Eddie didn’t answer his phone. It rang and rang and the fifteenth time it went to voicemail Wendy screamed, flinging her own phone at her vanity where it smashed corner-first into the mirror. The phone, thin to begin with, snapped in two. The mirror shattered into a thousand slivers of glass.
“Wendy?” Jon tapped on her door. “Are you okay?”
“No,” Wendy sobbed, sinking to the floor and burying her face in her hands. “I’m not.”
The door creaked open and Jon poked his head inside. Jabber hissed at the sight of him and slunk beneath the bed, tail puffy and back arched. “Wanna talk about it?”
Scrubbing the heels of her hands against her eyes, Wendy wiped her frustrated tears away. “I can’t get a hold of Eddie,” she said by way of explanation, though Eddie’s absence wasn’t the only concern preying on her mind. “I’ve been trying for hours.”
“So you threw your phone? Crazy much?” Jon crossed the room, picking his way carefully over the splintered shards of glass, and settled beside her on the bed. “Maybe he forgot to charge his cell. Or maybe his mom made him turn it off. You know what a big control freak she is.”
“He’s super anal about charging his phone,” Wendy said, shaking her head. “And his mom wouldn’t be weird about Eddie getting calls over the holidays, especially around her family. Appearances mean a lot to her.”
“Maybe,” conceded Jon. “So what’s all this about? Did you guys get in another fight?”
“No, it’s nothing like that.” Wendy swallowed thickly. “I had this nasty dream. Something was wrong with Eddie in it so I just…I just have a bad feeling, okay?”
Jon whistled. “That must have been one heck of a dream.”
Wendy couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, it really was.”
“Well, I know this probably isn’t the time, but Chel and I were hoping to go see Mom today. Nana said this is probably our last Christmas, you know?”
“The insurance is about to run out,” Wendy murmured. “Right, I almost forgot.” It was just one more terrible thing to add to the list of never-ending crap. If their mother didn’t wake up soon there was a chance Dad would have to decide whether to keep her on life support…or pull the plug. If she could rescue her mom from the White Lady, it would be a decision he’d never have to make.
Stretching, Jon used the edge of Wendy’s bed to rise to his feet. “I know you’re worried about Eddie, but do you think you could chill out for an hour or two and drop us off? Dad gave us permission to use the car if we’re visiting Mom.”
“Let me guess: Chel wants to go to Milpitas afterwards and swing by the mall?” Wendy struggled to keep from sneering but failed. Emotionally she was wrung dry and too edgy to be fair about her sister’s foibles. “Maybe catch a movie with her buds or do some last minute ‘holiday shopping’?”
Jon pitched his voice low. “Actually, she never suggested it. Weird, right? She said all her shopping’s already done. Internet.”
“Chel turned down a chance to go waste Christmas break at the mall? I guess she’s serious about avoiding the rah-rahs after all.”
“Everybody changes.” He shrugged. “Anyway, when we’re done Nana wanted to know if we’d like to crash with her up in Oakland tonight. She was talking waffles so I’m thinking hell yes,” Jon said, grinning wildly. He leaned down and offered her a hand up. When Wendy took it his open expression darkened, eyebrows drawing in. All joviality fled. “Wendy, what happened to your arm?”
Whoops! In the recent chaos, Wendy had forgotten all about the cuts the Walker had inflicted in the park. Snatching her hand out of Jon’s grip, she cradled her arm to her chest. “It’s nothing. I had an accident. Eddie patched me up.”
“Some accident,” Jon said and then his lips pressed together in a tight line. “Wendy,” he said, choosing his words with some care, “I know this isn’t any of my business, but you’re not taking that goth-emo thing to that wacko level are you? You know, that ‘I bleed to feel pain’ dominatrix crap kinda level?”
Wendy rolled her eyes. “Jon, honestly, listen to what you’re saying for once. You know me. Do you really and truly believe that I—of all people—would cut myself?”
“Since you didn’t just give me a direct answer, I’d have to say that I don’t know,” he said gravely, glancing around the shattered glass and ramshackle chaos that passed for her room. “Would you?”
