?”
“Net,” Piotr shook his head. “I am fine. But that…what was that?”
“I don’t—I don’t know.” Wendy licked her lips and rubbed her hands together. Every nerve in her body felt pleasantly tingly, as if she’d passed through the eye of some electric tornado and come out the other end uplifted and unscathed. “I’ve never felt that before. Not even last time. You know, when we met.”
Wendy closed her cell phone and slid it into her pocket. This moment was more important than a masquerade for the living. Inside the diner Eddie and Jon were eating fries and tick-tocking their way through their normal lives; out here was insanity too immediate to be denied.
“Are you hurt? Did I…?” Piotr ran his hands wildly through his hair. “How do you feel?”
Her laughter came out a touch crazier than she’d intended it to; even to her own ears it sounded edgy and rough; high, sharp and broken. Wild. “Fine, I guess.”
“Should we…?” Piotr held out his hand, fingers splayed. An invitation. When Wendy nodded and held out her own hand in kind, he stepped closer. This time it was Piotr who reached for Wendy, threading his fingers through hers, cupping her hand in his. Wendy was helpless to stop it. Crazy electric sensations or not, she wanted to feel the intoxicating coolness of his not-quite-flesh pressed against the skin of her palm.
“This is amazing,” Piotr murmured before breaking off, bewildered smile fading. Hand in hers, his not-flesh sizzled faintly but only for a moment, and the smoke was gone in a breath. “How do you feel?”
“Alive,” Wendy whispered. “I can’t…it’s like…I can’t describe it. I don’t know.” She closed her eyes. “It’s nice. It hurts at first, and it’s kinda cold to the touch, but it’s only, like, a second of pain and then…whoosh! Every nerve lights up. I feel like the Energizer Bunny, Piotr, like every hair should stand on end.” Wendy bit her lip. “What’s it like for you?”
“It hurts, da, but the hurt is a blink. Then…I am calm inside? Quiet? It is very nice, very relaxed. I feel…peaceful.” His fingers squeezed hers again and a pleasant warmth filled Wendy’s chest at the gentle pressure. Dead or not, scarred or not, Piotr really was sort of attractive and he carried himself with such earnest conviction that even cynical Wendy found herself moved by his pleasure. She leaned in close, wanting to press her hand to his cheek when he casually added, “It is beginning to burn.”
Horrified, Wendy snatched her hand away, cursing herself for ten kinds of fool. “I’m so sorry! When it didn’t keep hurting me I just…did I hurt you? I’m such an idiot! Are you okay?” She started to reach for him, to soothe her touch, and then realized what a foolish gesture that would be. She tucked her hands deep in her pockets to quell the urge.
“I am fine.” He held up his hands, turning them palm out to her. “The burn is fading.” Piotr trembled, whether in joy or fear she couldn’t tell. Perhaps, Wendy reasoned, it was like stubbing your toe or picking up a splinter; it hurt more after you realized you were hurt. Either way, Piotr seemed in no pain now.
The threat of future pain didn’t slow him down for long. Marveling, Piotr reached tentatively forward, fingers hovering several inches from her cheek. “May I?”
Wendy closed her eyes and nodded. Feather-soft, his fingers brushed along her cheekbone and down the side of her neck, running through her hair and lifting the curling strands off her jaw with a whispering touch. When he ran his hands along each row of ear studs the metal cooled quickly, the posts growing painfully cold in her cartilage. Otherwise, his hand on her flesh was cool, pleasant and sweet.
Gonna have to get an acrylic barbell, Wendy inwardly mused then flushed with the realization of what her errant thought implied.
Slowly, feeling her way, Wendy reached out and mimicked his movements, brushing fingers across his eyebrows, down his nose, across his cheekbones. His lips were full and soft beneath her fingertips and the line of his jaw was firm. Everywhere she touched him, she tingled, the electric current running feverishly just beneath her skin. Inexplicably she felt sweaty and hot. Her corset was binding her torso close, and the jeans stretched across her thighs were suddenly too tight.
“This is crazy,” Wendy whispered at last, drawing her fingers away, dulling the strange, fierce tingle that turned her muscles to jubilant jelly. “This shouldn’t be happening.”
“Insanity,” he agreed and folded his hands in his lap, hunching over and shifting so she saw only his profile.
“Piotr?” Forcing her traitorous fingers to remain still, Wendy held back the urge to reach out and touch his shoulder. “Are you okay?” She was almost positive that none of the light inside had leaked through her skin when she’d been touching him, but the sensation of interacting with a ghost without reaping it was so fresh and new.
“I am fine.” He grimaced and then shook his head, chuckling at some private joke. He shifted awkwardly, which seemed unusual considering the grace that Wendy had already seen him possess. “Just…overwhelmed.”
