Grim (15 page)

 

Jeremiah brushed a handful of hair out of Erika's face.

“It's your turn to purge yourself,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Are you really sure you want this?”

She faltered.

“Your children,” he said. “I'm talking about your children. Are you sure that you want them here?”

“Can you take me back to them?”

He clicked his teeth together in deliberation. “No,” he said at last. “I can't.”

“Then you have to do this. I
need
them.”

“There are millions out there who would say that they need their own families.”

“I know,” Erika said. “And look how they're living. They're empty. Hardly human anymore. I don't want to be like that.”

“Erika, your children can't help you there. Only you can.”

She bit her lips. “I need them.”

Jeremiah rose from the bed and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket.

“I sometimes wish that my own mother had been more like you,” he said.

Erika gave him a sad smile.

“Where's that coming from?” she asked. “The angel or the rogue?”

“I don't know,” he said. “Not the rogue. My mother didn't love me because she couldn't. She didn't want me because she couldn't. I can't hate her for that, but how can I love her?”

“Maybe your father cared enough for both.”

He laughed softly to himself. “Of course,” he said. “And I guess that disowning me is just a birthday present. No, Erika, I've been alone for a long, long time.”

He knew that she would touch him before the words left his mouth, and he hated himself for saying them anyway. Her fingertips crept up his wrist, his forearm, and jumped to the side of his face. She barely had to press to make him turn, but he focused on the soft, pale inside of her wrist. He feared looking at her face and seeing something there that he couldn't fix.

“Jeremiah.”

“Erika, please.”

“Jeremiah.” Her voice was a whisper, pleading. “I need to know,” she said, “how much of this is you, and how much of this is a lie.”

He risked a glance at her eyes and saw that they were sad, scared.

“What are you talking about?”

“Are you leading me on because you can't help it, or because you want to use me?”

“Erika.” Now he reached out too, cupping her face in his hands, rubbing the corners of her eyes with his thumbs. “You've been through too much to let me make you look this heartsick.”

She allowed him a small laugh but didn't answer.

“I got you into this, and I'm going to get you out.”

“Stop,” she said. “This is not your fault.”

“It is,” he said. “More than you realize.” He sucked in a sharp breath as the pressure of her needs crushed against his chest. “I know that you don't want to hear that,” he said, “but sometimes we have to believe what hurts us.”

“Am I dead, Jeremiah? Did you do this?”

He concentrated on the bedspread, because he knew that if he looked at her, she would know. She would catch the answer in his eyes, and she would fall to pieces. If he could heal her, he would much rather do that. Take this burden off both their backs.

“Do you remember what I told you before?” he asked, reining himself in enough to look her in the eyes.

“That I'm waiting,” she said.

“I would never lie to you.” He gave her a smile to cheer her up. “I can't, remember?”

Now it was Erika's turn to examine the coverlet. She smoothed a piece of it against her thigh, and then let her fingers run along Jeremiah's leg, tracing his knee.

“Then I don't understand,” she said. “Why can't I leave? Why am I here in the first place?”

Jeremiah brushed handfuls of hair from her face and tucked them behind her ears.

“I don't always understand, either,” he said. “There's no sin in that.”

She studied his face, searching him out, sinking straight into his eyes.

“We can't do this, Erika.”

She put her palm against the back of his neck, drew him close, and let her mouth hover there.

“Just once,” she said, her words brushing hot across his lips. “If you mean it — if you aren't just reflecting for me — prove it just once.”

Jeremiah looked at the face that he'd stared at for so long the day he killed her. At the person whose soul he'd lifted up, careful as if afraid of waking her, from a crash that he'd orchestrated. He hadn't even noticed her smile until later, and the way it rose a little higher on one side of her mouth, or the way she rubbed her hands when she got nervous, or laughed when determined not to cry. He hadn't even noticed the way she said his name, so smooth it polished him, or the way she pulled her sleeves down to cover her palms, like a girl wearing clothes too big for her.

He slipped one hand around to cradle her head, as he had that night in the rain, and he kissed her, deep, vowing that he never would again.

