Afterworlds (62 page)

He stared at me, and I could see how deep his disbelief ran. He’d been sitting here for months with that fixity of mind that ghosts had, thinking he’d failed somehow. That was the story that the papers had told—he was the hero who’d died bravely, but in failure—and it was how the living remembered him.

No one had ever realized that I’d needed Travis Brinkman to survive.

Not even me.

“Thank you,” I said. “For everything I have now.”

“You sure I helped?” he asked softly, and I saw it in his eyes then, a bright shard of hope that lingered there. The same one that had sent him running unarmed against the guns.

“I’m sure. Maybe you only delayed them a few seconds, but if you hadn’t, I’d be dead.”

“Hell, had to do
something
.” Travis glanced at Yama. “He an all-right guy?”

I nodded.

“What about where he wants to take me?”

“It’s kind of weird, but beautiful. And a lot better than this airport.”

“Yeah. I hate airports.”

“Me too,” I said. “They suck.”

“Yeah.” His hands slapped down onto his knees, and he stood up and looked around. “I guess I’m about ready to get out of here.”

“Okay, good. But, Travis, do you mind if I talk to my friend first?”

*  *  *

For a long moment Yama and I were silent. It was too hard for me to speak, and he was probably worried about his sister, his city.

But finally he said, “Thank you for doing this, Lizzie.”

“I owed it to Travis. You must know that.” I looked up at him. “Why didn’t you bring me here before?”

“You weren’t ready.”

“Maybe not,” I sighed, looking around the airport. “But how’s that any different from everything else that happens to me?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you, Lizzie.”

I stared at him, unsure what to say, whether to apologize or beg forgiveness. I just didn’t want him to go away yet. “How’s Agent Reyes?”

Yama gave me a sad smile. “Very much in charge of our city watch. He hasn’t faded at all. He must be well remembered among the living.”

I swallowed. “Please thank him for me, for everything. And your sister, too, I guess.”

Yama nodded rather somberly at this, and I realized that he knew what my thanks were for—covering up the murder I’d committed.

My vision started to pulse with color. “I’m sorry, my love.”

“Me too.” He touched the tear-shaped scar beneath my eye.

“Is this forever, the way you feel about me?”

“Only death is forever, and even it changes over time.”

I stared at him, wondering what that meant. That the scent of my murder would fade? That there was something I could do to erase what had happened?

But Yama didn’t make it easy for me. He didn’t give me any straight answers, just kissed me once, kindling a fire on my lips.

“I will see you again,” he said, and for the moment that was enough.

*  *  *

On my way home, I had a realization: I couldn’t face my bedroom again. It was too empty, too small. For the last week I’d been huddled there waiting for Yama’s call, avoiding everyone except my mother and Mindy. But it was time for a change. Not just of scenery, but of everything.

So I gave myself over to the river, letting it listen to my subconscious and take me where it wanted. For a moment it spun, slow and directionless, but then something firmed inside me, and a few swirling minutes later I had reached my destination. It was somewhere the river had never brought me before, but a place I’d been connected to for a long time.

Jamie’s room was in its usual state of disarray, her physics homework piled on the floor, her clothes draped over the chairs, shiny brochures from half a dozen colleges spread out across the bed.

She sat at her computer, wearing pajamas and a bathrobe. I saw that she was cropping a photograph of herself, and quickly turned away. I had vowed never to use my powers to spy on my friends. I
walked through her bedroom door to the other side, passed into the real world, and knocked.

“Yeah, Dad?”

I opened the door. “Hey.”

“Oh, hi.” Jamie blinked. “Did my dad let you in?”

By reflex, I almost lied to her then. But I had an idea why the river had brought me here, why my own mind wanted this, and it had to do with being honest.

“No, I let myself in.”

Jamie laughed. “At this hour? Creeper. What’s up?”

“Not too—” I stopped myself again, took a slow breath. “A lot, actually.”

She turned her chair around, and made a clear space on her bed for me with a sweep of her arm. The smiling faces of excited college freshmen wafted to the floor like leaves.

I sat down hard, feeling a little weak in the knees. Maybe I didn’t have the right to say all this out loud, to burden someone else with what I knew. But I couldn’t keep doing this alone.

“I should have called you,” Jamie said.

I looked up. “What?”

“You’ve been so bummed all week. But I didn’t want to pressure you. I didn’t know what to do. Sorry.”

“Oh.” I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve been great. Through everything, really. It’s just that things got worse this week.”