“No! Jesus, Jon!” Annoyed, Wendy punched him on the bicep, not bothering to be gentle. When he yelped and rubbed his arm she waved her fist in his direction. “That’s for thinking I’m a cutter, you jerk.” Her thoughts flicked to the dream of the night before, the skin clutched in the White Lady’s hand. She tamped down on those thoughts quickly. She had a little bit of time; she’d figure out what to do.
“Okay, okay!” he protested, half-laughing, still rubbing his sore arm. “I get the picture already!”
“Next time think before you go accusing people,” Wendy warned. Careful of the glass, she reached under the bed and pulled out the Tupperware container stuffed to bursting with shoes. Selecting a sturdy pair of army surplus combat boots, Wendy flopped on the bed and began lacing them up.
“Fine. Whatever. Go get Chel,” she snapped, impatience coloring her tone. “I’m tired, I’m stressed out, I’m done. You and me and Chel. We’re getting this over with. Move it!”
Jon looked offended. “But Mom—”
“The drive,” she clarified, softening. “I want to get the drive over with. Christmas break, remember? The 101 is gonna be total crap, and crossing the bridge isn’t going to be much better. Dad emptied the change tray, so we gotta swing by the bank for cash. Any clue where he stashed the debit card?”
“I’ve got it in my purse,” Chel said, leaning in the doorway, the cordless phone hanging loosely from her hand. Dark circles ringed her eyes and her skin was tight and shiny, white except for the hectic patches across her cheekbones. She coughed into her fist. “What happened in here? Did your reflection sass you good, or what?”
“I lost my temper,” Wendy said shortly. “You look like hell. Are you feeling okay?”
“Peachy keen,” Chel drawled. “I’m fine. Let me grab my shoes.”
“You don’t look fine,” Jon protested. “You’re all—”
“I know how I look, okay?” Chel pushed away from the threshold and tossed the cordless on the bed. “It’s just a little cold or something. Anyway, Eddie’s mom beeped in about five minutes ago while I was on the line with Nana. She wants you to call her back ASAP.”
Heartbeat trebling in her chest, Wendy’s grip tightened on her boot until her knuckles bled white. Beneath the bandage on her arm she felt the edges of the wound Eddie had sealed with the dermabond glue start to pull apart. Twisting so her siblings wouldn’t see the dark red seeping on her gauze, Wendy asked casually, “Did she say what it was about?”
“Nah,” Chel said, coughing into her fist again. Outside the window, thunder rumbled in the distance, causing them all to glance out the window at the dark clouds building on the horizon. “She said just to call soon as you can, that it’s important. Anyway, since we’re definitely visiting Mom and Nana, I’m gonna go throw together an overnight bag, okay? It won’t take ten minutes.”
“Me too,” Jon said, after glancing at Wendy’s face to read the emotional weather. “Lemme know what’s up,” he whispered as he left.
Fingers trembling, Wendy shut the door before punching in the number for Eddie’s mother’s cell on the cordless phone. It rang three times and went to voicemail.
“You should try again,” Piotr said and Wendy jumped.
“Crap! I didn’t see you there,” she gasped, hand pressed to her chest. Beneath her palm her heart fluttered frantically; adrenaline left her mouth sour. “How long have you—”
“Long enough to catch you obliterating the mirror.” Piotr drifted through the desk and settled on the edge of her bed, his cool hand rubbing calming circles on her back. “I was going to speak up, but Jon came and I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.”
“Good idea,” Wendy said. She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Today has been one hell of a day already.”
“Is that so?” Piotr touched her wrist. “I noticed that you opened up your cuts again.”
“Accident. Look, we’ve got a lot, I mean a whole hell of a lot, to talk about. But not right now okay? Give me just a few minutes.” She held up the phone.
Understanding, Piotr nodded and pretended to zip his lips shut, resting his head against the wall so that his touch wouldn’t distract her further. This time Eddie’s mother answered on the first ring. “Hello? Winifred, is that you?” Even across the crackling line, she sounded frantic.
“Hi Mrs. Barry,” Wendy said, injecting what she hoped was the right amount of faux cheer into her tone. “My sister said you called. What’s up?”
“Winifred, I need your help. It’s Eddie.”
