Mortal Danger

WHAT IS GONE BECOMES REALITY

There was no holiday those four days.

My dad dealt with the practicalities, and Kian tried to do Thanksgiving with lunchmeat turkey slices and instant potatoes, bought at a convenience store. Along with canned peas and white bread with butter, it was pretty much the saddest feast anyone ever tried to eat. I didn’t cry until he busted out the weirdest dessert ever—some kind of cookie layered with pudding. Then I hid in the guest room until I calmed down because it should’ve been my dad doing the cooking while my mom and I set the table.

Kian tapped lightly. “I’m sorry. I tried.”

“It’s not the food. You weren’t planning to have guests for Thanksgiving.” Or ever, from the look of his cupboards.

“I usually go to my aunt and uncle’s house.”

“Are they worried about you?”

“I told them I’d be with my girlfriend. I think my aunt was … relieved.”

I frowned, wiping at a trickle of tears. “Why?”

“I’m a reminder of the old scandal. She never liked my dad and she hated having me in the house. For my uncle’s sake, she pretended I was welcome, but…” He shrugged. “She wasn’t sorry when I graduated and moved to Boston.”

“Why did you?”

“Wedderburn called me here,” he said simply.

I tried to imagine getting my diploma and then learning the deal I’d made was now worthless, and that the bright future they’d hinted at was no longer viable, therefore I could expect to spend the next sixty years in servitude. It was like being a spy, only without the satisfaction of knowing you were risking your life for the greater good. This was blind obedience with no hope of escape or understanding.

“How was that?” I asked.

“By that point, I didn’t care. My senior year when Tanya died, I went numb. And I stayed that way until the first time I saw you.”

I ducked my head. “If you say stuff like that, I will shatter into a million pieces and you’ll have to sweep me up.”

He sank down on the bed beside me, but I was conscious of my dad in the other bedroom. If he came in, I didn’t want him to think … anything. So I stood up.

“Living room?”

“That’s fine. I can put on a DVD.”

“Do you have Casablanca? That way, if I cry, I can blame the movie.”

“Not a problem.”

We settled in to watch and partway through, my dad joined us. I could tell he had been weeping, too, but nobody acknowledged it.

The weekend went slowly. I missed some school days for my mom’s funeral. The whole university showed up, which was nice for my dad, less so for me because of all the hugs I got from strangers. My eyes were dry that day; I had wept myself out at Kian’s place. I bought a new black dress and I hated it, but I wore it with black tights because everything was black. Except the sun. It had the nerve to shine, after days of rain, and I hated it, too.

Davina and her mother came to the service; I was grateful, but it also reminded me that she still had a mom. The knife dug in and twisted, around and around, until it was an effort to hold my smile in place. I imagined it had been carved into my face, blood trickling from my mouth, and my cheeks ached. I hugged another stranger.

Kian held my hand through the prayers, songs, and speeches. I clenched hard when the minister started talking about the afterlife. We had never been a religious family, and my mom would laugh over his talk of being called home. I tuned everything out, until Kian tugged on my arm, telling me it was time to stand up and say good-bye. For obvious reasons, it was closed casket, pictures arrayed on top.

Like Brittany.

My dad grabbed my other hand, and they flanked me as we approached the coffin. It was high quality; my dad picked it out. I flattened my hand on top of the box that held what was left of my mother. Beside me, my dad did the same and Kian stepped back, letting us grieve. Then we took our places by the door, so the pallbearers could do their work.

Kian drove us to the cemetery. God knows what my dad and I would’ve done without him. Taking a taxi seemed disrespectful; so did public transportation. An hour later, there were more words, more prayers, and a handful of dirt raining down. She’s really gone. Someone put a flower in my hand and I pitched it into the grave. I stumbled on the green carpet, meant to look like grass so the gaping hole didn’t hit so hard.

People said, “It was a lovely service,” as they filed past.

I nodded but I didn’t see them. They all wore the bag man’s face. Dad and I stayed until everyone had gone. Mom’s headstone was in place, but nothing was carved on it. That seemed so very wrong.

“We should go,” Dad said finally. “We can come back after the engraving’s done. Leave some flowers for her.”

“She hated cut flowers,” I muttered.

It was true. I remembered her saying it was cruel to snip and put them in vases, laying waste to their beauty. Better to let them bloom and die, as they’re supposed to. Did that mean my mom believed in fate? I wished I had told her about the bargain, about my place in the timeline, but I had been ashamed of my weakness, boiling with guilt. Now it was too late. Repeatedly, I reminded myself that she was a scientist, and if I’d spilled everything, she wouldn’t have been on guard; she would’ve put me in a mental ward, so I’d be locked up and she’d still be gone.

“What verse did you choose?” Kian asked.

My dad turned to him, probably grateful for the distraction, as we walked toward the car. “‘Our death is not an end if we can live on in our children.’”

My throat closed. I recognized the quote at once; I had been reading about Einstein obsessively since I was a little girl. The tears spilled over as Kian wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I squeezed my eyes shut until the urge to sob passed.

“That’s perfect,” I whispered. “She would l-love that.”

