Betwixt (31 page)

Morgan stared.

“Closer’s better, huh? But that’s your business. Mine is much more simple: deliver Neve to me and I will give you your first,
well, second, lesson — this wasn’t exactly a chat at the Krak, was it? — which will give you a distinct advantage over that
self-righteous little twat in your ring, Ondine. Viv’s favorite, need I remind you. Whom Moth, by the way, seems to like a
great deal as well. Too bad. The two of you seemed to hit it off at that little party. God, that was a disaster. Moth really
can’t do anything right.”

The memory of Moth shaming her made Morgan’s face burn and she stepped closer.

“How do I do it?”

“You’ll need to figure that out. Be
creative.
Jesus.” He rolled
his eyes. “But just do it. The sooner the better. And I don’t need to tell you that you aren’t to speak of me with anyone,
especially that other one, Nix. But you wouldn’t do that, would you? Because you know where that cold jewel of a heart in
you lies, and for that, there is only one way.”

She didn’t need to say a word. Bleek stopped. His eyes were very black, and his skin pale.

“The one that I am on. The dark one.”

He smiled and turned to leave, but Morgan stepped after him. “Please just tell me. Why are we called cutters? What does that
mean?”

“We?
Me.
Morgana,
I
am a cutter. You are nothing yet.”

She shook her head, amended herself. “I mean, you. Why are you a cutter? What do you do?”

He grinned and tipped his head back, rocking on his heels. “Of course she didn’t tell you. That’s good. That means she’s afraid.”
He paused. “We’re cutters because we cut the current that effects the exidis. We short it. We stop the ring. No one gets in
until we’re eliminated.
Thereby damning us to existence as an everlasting particle of pain, passed from one being to another, for eternity,
blah blah blah. She told you that part, right? Gentle Viv
loves
that part. ‘Forced to relive the entire history of the universe,’” he recited, “‘as an original particle of pain. Searing,
hopeless, unimaginable pain.’ Yawn. Easy for her to say. There are more of them than there are cutters. Usually it’s easy
as pie
to defeat us. And Viv has extremely nice ways of selectively directing the circuits at the Ring of Fire.”

Morgan’s eyes narrowed.

“The way that blond boy died? Almost every year someone dies like that. Viv pretends it’s an
accident,
something about how the guides didn’t prepare them,
et cetera,
but it’s happening more and more as they’re bringing changelings in. She wants to eliminate anyone she thinks might endanger
the exidis. Anyone who slightly reeks of cutter.”

“But do you believe it?” Morgan spoke quickly, remembering the girl who sniffed her in the parking lot. “The exidis? Do you
really believe that we’re” — Morgan struggled with the word — “fay?”

“Oh yes. It’s real. It’s happening. The exidis is growing. Human life is” — Bleek put his tongue between his lips and blew
— “
pffft.
Don’t you doubt that.” He sneered. “But you think Viv cares about you? You’re a common morpha as far as I can tell — expendable.
You might have a few trifling powers, birthday party tricks, basically, but you can’t come back. Like me. Ringers like Nix
— they take a little more care about them. Prepare them better. But you and me? We’re nothing. Believe me. Viv doesn’t care
about you and neither does her lackey, Moth. That’s why I joined the cutters. It’s dangerous — we’re often eliminated, but
I’ve proven extremely hard to catch. See, I was born into this sick in-between world and I know every nook and
cranny of it. Why, I even sort of like it.
Me dam, she was a whorish pet,
” Bleek sang, slipping into a cockney accent. “A lazy, squalid piece of ass for the scia. Very soon that will change.” He
eyed her. “There are many of us left, Morgana. Many who could be made to remember what they once were …”

Morgan tried to let the tide of information soak into her, but she couldn’t stop her questions. She wanted to get started.
She felt there was no time to lose.

“When do I get my first lesson?”

“Impatient, aren’t you?”

She nodded.