It was as if she’d reached through the phone line and punched Wendy in the gut. All the breath went out of her; her stomach felt hollow, empty, and her heart thudded so hard in her chest that the room literally alternated dark and light with each beat of her pulse. Yet, somehow, despite the world spinning out of control right then and there, Wendy heard herself say, voice appropriately concerned, “Eddie? What’s the matter, Mrs. Barry? Is he okay?” She wiped her forehead with her good arm; her skin was oily with sweat and she found that she was clenching her jaw so tightly her teeth ached.
“You remember how your mother just collapsed last year?” Mrs. Barry sobbed into the other end. “Last night at dinner Eddie was standing up to pick up the plates and he keeled over. Boom! Just like that. We rushed him to the hospital—I thought it was one of those youth heart attacks, God forbid—but his heart was still beating, he’s still breathing. But he won’t wake up, Winifred!”
Honking her nose noisily, Mrs. Barry spent several seconds struggling on the other end of the line. The sounds coming out of her were somewhere between sobs and crazed laughter. Wendy recognized that sound. It was the sound her father had made when they’d brought her mother into the ER that first night. It was the cry of an anguished soul.
“Oh Winifred,” Mrs. Barry sobbed, “first my husband, now my only boy? I go to synagogue, I keep the holy days, I volunteer. What did I do wrong? What else could I have done?” She broke down weeping for several minutes but the sound was thick and muffled. Hearing a steady thump-thump in the background, Wendy realized that Mrs. Barry must have pressed the phone to her chest. Patiently, she waited for her best friend’s mother to calm down.
Finally the sobbing slowed, followed by a wet sniffle. “Hel-hello? Winifred?”
“Hi, Mrs. Barry, I’m still here.” Swallowing thickly, Wendy was surprised to realize that her voice was level, calm even, and that at some point between picking up the phone and this moment, her heart had slowed down, the sweat on her brow had dried.
“What hospital is he at, Mrs. Barry?” Wendy asked, reaching for the math notebook balanced on the corner of her desk. The pencil cup was on the opposite corner and too much effort to hassle with; Wendy used the mechanical eyeliner that had rolled underneath the corner of her bed.
“UCSF,” she muttered, jotting the address down. Later, she wasn’t sure why she did. UCSF was the same hospital where her mother was staying; she could’ve driven there with her eyes closed. But it felt good to keep her hands busy. “We were going to visit my mom today, Mrs. Barry,” Wendy said. “Stay calm, okay? I promise you that I can be there in about an hour.”
“How’s your mother’s condition?” Mrs. Barry asked, desperation underlying every word. “Do the doctors know anything?”
Like you gave two craps about my mom yesterday, Wendy thought unkindly, but kept it to herself. “No, Mrs. Barry,” she said. “But we still have hope.” The door creaked open and Jon and Chel were waiting in the hall, overnight bags at their feet. The two had been listening in; Jon’s face was waxy white, Chel’s eyes were red-rimmed.
“I’ve gotta go, Mrs. Barry,” Wendy said. “I’m on my way, okay? Okay, Mrs. Barry, you hang in there; I’ll be there in an hour. Okay. Okay. Bye.” Pressing the off switch with her thumb, Wendy dropped the phone on the floor. Outside, thunder boomed again, much closer this time, rattling the pencils in their cup.
“Eddie’s sick,” Wendy said and fought not to remember that terrible night when she had to explain to her siblings that their mother was in the hospital and Dad wouldn’t be home for twelve hours. “He’s got…probably whatever Mom’s got. Same symptoms.”
“Shit,” Chel said and slumped to the floor, burying her face in her hands. “Shit, not again.”
“He’s at UCSF,” Wendy continued, addressing Jon because Chel was crying now, slow soft sobbing that was both heartbreaking and distracting. “Your bags packed?”
“Yeah,” Jon said dully, reaching down and collecting both the bags. “Yeah, they are.”
“Okay.” Wendy held up her arm; let Jon see the dark splotches where the dermabond had pulled apart beneath the gauze. “I’m going to fix this and then I’ll need your help wrapping it back up. Then we’ll go.”