“Your mom? Or your secret agent?”

A pang went through me. “Not secret, special. Yeah, it’s partly about him. But that’s not all.”

“So did you guys break up?”

“We were never . . .” I took another breath. “That is, I broke up with my . . . boyfriend, but the special agent was someone else.”

Her eyes went wide. “Dude. There were two of them? No wonder you’ve been so stressed!”

“No!” I raised my hands, wishing I’d thought this story out before starting to tell it. That was the problem with letting your subconscious make decisions for you. But it was too late to back out now.

“Take your time,” Jamie said. “It’s going to be okay.”

I tried to smile. Everything was so muddled between Jamie and me, I didn’t know where to start. I only knew where I wanted to wind up.

“Can I show you something?” I asked softly. “It’s kind of weird.”

She nodded solemnly.

I closed my eyes, murmuring the words I never thought I would utter before a normal living person. “Security is responding.”

The slightest sound came from Jamie, her breath catching in confusion.

I ignored it. “Can you get to a safe location?”

“Lizzie?” She sounded scared now.

“Wait,” I breathed, then, “Well, honey, maybe you should pretend . . .”

I felt it happen, the soft and certain passage over to the flipside. The smell of rust and blood, the flattening of sound. The strange feeling that I belonged here now, just as much as I did in the real world.

And a soft utterance from Jamie: “What the actual fuck.”

I took a sharp breath, letting my heart beat wildly with all my misgivings, my uncertainties about doing this. I opened my eyes, and color bled back into the world, the clutter of Jamie’s room suddenly bright and welcoming again.

She was staring at me in horror.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “But I didn’t know how else to start.”

“What the hell
was
that? What did you just . . .”

Jamie shuddered in her chair, but then she gathered herself. Her lips pressed firmly closed, and she made a guttural sound, like the determined clearing of her throat. “Okay, Lizzie. You’ve had your fun. Now you need to fucking spill.”

As I opened my mouth to speak, something about her expression made me incredibly happy. She didn’t look scared, or astonished, or even confused that I’d just turned myself invisible before her eyes.

In fact, she looked thoroughly
annoyed
at me.

How perfect.

“It’s called the flipside,” I said. “It’s where the dead walk, and I’m going to tell you how it works, and about the underworld, and shines, and ghosts. From now on, Jamie, I’m going to tell you everything.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

For their wise words, anecdotes, and writerly suggestions: Holly Black (whose research ethic inspired the trunk scene), Debbie Chachra, Deborah Feiner, Javier Grillo-Marxuach, Alaya Dawn Johnson, Maureen Johnson, Justine Larbalestier, E. Lockhart, Anindita Basu Sempere, and Robin Wasserman.

For perspective given and lines stolen:
Highsmith: A Romance of the 1950s
, by Marijane Meaker (also known as M. E. Kerr);
Manhattan, When I Was Young
, by Mary Cantwell;
Goodbye to All That
, edited by Sari Botton; and the essay of the same title by Joan Didion.

And for making the world of YA so awesome: every bookstore that has ever put me onstage; every teen librarian and tireless zealot; you readers young and old, lovely and cantankerous; my steadfast agent, Jill Grinberg; my wise publisher and editor, Bethany Buck (who has never demanded a happy ending); and the amazing team at Simon Pulse, who have supported me since the early days.

SCOTT WESTERFELD
’s first book in the Leviathan trilogy was the winner of the 2010 Locus Award for Best Young Adult Fiction. His other novels include the
New York Times
bestselling Uglies series,
The Last Days, Peeps, So Yesterday
, and the Midnighters trilogy. Scott alternates summers between New York City and Sydney, Australia.

ALSO BY SCOTT WESTERFELD

SIMON PULSE

Simon & Schuster, New York

Watch videos, get extras, and read exclusives at

TEEN.SimonandSchuster.com

authors.simonandschuster.com/Scott-Westerfeld

ALSO BY SCOTT WESTERFELD

Uglies

Pretties

Specials

Extras

Leviathan

Behemoth

Goliath

The Manual of Aeronautics:

An Illustrated Guide to the Leviathan Series

Thank you for reading this eBook.

Find out about free book giveaways, exclusive content, and amazing sweepstakes! Plus get updates on your favorite books, authors, and more when you join the Simon & Schuster Teen mailing list.

C
LICK
H
ERE TO
L
EARN
M
ORE

or visit us online to sign up at
eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com/teen

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.