“Good. One thing cutters don’t have a lot of is time. Meet me in the tunnels tomorrow morning. You’ll get your first lesson
there. Of course, you’ll have to do that little thing I asked of you before then —”

“That’s not a problem.” The words had barely left her mouth before he turned. She realized she did not know what he was talking
about.

“The tunnels?” Morgan called out. “Bleek?” Morgan listened for his footsteps, but the cutter had already sunk into the inky
woods around him and disappeared.

A
T FIRST IT FELT LIKE A VACUUM
had sucked his insides out; Nix was clean as a seashell on the beach. Then the memories came, fast, like notes of a song.
Splashes of his life: silver fish in a small white boat, his mother laughing, the smell of cedar and blood. Traveling from
Alaska down the coast. Run, walk, hitch, hop a train, take a bus, a car, a plane if you could scrimp and had ID. The sweetpea
girl, apple picking at sunrise. His SpongeBob sleeping bag, Finn, K.A. The first time he’d seen Neve. Her sleepy brown eyes.
The soft tangle of her whitish-blond hair. He’d fallen in love with her — Nix knew that now, though he’d never do anything,
out of respect for K.A. Then, just as surely, he’d damned her. Was it always going to be like this? As soon as he loved someone,
as soon as he got close, they’d be marked to die?

He who giveth, also taketh away.

He needed to get to Ondine’s. Ondine would be able to help
him. He’d tell her all about it, about Jacob and Neve and how he’d made the light jump. If she’d just remember what they’d
shared. Was it only a few days ago? Nix thought of Ondine’s smooth body next to his in her shaded and cool bedroom, the light
slanting in, and felt ashamed. Though nothing had happened — at least not
that
— their bodies had wanted something else, and those weeks were such a dream….

Ondine had stayed. She had heard what Viv had told them. She’d know what to do.

He careened away from the Cloweses’ so fast he forgot that he’d driven Ondine’s car there and had to take the Burnside bus
along with the rest of the crazies. No way was he going back to face Neve until he knew what to do. An Indian man was sitting
in one of the front seats: slumped, handsome in a way, with long hair, which meant that not so long ago maybe he’d lived on
the rez. His face was red, his nose pocked. A drunk.
My father,
Nix thought, faster than he could hold on to it. Then the undeniable: a thin glowing light, white and electric, surrounded
the man, not gaining, not lessening, just hovering there. How had he missed it when he got on the bus?

He had ignored it. That’s what dust had allowed him to do. That’s why he had taken it. Then he did it out of habit. But now
his eye was keen. He wasn’t going to blind himself anymore.

When Ondine’s door opened, he was surprised to see her eyes red, her nose, too. She didn’t look well. She shook her head
and looked at him coldly — “God, Nix” — but held the door steady, and without a word he stepped inside.

For a moment, nothing passed between them; Nix kept his head down. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. He had left
Ondine at the gathering without so much as a good-bye.

“Where are the keys?” She wiped her nose and stared at him, but her eyes were unyielding.

He passed them to her, head still down. He noticed she was careful not to touch his hand. “I … I left the car at Neve’s.”
He raised his eyes to hers.

“At Neve’s? Great. That’s just great.” Ondine shook her head. “And all that time I trusted you. How much dust are you doing,
Nix? Huh? Does Moth give it to you by the truckload now?”

When he spoke, his voice was soft. “Ondine, I need your help.”

She stood a moment, then sighed. He felt the weight of all that time together slip out from under him.

“I can’t help you.” The girl looked away. “I’m sorry; I can’t be involved in whatever happened out there. It’s not good for
me. And it’s not good for you either.” Her voice became more tender then, but it was clear none of their former closeness
remained. “I know you take dust. Whatever you’re hooked up with, those people … they’re dangerous. You need to get help. Professional
help.”

She spoke slowly, as if the last bit of energy in her body had
already been sucked from her. Nix realized — too late — that he had not even thought about how she got home. Morgan D’Amici
must have driven her. But what was going through her head now?