“Yeah, okay,” he agreed, dropping the bags again and following Wendy to their shared bathroom. Wendy spun the cap off the hydrogen peroxide with her thumb, consciously not thinking about how Eddie had done this very thing for her only two days prior. She hissed when the chill liquid bubbled across her arm. At first it was bordering on unbearable but then Piotr was there, his hands icy cold and pressed against her wound, numbing it. Steam billowed up, obfuscating the bathroom, but when it cleared he was still there, eyes searching her face, seeking the telltale signs of weakness or pain that would make him draw away.
Splashing a second dose against her arm, Wendy couldn’t help marveling at the way the peroxide slipped right through his hands. She could feel the wetness but her arm was now numb from wrist to elbow and with Piotr helpfully gripping her forearm it took no time at all to pat the area dry and apply another layer of dermabond to the wounds.
“Here,” she told Jon, tearing off a long strip of gauze with her teeth. “Start here and wrap.”
“Let me do it,” Chel snapped from the doorway, pushing past her brother and snatching the gauze out of his hand. “He can’t fix a boo-boo to save his life.” Chel eyed the wounds and heaved a dramatic sigh. “I always knew you would flip out one day,” she muttered, wrapping Wendy’s arm with an expert finesse that spoke of years in cheerleading, of countless bound ankles, wrapped scrapes, and an endless succession of hastily bandaged knees. “But did you have to cut so deep? These are totally gonna scar.”
“Not that I don’t appreciate the help, but why does everyone think I did this to myself?” Wendy asked, exasperated.
“I always figured your goth-kiddie thing was a big cry for attention,” Chel said, taping off the end. She pulled a tissue from the box and swiped at her nose and under her eyes. “The next logical steps are emo poetry and a knife fascination, right?”
“Shut up,” Wendy replied and gestured for Jon to collect the bags. Piotr was already halfway down the stairs and sliding neatly through the kitchen wall. She knew that he would be waiting for them in the car, hopefully in the back seat. “Come on, let’s get a move on.”
“Go cry in a corner, emo kid,” Chel said, brightening and leading the way downstairs.
Wendy laughed despite herself. “Can it, buffy, before I kick your ass.” They collected the car keys and locked the doors, letting themselves out into the first spray of falling rain.
Accustomed to the ebb and flow of the hospital traffic, Wendy dropped Chel and Jon off at the front door, flicking off the heater as soon as they’d gone. Piotr had ridden in the backseat the whole way, making the already chilly air bitter cold.
They had no time to talk; Wendy found a parking space almost immediately.
“Not the Lost?” he asked, keeping pace as Wendy sprinted through the stinging rain.
“No,” she cried against the rising wind. “The White Lady!”
Shocked into stillness, Piotr stumbled to a stop but Wendy kept going. “The White Lady? When? How?”
“Walkers, I’d bet,” Wendy gasped, dodging through the doors and out of the rain. Glancing around to ensure no one was listening, Wendy wrung her hair out over the non-slip mat and dug through her purse until she found her cell headset. Luckily Jon and Chel were nowhere near—they would remember that her cell was broken and still on the floor at home—but to anyone else she would appear to be on the phone. Rude in a hospital, sure, but not crazy.
“Look,” she murmured, taking the long route to the floor Mrs. Barry said Eddie was on. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” Then, walking at a slower than normal pace, Wendy filled Piotr in on her way to Eddie’s room. This time she bared it all, outlining the dreams she’d been having for months, the major visits from the White Lady, and even the White Lady’s demands of the previous evening.
“She’s got my mom, Piotr,” Wendy finished up. “And now Eddie. I know I should have told you we were in contact before, or at the very least about Dunn, but I guess I was hoping it was just my dreams running away with me. I think that I didn’t even really believe it was really her until this morning, when I woke up without my tongue ring. See?” She stuck her tongue out. “I mean, I believed it was her but I didn’t really believe, you know?”
“I understand,” Piotr said, “and I forgive you for not speaking up before. If I were in your situation I might not have believed it either. It seems so outrageous! But…I have got no clue what she wants with me. Do you know?”
“No idea,” Wendy said. “Maybe because you’re a Rider?”
