Dreams of Shreds and Tatters Part 12

"I'm fine."

The warmth of the drug eased the pain, flooded her with strength. Easy now to twist her arm free, to catch his wrists in turn and force them upward, toward his face. He realized what was happening, but couldn't tear away from the hooks of fascination her voice sank in him. Gently as a caress, she pressed his own palms to his cheeks, held them till the ensorcelled mania and its absorbing agent sank into his blue-shaven skin.

She leaned close enough to kiss. "Tell Stephen," she whispered, her voice ringing with command, "that the next time he has a clever plan like this, he should come himself."

He stumbled back, eyes widening. Slipped and fell on the pavement. Other pedestrians paused in concern.

"Sir?" Antja called from the shelter of the awning. "Are you all right?"

The man gaped, stammering something incoherent. Another man tried to help him up, but he shrieked and scrambled away. Already lost in the nightmare.

Antja watching him dash through honking traffic and vanish into the twilight gloom. Then she opened the door and stepped into the warmth and light.

Her composure crumbled as soon as she locked her door, and all the hysteria she'd promised herself came rushing in. A terrible noise sc.r.a.ped out of her throat, neither laughter nor a sob. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle it, wincing as her cracked lip stung.

She had to call Rainer. Everything was spiraling out of control and she couldn't handle it alone. As she tried to simultaneously strip off her coat and fumble her phone out of her purse, her shoulder clipped a picture frame hanging by the door. Gla.s.s sprayed across the floor.

Pressure bloomed inside her sinuses and her eyes began to leak. Call Rainer, let him comfort her and promise to make everything all right: it would be a lie.

Her throat burned with every sob, but she couldn't hold them back. Burying her face in her hands, Antja sank to her knees amid broken gla.s.s and wept.

AFTER THE FUNERAL, Rae rode back to the gallery with Rainer and Jason and the others. But when they disappeared into the warmth of the building, she stood on the steps, staring at the gloomy parking lot and the service alley behind it.

"Are you coming up?" Rainer asked, lingering in the doorway. "In a minute," she lied.

His lips thinned, but he nodded. "Be careful."

She didn't ask what he meant her to be careful of. There were too many possibilities. Instead she nodded, forcing a smile until the door swung shut between them.

She couldn't go inside, couldn't go home. She'd held Jason's hand through the service, but all she'd felt was numb. Her friends were his friends, and she knew she wasn't going to call her sister. There was no one to call. Too much explaining and not enough answers.

Her bones itched and the rhythm of the maenad's dance still tugged at her. Maybe she should just walk and see where she ended up. The vial in her pocket would keep her warm.

Which was, she thought wryly, as far from careful as she could get without a map and a native guide. But it was the only plan she had. And if she wandered in front of a bus or got eaten by a monster, at least she wouldn't have to worry about breaking up with Jason.

The ritual of mania soothed her: the stinging drops that turned to bitter tears leaking down her cheeks. Then came the warmth, driving away her fears and doubts, filling her with starsong strength. The gloom lessened as her eyes sharpened. Colors brightened and gleamed. Restless energy surged through her, and Rae pulled up the hood of her coat and began to walk.

The rain had let up. Now it was a frigid haze, swirling like the breath of ghosts. Streetlight haloes bled through the fog, shimmered on the webs of ice that spidered across the sidewalks. The baccha.n.a.l chorus swelled inside her.

Mist ebbed and eddied, turning familiar streets into a twisting dream maze. Dancing shapes flitted around her, whirling and spinning just out of sight. They whispered her name. Her vision wavered, and the towers rising around her weren't brick and gla.s.s but ivory and jade, the soaring arches and minarets of a fairy city. Christmas lights became flickering will o' the wisps.

Rae laughed aloud and spun, skirts belling. Laughter answered from the shadows as she staggered to a dizzy halt. The rhythm of dancing feet echoed around her.

She walked blind, full of visions of dancers and angels and b.l.o.o.d.y-mouthed maenads. The fog smelled of roses and incense and the warmth in her blood burned away the winter chill. She would have danced forever, followed the visions wherever they led.

They led through Gastown, she realized when her eyes finally cleared, to a narrow alley near the docks. A clatter and boom rolled through the haze, echoing like hammers, like giant sour bells. Only container trains loading and unloading, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd left Vancouver far behind. She shivered; twilight had given way to true night and the cold was worse than ever.

Light burned at the end of the alley, painting wet bricks orange and gold. She followed the promise of warmth into a dead end, where a fire crackled inside a rusted metal drum. A man crouched beside the barrel, muttering to himself. Hatless and gloveless in the cold, sweatshirt sleeves pushed past his elbows. The flickering light washed his shirt from blood to black and back again.

He looked up as Rae approached, his face a mask of shadow. His aura writhed with black and yellow flames. Paper piled in drifts around him: newsprint, receipts, crumpled napkins. Metal gleamed in his hand.