He didn’t need to guess. Ondine stepped over to the door, picked up Nix’s backpack that was sitting there, and handed it to
him. “I care about you. No. I
cared
about you. But you left me and I can’t be involved in this anymore.”

“Ondine —”

His eyes pleaded with her and he wondered whether she could feel their pull. They had looked into each other’s eyes when they
were both naked, vulnerable.

“I know this is weird. I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you. But there’s something going on that neither of us understands.”
He took a breath and held it. He had to ask. “I think this is real, Ondine. I have to know what Viv said at the Ring of Fire.”

“Viv? You mean the cult leader that has hundreds of kids messed up on dust? That Viv?” Ondine shook her head. “Nix, that was
a messed-up place, and that was a messed-up thing Moth did to us, bringing us there. None of that is real. You realize that,
don’t you?”

Nix was begging now, his voice a thin whisper. “No. You don’t understand. This is real. This is real. It’s already started
for me and I need to know what I missed. I have a problem. I need you — you’re the only one who can help me. You heard
what she said. I … I see things, Ondine. Light. I see this light around people. And then they die. When I see it.” Nix knew
he sounded confused, but her eyes — they were so hard, so unlike before. “Please, Ondine. I need to know what I am.”

She stiffened and started to inch backward, shaking her head.

“You need help. And I can’t give it to you.”

He was scaring her, he realized. This girl whose bed he had shared, who had opened herself so sweetly to him. He was a monster
now. She was shaking her head, slowly at first, but as he continued, begging with her, coming closer, deeper into the house,
she started trembling.

“Leave, Nix.” She put a hand to her mouth. “I don’t want you or anyone else here anymore. Not you, not Moth, not Morgan, no
one. Please. I want you to leave.”

She was sobbing soundlessly, but he couldn’t stop moving toward her. He had to get her to understand.

“Please … Ondine. There’s something wrong. Something with Neve. I have to explain it to you —”

He was close to her now, and he felt her fear. She was shaking. She thought he was going to hurt her.

“I’m going to call the police.”

“I’m not going to hurt you. Ondine —”

She pulled the phone from her pocket and he could see her fingers hovering above the numbers. Her hands shook, but he
knew she was going to do it. She pressed three digits and then held the phone to her ear.

“Please,”
Nix begged. “She’ll die if you don’t help me.”

“Leave, Nix. The police are coming …”

Her eyes flicked away.

“Yes, my name is Ondine Mason, 1515 N.E. Schuyler. There is an intruder in my house and I am in danger. I need a police car
here right away —”

Her last words were a whisper, and Nix, though his eyes pleaded, said nothing more. Ondine held the door open and he put his
backpack on and ran away.

“Welcome to Cingular Wireless.
…
Para español, marque uno. For English …”

Ondine shut her cell and slammed the door, not wanting to see his face anymore, not wanting to watch him as he ran, lonely
and friendless, down the street. She had been about to call the police. She was going to dial the numbers. Why, at the last
moment, hadn’t she? Nix was not her responsibility, she repeated to herself as she slid her back down the door, sinking into
a ball on the floor. She was hysterical now — tearless, convulsive sobbing — and yet part of her, the part that was
always there, stood outside and looked at her own pathetic, crumbling self.

Light. I see this light around people. And then they die.

The cool tile floor calmed her, and soon she was breathing regularly, the small hiccups of hysteria receding. She knew what
she had to do.

Her cell phone was still in hand, her fingers gripped around it. She scrolled through the names till she found the one she
wanted, and dialed. Ralph Mason picked up on the second ring.

“Honey!”

Something about his voice — its warmth, its sanity — undid her, and she found herself moaning again, except this time softly,
keening into the phone, before she could get a word out. She didn’t want to speak anymore. She just wanted to cry. Yet try
as she might, the tears wouldn’t come.