Elle spoke in his mind then, the memory of her words so sharp and cutting that Piotr physically flinched: She understands all about duty, I bet. That’s why she kept you, Piotr, not just any ol’ Rider but the big cheese who started the Riders, away from us when we needed you most. That’s why you, Mr. Hi-You’re-Dead-Here’s-How-The-Afterlife-Works himself, was off neckin’ with a monster when you should have been here running a shift!
“Impossible,” Piotr murmured. “It…it can’t be true.” His vision shutter-shifted again—live-dead-live—before the world was once more washed in grey.
“Piotr?” Wendy asked, hand at his elbow, “Piotr, what’s wrong?”
“I-I do not know,” he whispered, but that was a lie. The fight he’d had with the other Riders had been so intense, so unlike their normal spats. Elle, he knew, was truly furious with him. Worried over Dora, feeling exposed in her own haven, and overwhelmed with betrayal that Piotr, her Piotr, had been not only spending his time with a member of the living, but the Lightbringer herself, Elle had said some harsh things.
But had she said some true things? That was the question.
Before Piotr would have said no. But now…now he wasn’t so sure. His vision blinked again.
If it had just been Elle, maybe he could have forgotten the entire fight, gone back the next day and made up. But it had been James and Lily too, the three of them ganging up, all saying the same thing.
Lily: Years passed and with them passed the man I’d known. Who you are now is not who you were then.
Elle: I think it’s pretty clear that Petey never remembers anything, do ya Pete?
James: She’s telling the truth. You’re older than Moses, Peter. You’re older than anyone any ghost I know’s ever met.
“Piotr? Piotr!” Wendy’s hand was on his arm, and she was shaking him. Her eyes were wide, lids drawn back so the whites showed on all sides, her pupils only specks in the vast warm brown of her irises. The heat was baking off her in waves. “Piotr what’s wrong?”
“I am fine, it is nothing,” he said, pulling away. He felt shaky and scared, tottering on the edge of some very important clue that he couldn’t quite grasp. It was aggravating, like having a phrase on the tip of your tongue, knowing that you knew it but being entirely unable to spit out the words. “It’s nothing.”
Wendy heaved a deep breath and he wrapped a cool arm around her waist. “Let’s go see your friend.”
Careful inspection of Eddie’s body proved Wendy’s theory correct. Eddie’s soul was nowhere near his physical shell. A length of his cord was there, extending from his navel in a thick cable that appeared, after close examination, to have been chewed off, but the soul that should have been attached to such a vibrant, healthy cord was completely missing.
“It’s just like my mom,” Wendy whispered, brushing the side of her hand across Eddie’s cheek. She turned away, swiping quickly at the corner of each eye.
Mrs. Barry, looking up from her place at Eddie’s bedside, wiped her puffy eyes with the corner of a hospital towel. “What was that, Winifred?”
“Nothing, Mrs. Barry,” Wendy said meekly. “Nothing important.”
“You’re such a good friend, dear,” Mrs. Barry said, grasping Wendy’s wrist with fingers wiry and lined with wrinkles. Losing her husband had aged her prematurely, made her bony and wan; losing Eddie appeared to have sped up the process. Though she couldn’t be positive Wendy was almost sure that Mrs. Barry’s hair was greyer at the temples than before, that the lines bracketing her mouth were deeper. Though she didn’t voice her opinion, Piotr, prowling around the tiny room, apparently agreed.
“Something’s been at her too,” Piotr said, leaning into Mrs. Barry’s personal space and examining her face closely. She shivered and released Wendy’s wrist, reached for her jacket and shrugged it on. “My word,” she fussed. “They do keep it cold in here, don’t they?”
“Can’t you see it?” Piotr asked, pointing at her mouth and the corners of her eyes. “That residue?”
Now that Piotr had pointed it out, if Wendy squinted just right, she could barely make out what he was referring to. There was a pale, thin film overlaying Mrs. Barry’s face, a clinging mesh so fine she imagined she’d need a ghostly microscope to be able to truly examine it in detail.
“I don’t know what it is,” Wendy said aloud and took Eddie’s hand in her own to cover the outburst when Mrs. Barry looked at her curiously. “The hospital just has to keep it frigid, I guess. Think he needs a blanket?”