"They sent you, didn't they?" His voice was rough, wet and bubbling, like he gargled milk and broken gla.s.s for breakfast.

She moved closer, into the fire's warmth. "Who is they?"

"The twins."

The knife flashed as he drew the blade along his forearm. Steady looping strokes, calligraphy in flesh. She sucked in a breath, waiting for the ruby spill, but he didn't bleed. She smelled blood, though, clotted and sour.

She crouched beside him, folding her arms across her knees as she studied the loops and whorls covering his arms. The same writing covered the scattered paper. "What is that?" The smell was worse here, cloying under the ash and hot rust from the fire. Rot-sweet. Honey-sweet. He was manic too.

"I don't know what it means," he said, "but they keep showing it to me. I have to write it down so I'll remember." Gaunt and sunken-eyed, hair matted with pine needles-she wondered if he'd been sleeping in a park. In the unsteady light the veins in his wrists and neck were black.

"How long have you been here?" she asked, touching his hand. A spark crawled between them.

"I'm not sure. It's so foggy." He took her hand and turned it palm-up. Her veins looked dark, too, threads of licorice under almond-milk skin. "I remember the door opening. You saw it too, didn't you?"

She nodded. His hands were icy despite the fire. "I saw."

"After that... it gets confusing. I was with my friends. We were going to find the door. But something happened. Screaming and thunder..." He stood, pulling Rae to her feet with careless strength. Letting go of her hand, he tugged up his ragged shirt. "Something bad."

Dried blood covered his chest and stomach. More soaked the front of his jeans. She hissed at the neat black puncture below his sternum: so much blood for such a tiny little hole. His skin stretched as he moved and the rusty crust cracked in webs.

"I was scared at first, but then they started talking to me."

"Who? The twins?" She reached out, stopping before she touched his skin. He caught her wrist and pressed her fingers to the wound. Cold meat. Jellied blood.

"Yes."

The women in her visions, the maenads. Rae shivered with the memory of a b.l.o.o.d.y kiss. "What do they say?"

"They're coming. The sisters and their king. They're coming and we have to wait for them. They'll make us into something more."

He pressed her against the wall. One rough hand brushed her cheek, pushed back her hood to stroke her hair. She shuddered. "I'm glad you're here," he whispered. "I didn't want to wait alone."

Her breath rushed out, shining in the firelight. The fire's warmth rolled over them, but his flesh was cold as the night. She couldn't see his face, only his glowing aura. The knife glowed too as he raised it, light sparking on the edge.

"What-" She choked on the question. Black yarn parted with a rasp as he cut through her sweater. The blade never touched her skin. Sweater, T-shirt, the camisole beneath: he peeled her layer by layer until her chest was bare to the winter night.

"What are you doing?" She ought to be scared, ought to scream or fight. But the tremble in her limbs wasn't fear.

He ran a hand from her sternum to her navel, caressing the curves and hollows of her stomach. Her chest hitched, silver flashing. "Do you feel it?" His breath was cold on her cheek as he leaned close. "Do you feel the stars?"

She felt the maenad's need coursing through her, drowning anything careful. Anything sane. He was dead. Her hand slid beneath the gore-stiff fabric of his shirt. Blood crunched under her nails. "Yes."

He leaned closer, grinding her shoulder blades against the bricks, and she whimpered. His face was in her hair, lips on her ear, her throat. His hand slid up, grazing the underside of her breast; her hips twitched.

"Can you see the towers?"

She closed her eyes and watched black moons wheel over an ivory city. Her back arched, pressing her hips against his; he wasn't that dead, after all. His palm closed over her breast, pinching flesh against metal. She was warm enough for both of them.

He drew back to look at her and she tilted her head. What did dead lips taste like? But he shook himself like a dog and pulled away. Rae whimpered again, trembling for the press of flesh.

"I can't," he said, even as he swayed toward her. "Not yet. I need to write it all down. I can't forget the things she shows me."

The knife kissed her ribs, an ice-feather tickle. She froze, breath caught. "What-"

"It doesn't hurt. You'll see." His other hand cupped her cheek and she fought not to lean into the touch. "She'll show you too."

She gasped as the blade pierced the skin below her ribs. No pain, just cold and pressure, a pop and tug. Easier than any of her piercings. Skin gaped and dark blood oozed down her stomach, thick and sticky as treacle.

"Don't," she whispered.

"I can't forget."

The night shattered into thunder and light and fell around her in razor shards. The dead man jerked, the knife slipping from his fingers as his right temple burst. Blood and brains spilled like pomegranate seeds. Rae let out a startled squeak as they splattered her face. He toppled sideways, colors fading from his aura.

A dog-headed monster stood in front of her, teeth shining in the firelight. It touched her face with burning taloned hands. Now the fear came, washing away desire and leaving Rae cold and shaking. She wanted to scream, but her voice was dead.