Dad couldn’t smile. He tried. The glint of his own tears shone through the lenses of his glasses. He took them off, polished them on the sleeve of his coat. “I don’t know what we’ll do without her. Everything … will break down.”

“Then we’ll fix it. I’ll learn.”

But she won’t teach me. All the moments we might’ve had together, they’re gone now.

“There’s a cleaning crew coming to … sort things out.” To scrub up her blood. Dad went on, “The police have released the apartment, but we can’t live there. I asked around, and we—I—have a colleague at the university who knows someone willing to sublet to us, half a mile from the old place. I know it’s not ideal, but—”

“No, that’s fine. Do we need to pack?”

“Mr. Lewis volunteered to help us. If Kian doesn’t mind, we can swing by for the boxes and…” Trailing off, it was clear he had no idea what to call the move. It wasn’t something either of us wanted.

“Get settled?” Kian offered.

I could’ve kissed him. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not. And I can get takeout if you’re hungry.”

Dad shook his head, but even though I didn’t want to eat, we both needed to. So I said, “That would be good.”

Nothing is. The sun shone on until sunset, swirls of purple on the skyline dotted with city lights. As I climbed out of the backseat in front of the brownstone, the wind whispered, I’m so sorry. Cameron’s voice, at my shoulder, made me whirl around, but I didn’t see him. There was only Mr. Lewis waiting on the stoop. My dad took Kian while I opened the trunk. We packed it with our clothes but not Mom’s, my dad’s research and various books that Mr. Lewis thought I might want. The rest would keep.

“What’s the address?” Kian asked.

In a husky voice, Dad told him and we pulled away from the curb, leaving my old life behind. The new building was red brick, sharp and featureless, with uniform lines and no window boxes full of autumn flowers. Though I wasn’t sure, I thought it might be December now. During the days prior to my mom’s funeral, I lost track of how often I ate and slept, though mostly the latter.

This unit was on the first floor toward the back. We had a nice fenced patio and two bedrooms, decorated in classic rental unit. So much beige and brown. The pictures on the wall looked like abstract poop. Kian helped us unload the car, then he dodged out to grab some food and brought back stir-fry noodles. Like the other two, I ate in silence. There were no words for any of this.

“I have some work to do,” my dad said eventually. “Feel free to stay as long as you like.” The last, to Kian.

I guessed he trusted him now. So did I. At any point, he could’ve bailed on us, left me to deal with the fallout on my own. Coping would’ve been much harder without him to smooth the rough spots, do what I couldn’t. If not for him, my dad might’ve starved.

“All right. Thank you, sir.”

Dad shook his head. “Thank you.”

Then he went to the smaller of the two bedrooms and closed the door with a click. At first, I didn’t understand why I was getting the master suite until I realized it had a huge bed. He doesn’t want to sleep alone in that. I wished I had the kind of relationship with my father where I could run to him and hug him so hard it hurt his ribs and my arms, but we were stiff with each other, like strangers.

Kian and I watched a documentary about bees on cable, but around nine, he pushed to his feet. “I don’t want to go, but I feel like I should.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be fine.” That was a colossal lie, but I had to stand on my own two feet. I’d leaned on him enough over the past couple of weeks.

“Are you going to school tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I don’t want spend the day here alone. If I know my dad, he’ll retreat to the lab, so he can focus on work.”

“Maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

It can be if you neglect all other aspects of your life. Worried my dad might overhear, as the walls weren’t exactly thick, I didn’t say so aloud. Instead I walked Kian to the door and stretched up to kiss him. My heart wasn’t in it, but he didn’t seem to take it personally. He brushed his lips over my forehead in response.

“If you need anything, text me. I’ll be here in two seconds. And I do mean anything, Edie.” His tone was so serious, so earnest, that I actually smiled.

My face didn’t crack. My heart did a little, and sweetness spilled out. I no longer had any hope of resisting or protecting myself from future harm. He was the only star in my firmament, shining in darkest night, so I could always find the path.

“I’ll bear that in mind. Thank you.”

Once he left, the new apartment seemed very quiet. I wasn’t used to the noises in this place, the humming fridge or the creak of the neighbors walking around upstairs. After turning the deadbolt and latching the chain, I retreated to the bedroom, the type where grown-ups argued, fought, and complained bitterly over the ashes of their failed ambitions. I’d never slept in a queen bed for more than a few nights when we traveled.

“So all this is mine now, huh?”

And here you are, talking to yourself.

I hadn’t talked to Vi since it happened, and her e-mails were now verging on panic. Though this was the last thing I wanted to do, I pinged her on Skype. She answered on the second beep, disheveled, frowning in worry. “You okay?”

“No,” I said.

In the baldest words possible, I told her. Now it’s real. I have to live with it.

“Oh God, Edie, I’m so sorry. Let me talk to my parents. I bet they’d let me come to Boston for the weekend. I don’t know what I can do, but I really want to be with you.”

Tears spilled out. I had no control, only a broken overflow valve. I was so tempted to say yes, but seeing her would hurt more. Vi could be here, safe, and my mother wasn’t. I could’ve used a favor to save her, but I didn’t know I needed to. Not fully understanding how far the players would take the game—that was my mistake, and I had to live with it.