“I asked already,” Mrs. Barry exclaimed as Piotr dug his hand in the side of her face. “It’s a spirit web, I think,” he said. “Whatever it is, it’s put down roots.”
“But that awful head nurse,” Mrs. Barry continued as Piotr worked his hands in and out of the flesh of her cheeks, rocking his fingers under the strands to gently lift them away. “She says their linen supplier is running late with the delivery! Then she said if I were willing to wait she’d see if any of the other beds of the floor had a blanket free. Can you believe that?”
“Be careful,” Wendy said and then cleared her throat. “You have no clue where those extra blankets have been, I mean. Anyone could have been sitting on them. Germs.”
Nodding frantically, Mrs. Barry grabbed her free hand. “You are so right, dear! And that’s just what I told that nurse. I said, ‘Now you listen here, young lady, I’m not going to have my only son covered in the filth of other people, no ma’am!’”
All of Piotr’s fingers were now wedged beneath the web; pulling the threads away was taking real effort at this point. Whatever it was, it had sunk itself deep into her head and cords of muscle stood out against Piotr’s neck as he braced his feet against Mrs. Barry’s chair and pulled. The film began to rip.
“Mrs. Barry!” Wendy cried. When Eddie’s mother looked at her quizzically she licked her lips. “Are you okay?” she asked. “You look sort of white.”
“You know,” Mrs. Barry whispered, hand reaching through the web Piotr was yanking free of her skull with all his might. “I do feel somewhat lightheaded. Perhaps I should…sit…down—”
With one final mighty tug, Piotr pulled the web free. Loose all the way to the roots, the thin strands were rounded like the roots of a tree and dripping with dark silver life. Seeking any energy at all, the web waved towards Wendy the moment it separated from Mrs. Barry.
The instant it was out of her face, Mrs. Barry slumped to the floor and Wendy, crying out in disgust, dodged past the nasty thing in Piotr’s arms to push the call button. The nurse was there within moments.
“What happened?”
“She fainted,” Wendy panted. “She was just talking and she fainted.”
In the background Piotr had drawn his dagger and was stabbing the web; each thrust of the knife caused the thing to wail and keen in pain, tendrils thrashing madly. Wendy found it immensely hard to concentrate on explaining Mrs. Barry’s collapse to the nurse while the web shrieked itself to death in the background. The nurse pushed Wendy out of the room and cried for a doctor over the intercom. Wendy, glad to be free, fled down the hall.
“That was disgusting,” Wendy whispered, walking briskly towards the elevators. Her mother’s room was two floors up from Eddie’s. Once ensconced in the safety of the elevator, Wendy leaned against the back wall, pressed her hands to her face, and trembled from head to toe. “Why?” she asked. “What the hell was that thing?”
“It was definitely a spirit web,” Piotr said. “It’s like a rabbit snare; you throw many in the air and go back later, see what you caught.”
“It was feeding off her?”
“It’s just collecting life from her a minute or two at a time. From the look of that thing, it’s been there for longer than Eddie’s been…gone.” Piotr rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “When it gets full or the person it takes root in dies, the web detaches and finds its way outside. Spirit webs like to stay warm. It will crawl as high as it can—plant itself on the roof of a building if possible, to be close to the sun—and wait for someone to come along and harvest the life.”
“That is horrible.” Wendy pressed her hand to her mouth. “But if those things are so effective then why aren’t they all over the place?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t seen a spirit web in a long time, Wendy. They’re extremely difficult to produce; you have to find a plant in the Never’s wild and then have a ghost insane enough to be willing to gestate one in their own guts. It gives the seedlings a taste for life essence.” He paused. “Wait. High places…” Had that been what the White Lady was doing at the airport that day? Collecting spirit webs? The air towers certainly were tall enough, and with all the living moving through the area there was bound to be at least a web or two to be harvested in the wild.
“Just when I thought death couldn’t get any more gross,” Wendy complained. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. She led the way down the hall and Jon and Chel, sitting on either side of their mom, looked up when Wendy entered.
“Mom’s really witty today,” Jon said, scrubbing his knuckles across his face. He gestured to the television mounted in the upper corner of the room. On the screen a pregnant-to-bursting teen was pulling the hair of a skinny blonde girl with one hand and punching her in the small of the back with the other. “I keep telling her that daytime TV is the new opiate of the masses but Mom’s of the opinion that reality shows are where the real money is.”