“There are so many questions.” Wendy crossed her arms over her chest, acutely aware of his proximity. After this crazy discovery, part of her knew that she ought to be reaping him right now, this second. Another part though, a deeper part, simply wanted to know why this dead boy, out of all the ghosts she’d ever encountered, was different. “Maybe your…this friend of yours will be able to help us figure all this out. Lilah?”
“Lily is wise and she may have theories about Dunn, but I doubt she’s heard of this before.” Piotr held up one hand and stared at it as if the fingers themselves held the answer to all the fresh questions he had. Wendy’s eyes followed the movement and Piotr forced his hand to his side, baring his teeth in a pained half-smile. “It is unlikely.”
A convertible swerved into the parking lot, overflowing with bleached blondes and pounding out rap with deafening bass. Chel scrambled out of the back, retrieved her bags, and waved as the convertible sped away. Bouncing with each step, she sashayed around the corner of the diner and vanished, presumably joining Eddie and Jon inside.
“My sister’s here. I have to go.”
“She doesn’t look like your sister.”
“Bleach.” Wendy shrugged but was acutely uncomfortable. Chel’s predilection for normal and average was still very disconcerting to her. God help her if she ever laid eyes on one of the dying. She’d go crazy.
“She’s not as pretty as you.” Piotr’s lips quirked in his half-smile and Wendy jerked as if he’d touched her once more. Her knees, already weak, threatened to spill her on the ground.
“I…I have to go.” Wendy rose, hands trembling, and ran her fingers through her hair. The interlude had left her empty and shaky, as if the first brush of his hand had stripped some core strength away. Wendy refused to entertain the idea that it might have been his words, not his touch, that left her so flustered and on edge. There was no way he was flirting with her. It was impossible. He was just being kind.
Still, she mused, the possibility of it wasn’t unpleasant, just bizarre. Heart thrumming in her chest, Wendy desperately wanted to brush her hand against his cheek again, to touch his wrist, to say goodbye, to assure herself that this really was real. Part of her was scared that if she walked away now she would never see him again, that he wouldn’t find her, or that the meeting itself was some crazy fluke never to be repeated. She’d spent the past five years dreaming of Piotr, drawing him, thinking about him and wondering how he was doing. Was she really just going to let this strange twist of fate end?
“I understand. Be safe,” Piotr said and turned away.
Crushed, Wendy turned to go back inside and was ten steps toward the diner before she realized what she had to say. Quickly she turned, hoping to catch him before he got too far. Luckily, Piotr was still at the edge of the parking lot.
“Piotr! Wait!” Wendy hurried to join him, ignoring the strange looks of passing bicyclists as she reached to grasp thin air. “I live off of the corner of Montecito and Farley, not far from here,” she said in a rush, fear tumbling the words from her lips in a tangled torrent. She forced herself to slow down and enunciate. “There are some town homes—”
Studiously not looking at her, Piotr made a hurry-up twirling gesture with his hand, expression inscrutable. “I’ve been there.”
Forging ahead, Wendy said, “My bedroom’s upstairs at the back of the house, the one with the bench in the side yard. If you…if you need me that’s how you can find me, okay?” The irony that the first not-Eddie boy she was inviting into her room was dead was not lost on her; Wendy flushed and clasped her hands together to keep from twining them nervously through her curls. “It’s the pink room. Punk pink though, not like rah-rah girly-pink. And black. Pink and black.” She swallowed heavily, babbling now. “But it’s my room, you know? I like it.”
“I understand.” Piotr glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “And if I do come visit you soon, Wendy? When do you want me to enter your home?”
“I dunno, whenever, I guess. Friday. We can talk that night. There’s a tree. Can you climb trees? Anyway, there’s a tree near the roof. It’s an easy jump. Do ghosts have to jump? I don’t… I don’t have a lot of experience with this.”
If Piotr noted her discomfort, he gave no sign. Instead he smiled and took her hand a final time, tracing a gentle circle on the inside of her wrist. Wendy’s knees felt trembly at the touch, the cool brush of his skin obliterating her nervous energy in one fell swoop and leaving her aching and breathless.
Oh yeah, she realized, I got it bad-bad-bad. Eddie would never let her live it down. Wendy the Reaper, scourge of spirits, had a crush. And on a dead guy no less. What next?
“I understand,” Piotr murmured, releasing her wrist and stepping away. He smiled, and that quirky grin, that twist of lips that was as familiar today as it had been five years before, was enough to make Wendy quiver from head to toe. “I will find you. Thank you.”
Nodding once, Wendy turned and strode toward the diner. She refused to look back. He’s a ghost, she told herself. Just a ghost, no one special. But her heart, thudding against her ribs, spoke an entirely different tale.
If she’d turned, just for a moment, she would have seen Piotr staring after her, expression wide open and eloquent with longing. Instead she flipped open her phone and dialed 9-1-1.
“Hello?” she said as the operator answered, “I’d like to report an accident in the woods behind the MVLA High School.” She put her hand on the door and pulled. “You see, I was skipping last period, and—”