Taking a deep breath, I shook my head. “Not right now. Things are really unsettled.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I don’t think my dad could handle visitors.”

“Oh, right. I should’ve thought of that.”

“I have to go.”

“Okay. Call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks. I will.”

It was early, but I went to bed after talking to Vi. The new apartment permitted me to sleep without dreaming, and in the morning, guilt stormed my battlements. I failed the saving throw and cried in the shower, trying to be quiet so my dad wouldn’t hear. After pulling myself together somewhat, I put on my uniform and found him already in the kitchen. No oatmeal this morning—we might never eat it again, because it was my mom’s favorite breakfast food: steel cut, hearty, topped with brown sugar, crushed walnuts, butter, and raisins. He served me a fried egg sandwich instead, and I ate it, mostly because he must’ve run out to get a few groceries from the corner store before I even woke up.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Have a good day at school.”

We both knew that was unlikely, but if I didn’t play along with his determined pretense, then we both might start crying and go back to bed. While it sounded appealing, as a long-term coping strategy, it had little to recommend it. I trudged out the front door and down the station, ten minutes farther than before. The numbness was wearing off, so my mother’s loss throbbed like a rotten tooth.

Teachers treated me with kid gloves at school. So did the student body. Apart from Davina, it was like I had a circle of sadness warding everyone off. We sat by ourselves at lunch, and she tried really hard to cheer me up. I smiled at the right moments, but I suspected she knew it didn’t help. I appreciated the attempt, but also when she stopped. Her own loss might be less recent, but Russ lingered in her eyes, a haunting of what might’ve been.

“Want to get drunk?” she asked, as we left school that afternoon.

“I don’t think it would help. We’ll catch up this weekend, okay? Thanks for coming to the service, by the way. It meant a lot to have you there.”

“You’d do the same for me.” She went toward the T while I looked for Kian.

Oddly, I didn’t find him. I waited for five minutes, then I got a text. I’m so sorry. I can’t make it today. I have something to do.

The message raised all my hackles. He was so protective, I couldn’t imagine anything short of life or death diverting him. It had to be Wedderburn … or the mysterious other he, with whom Kian had made a deal for my sake. In that moment, I made a snap decision, and I took the train downtown instead of going straight home. On the way, I sent word to my dad, so he wouldn’t worry.

I’m with Kian. Will be home for dinner.

Mom’s death had driven his concerns about whether I could be trusted back underground. Or shit, maybe if he didn’t believe me, maybe he felt like he had nothing left. Whatever the reason, he answered, I’m bringing home Japanese. You like yakimeshi, right? I smiled as I sent back, Yep.

I hurried through the front doors of Wedderburn, Mawer & Graf, where I found Iris in the lobby, working the reception desk. Today, everything was red and black instead of bisque. And as Kian had predicted, her look had shifted to match. Crimson hair cascaded past her shoulders, and her eyes gleamed like onyx. I didn’t think I was imagining the predatory light that shone in them.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“I do not. Ask if Mr. Wedderburn has time to talk to me anyway.” The honorific burned my tongue, as I’d much rather call him that asshole or that bastard.

“Have a seat while I check.”

She radiated disapproval and kept me waiting for almost half an hour. At last she said, “You’re a lucky girl. He’ll see you now.”

“Imagine my delight.”

I had never gone upstairs on my own, and I didn’t have an employee badge or security clearance, so she tapped on her keyboard, then gave me a slip of paper. “Don’t lose this.” Her tone implied I was an imbecile, likely to do precisely that.

Ignoring her, I hurried to the elevator before I lost my nerve. Remembering how Kian did it before, I entered the code and pressed my desired floor. The elevator accepted the security check and away I went. The motion pushed my stomach up into my throat, so I was queasy and cold when I stepped onto Wedderburn’s floor. I thought I’d find Kian in his office, but when I entered, there was only the cold man himself, lying in wait.

In a motion that crackled like icicles spearing into the snow, he came around his desk to greet me. He seemed … jolly, and that was one of the worst things I’d ever seen. “Before you begin your business, Edie, let me convey my condolences for your loss.”

That was an unexpected blow. On some level, I grasped that he was keeping tabs on me, monitoring his investment. But I hated knowing he had seen me break down so completely. The tears I shed for my mother belonged to me and me alone. I squared my shoulders, refusing to let him get to me.

“Do you know who did it?” That wasn’t why I had come, actually, but with the question posed, I waited to see how he would answer.

“It’s tragic, but sometimes terrible things happen. ‘To what serves mortal beauty?’” He lifted a shoulder in an eerie, crackling shrug. “From a poem, I think, about how man must fade. Sad for you, no doubt, but sometimes it’s simply … fate.”

“You’re saying it was just her time?” My tone sizzled with skepticism. If I hadn’t known about the old man with the bag and his awful children, I might’ve taken the words at face value.

“I may be terribly old,” Wedderburn said in an ominous tone. “But I don’t claim to know all things. For instance … where is your beloved this afternoon?”