"Did he hurt you?" the monster asked, and now it was only a woman, dark-haired and familiar. She looked at Rae's stomach and cursed. The wound stretched with every panicked breath, but only bled a slow mola.s.ses trickle.

"Not you too," the woman muttered. Oil-slick metal gleamed in her hand as she stepped back and raised the gun. "I'm sorry."

"Don't." It was the only word she could manage. Rae looked down at the dead man, but he was a blur of red and shadow. She couldn't hear the chanting anymore, couldn't smell the roses. Only wet brick and charred metal and blood. Only the echo of distant trains. The world spun beneath her. The wall tilted and threw her off.

"Don't," she whispered again. Then she slid into the dark.

VOICES REACHED HER as though through deep water, but Rae couldn't open her eyes. Someone held her, strong arms cradling her like a child. She felt another heartbeat through cloth and flesh. The touch was warm and soothing, a sharp contrast to the icy breeze against her face.

"No," a woman said, low and harsh. A familiar voice, but Rae couldn't place it. "You can't bring her here."

"Why not?" This voice belonged to the person holding her. The woman from the alley; her chest swelled with the words.

"She's tainted. The stain runs too deep."

"She's sick. We can help her."

"This isn't an ordinary drug." A third woman speaking now, and this voice too was familiar. Rae tried to stir, but her limbs hung limp and unresponsive. "You can't lock her up for a week and let it work itself out of her system. The sickness is in her soul."

"We can help her," Rae's rescuer said again. "You helped me."

"There's only one way to help her now. You know it, Lailah."

Recognition came at last. The other women were Rabia and Noor, the baristas at Cafe Al Azrad. Rae had never heard them so grim and cold before. Sticky lashes parted, and through a glaze of tears Rae saw the sisters framed in the light from an open door. They stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the way. Their shadows streamed down the steps, bent and inhuman.

"You can give her mercy," Rabia said. "Or I can." She offered it as easily as she'd once offered Rae free coffee.

"This will bring you no joy, Lailah bat Raz." Noor's voice was inflectionless, but the words struck Rae like stones. She tilted her head and her eyes flashed red-gold. "And a great deal of pain."

"d.a.m.n you both," Lailah spat. She spun, and Rae's stomach rolled with the motion. Rae moaned, and Lailah peered down at her, her pupils shining like an animal's in the darkness. Rae shut her eyes tight against the sight.

SHE OPENED THEM again to the poison-green glow of dashboard lights and headlamps slicing through the foggy night beyond. Gla.s.s pressed cold and hard against her cheek and a seatbelt chafed across her collarbone. An engine's purr shivered through her bones. Her mouth tasted like dirty pennies.

"Where are we?" Phlegm crackled in her throat.

"The middle of nowhere." Green light lined the driver's brokennosed profile. Her aura glowed brighter: plum wine, marbled th.o.r.n.y red and black. Not rea.s.suring colors, but familiar. The woman from the cafe, who'd warned her about magic. At least she looked human now, no trace of the sharp-toothed second face Rae had glimpsed in the alley.

"Where are we going?" The heater blasted over her, but she was chilled through. She curled her legs clumsily beneath her, wincing as she scuffed the expensive leather.

"Even farther."

"Why? Mercy?"

Lailah's eyes flashed as she glanced sideways. "I could have done that in the alley. Is that what you want?"

Rae touched her face, sc.r.a.ping a dark crust off one cheek.

Blood like pomegranate seeds. Her nails bit her palm as her hand clenched. "What happened?" Someday she would say something that wasn't a question.

"After the dead man carved you up? You fainted. Then you started to bleed. Why don't you tell me what happened before that?"

Rae eased a hand under the tattered wool of her sweater, bit back a whimper as she brushed gauze and tape. There was the pain she hadn't felt earlier.

"You'll need st.i.tches," Lailah said.

Rae tugged her ruined top closed, pressing a fist against her mouth to hold back the ugly noise welling in her throat. "What's your name?" Lailah asked.

"Rae." It took two tries to make the right sound.

"Is that short for something?"

Her mouth twisted. "Raven. No, really," she said when Lailah snorted. "Raven Solstice Morisseau. My mom is a hippy." "No kidding."

"Lailah means night."

Another sideways flash of eyes. "It does. I guess I can't laugh."

She shifted gears and violent red ribbons bled from her hand. Rae flinched. "The solstice-that's tonight. The longest night of the year."

"No kidding," Rae echoed. Her hand tightened in her ruined sweater.

The road curved and sloped and inertia pressed her against the seat. The car growled like something sleek and dangerous.

Headlights grazed a wall of trees. Beyond that, a deeper darkness blotted the sky. The mountains.

"So what happened, Rae?"

"I don't know. It's all confused." She brushed a tangled rope of hair out of her face. "Why did you shoot him?"