“I still think Nana’s ‘stories’ top that list,” Chel added, leaning back in the molded plastic chair and crossing her legs. “You can’t beat good old-fashioned soaps.”
“Porn,” Wendy said. “It’s a growth industry.”
Grinning at their groans, Wendy settled into Jon’s seat while he went to find another chair. They could have sat on the opposite bed, but none of them wanted to be far from their mother. Wendy held her mom’s thin, cool hand while Piotr examined the body.
“Any change?” Wendy asked her sister while Piotr probed her mother’s midsection, slipping his hands deep inside her guts.
“None.” Chel shook her head, looking their mother over sadly. “I feel like a jerk for saying this, Wendy, but maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s time to pull the plug. Mom wouldn’t want to be strapped down and cooped up, some vegetable in a bed. She’d rather end it.”
“I don’t know,” Wendy mused as Piotr’s hands slipped out of her mother’s abdomen and rested, relaxed, on his hips. He glanced meaningfully at her mother then at the doorway, drifting out the door a few seconds later. “Mom was a fighter, Chel. She might still be in there, you know, fighting.”
“Maybe.” Chel squeezed their mom’s hand and rose, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve been having these crazy dreams about her. You know how bad flu dreams get—you start running a little fever and suddenly you’ve got Wonderland camped out between your ears.”
Chuckling, Wendy nodded. “We’ve all had a couple doozies. Why, what happened?”
“I can’t remember,” Chel said, shrugging. “But I was at the park, you know, the one up the street? I was sitting on the old rusty swingset, not the new plastic one but the old one that would burn your butt in July? Anyway, it was one of those dreams you get where you can watch everything happening but you’re not really there? Like you’re watching a movie? You were there, talking to Mom, right? You were yelling at each other. She was saying that you had to try again but you didn’t want to. And I wanted to try since you didn’t want to, but I didn’t know what you were trying. Then she slapped you and told you to grow up. Weird, huh?”
A chill shivered down Wendy’s spine. What was it the White Lady had said about dreams before? She was so tired and stressed out about her mother and Eddie that she couldn’t remember.
“So,” she asked, forcing lightness, “did you ever get a chance to try?”
“Nah. My alarm went off and I woke up.”
“Shame,” Wendy said. She brushed a loose strawberry curl back against her mother’s face. “I think I’d do anything she wanted, no matter how hard it was, to get her back.”
“Me too,” Chel said, skirting the edge of the bed and hugging Wendy with one arm. “We all would.”
Embarrassed but secretly pleased at the embrace, Wendy cleared her throat. “Does she need her nails cut or anything? I see you brushed her hair.”
“They do a good job here,” Chel said, patting their mother’s hand. “She looks okay overall. No bedsores or anything.” She lifted their mom’s hand higher and twisted her wrist gently. “You know, I’ve seen these tattoos before but I didn’t realize until today that these are the same ones you’ve got all over you. When’d you get yours again?”
“About a year ago. Dad had that fit, remember?”
“Right, cause Mom signed off on you getting them without checking it by him first. He was so pissed!”
“He just doesn’t want us to grow up,” Wendy said. “Mom understood that it had to happen sometime.” That wasn’t the real reason she sported the same lines and knots her mother had embedded deep into her flesh, but Chel wasn’t a Lightbringer and wouldn’t understand the need for the supernatural protection the ink provided. It wasn’t much, it only created an aversion at best, but every bit counted, no matter what the White Lady claimed.
“She let you get matching ink permanently poked into your skin and a dozen earrings, but freaked when I wanted to bleach my hair.” Chel shook her head. “I love her but sometimes she can be such a hypocrite.” Her voice dropped. “I didn’t want to say this before, but I used to hate you for that. It just wasn’t fair.” She sighed. “I guess I got over it, huh?”
Saddened and embarrassed for her sister, Wendy shrugged, uncomfortable with the direction this conversation had turned. “I’m just different than you, Chel. Different rules apply to me, I guess.”
She snorted. “Why? Because you’re older?”
“Nah,” Wendy said. “Because I’m Batman.”
“Right, right,” Chel said, laughing.
“I hear the Joker’s hiring,” Wendy continued. “And you do have a wicked laugh.”
“Yeah, but those clothes! Not in a million years.” Coughing, Chel pressed a hand to her forehead. “Ugh, I feel like crap, Wendy. I wish this fever would break already.”
“I know, honey,” Wendy said. “Visiting hours aren’t over yet, but we don’t have to stay if you don’t feel up to it. You know how Nana likes to cook a ton of food for lunch—”
“Yeah right,” Chel snorted. “The idea of eating makes me want to puke.”
“And that’s different from normal, how?”
“Haha, very funny. I’ll find Jon and we’ll see Eddie before we leave.” Chel squeezed their mother’s fingers once more and laid her hand back on the bed before brushing a soft kiss across her forehead. “Love you, Momma. I’ll be back soon, okay?” Then she brightened. “Oh, I almost forgot. This got left for you. Here.” She dug in her purse and pulled out an envelope, roughly folded and addressed to Wendy in neat, blocky letters. “I guess some intern on the floor worked pretty closely with Mom? Dr. Hensley? Henley? Whatever.”
“Emma? She left something for me?” Wendy reached out. “What’s it say?”
Chel frowned. “How should I know? I don’t read people’s mail. Anyway, she got transferred or something and left this. You really attract the psychos, don’t you?” Wendy took the envelope and tucked it into her pocket. She’d worry about reading another goodbye later. Right now learning as much as possible about Eddie and her mother was more important, even if Emma Henley had been a truly nice person.
When Chel left, Piotr drifted through the wall and sat on the edge of the bed, expression grave. “You are right, your mother’s soul is gone.”
“Of course I’m right,” Wendy murmured. “Souls are sort of my thing now, I’m not a total newb.”
“But she’s different than Eddie in one major way,” Piotr added. “Look at her navel.”
Confused, Wendy glanced down. It was her mother’s stomach, flat and moving almost imperceptibly as she breathed slowly in and out. “So? What about it?”
“Unlike Eddie, Wendy, your mother has no cord.” He waved his hand over several inches above her body, moving from ribs to pelvis in one smooth sweep. “It’s gone.”
“What? That can’t be…” Wendy’s protest died in her throat. He was right. Eddie’s cord had looked gnawed through, but the remains of it had still been firmly attached to his body, thick and healthy and vibrant. Her mother’s midriff, however, was smooth and bare. “I can’t believe I didn’t see that before.”
“I’m not surprised. You probably don’t look much at yourself when you’re the Lightbringer, do you? Have you ever stopped and taken a glance at what you look like?”
“Of course not, when I’m like that I’ve got more important things to do than preen in front of a mirror,” Wendy snapped.
“Wendy, when you’re the Lightbringer, you don’t have a cord either.”
“That’s because I’m alive, though, right?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s so much mystery surrounding what you do and how you do it, not to mention exactly how long your family has been this way. Maybe the White Lady is right. Maybe you really were too young to be a Lightbringer yet.”
“I hate that I don’t know diddly squat about how all this works,” Wendy said bleakly.
“I have a theory,” Piotr said. “Remember what happened in the park with Specs? He attacked you and pulled your soul out?”
“He was scared—”
“I’m not blaming him, but he did give me an idea. Wendy, I think the reason your family can do the things you do is that maybe your souls are different than other souls. There was no cord when he pulled your soul out; you were just this fragile ball of light. No, not light…Light. And even though your soul was yanked out, you were still conscious. You could sense what was going on around you, you even understood that I put your soul back inside your body.”
“Right? So…”
“Both Specs and I knew that we could break you, Wendy. It was…instinctual. Perhaps this is what happened to your mother? I think the Lost didn’t pull her out whole. I think the reason you couldn’t find your mother no matter how hard you looked is because her soul was a ball, a glowing ball of Light just like yours.”
Piotr hesitated, not wanting to finish the last part of his theory but knowing that he had to, even if it hurt her. “And Wendy? I think it’s entirely possible that when the Lost saw your mother they panicked, pulled your mother’s soul out…and that they might have broken it.”