Shawn woke up with a stream of sunlight across his face, let in through a crack in the wooden shutters. He wiped his mouth and ruffled out his hair as he got to his feet. His eyes scanned the room with the same unfamiliarity that was fast becoming custom. He kept replaying the timeline since the fire, but nothing could make this feel less like a dream. A ridiculous dream that made him sick and frightened and excited, but a dream nonetheless.

A canvas shoulder bag sat just inside the door, and with it a white blindfold rolled up alongside a tiny bird's nest. Inside the nest waited two glass beads, each the size of a hummingbird egg. On top of them lay a note, rolled up and tied with string.
Swallow
. Shawn looked at his sisters, arms wrapped together in sleep, and silently thanked Laza.

He knelt down beside Rebecca and nudged her. She gave a half scream that woke Megan.

“I didn't mean to!” Shawn said.

Rebecca pressed a hand against her chest. “Scare me to death.”

“I'm
sorry
.”

“What d'you want?”

“I'm supposed to blindfold you,” he said.

“Right,” Rebecca scoffed. “Because I can see so well. Just be sure to make the knot tight enough so it doesn't slip off and show me everything.”

“Laza got Meg's eyes for us. I don't want you to scare her.”

Rebecca closed her mouth. Her fingertips traveled up to the bridge of her nose and paused, hovering over the blank sockets of her eyes. When she finally found her voice again, it came out rough.

“Fine,” she said. “Do it.”

Shawn wrapped the cloth around her face and tied it at the back with a sharp tug. Rebecca's hands drifted up again, feeling the span of fabric that went from her brow bone to the tip of her nose.

“Is it too tight?”

She shook her head. “It's fine.”

“I'm sorry about this.”

“Help Meg.”

Shawn picked up the nest and went to kneel across from his little sister.

“It's me, Meg,” he said, taking her hand. “I'm going to help you, okay? If you swallow these, you'll be able to see again.” He dropped the glass beads into her palm.

“Okay.”

“It's like a vitamin, okay?”

“Can I drink something with it?”

“Right.” He crawled back to the satchel and flipped it open. There was a wool blanket packed inside, two loaves of bread wrapped in cloth, and a few animal-skin flasks of water. He brought one back to Megan and unscrewed the lid.

“Here.”

Her hands shook a little as she took the flask, but she put the beads onto her tongue, one by one, and then tipped her head back and drank the water. She opened her lips when she finished, showing off an empty mouth as her mother had taught her to do.

“Good job, Megan,” Shawn said.

Megan fluttered her lashes, as if testing the air. Then her lids flew open and she grinned, flashing rows of clean white teeth.

Shawn threw his arms around her. He'd never been so happy to see that smile in his life — the wrinkles around her eyes that made her look older, the color that rushed into her cheeks, and her black lashes that fanned out as she tipped up her head, laughing.

Rebecca stumbled over and joined in on the hug, smiling with her little sister.

“Why are you wearing that, Becky?” Megan asked, reaching for the mask.

Rebecca quickly brushed her hand away. “Don't worry about it, Meg,” she said, and pulled her sister against her chest. “It doesn't matter now. It doesn't matter.”

 

Jeremiah stood in his study, hands clasped behind his back. He stared through the eastern window, at the light that spilled down over the bowl of wilting flowers.

Either way, he was lost; it was now just a matter of how soon and how painful the going would be. Jeremiah wasn't even sure that the call was still his to make.

He held his pocketknife in his left hand, running his thumb down the side where the family crest had been carved into the handle all those years ago.

A trumpet for the first son, a sword for the second, a scepter for the third, a quill for the fourth, a chalice for the fifth, and a sickle for the father. Relics of the old Kingdom, the king and his five princes. It was how it had always been. But with Jeremiah had come a bird, for the sixth son.

Jeremiah knew that his father held the blame for all of this, and if the king of souls had made war on history's legends, then who was he, a runaway prince, to preserve them now?

He flipped out the knife blade and held it up to the light of the window. The sun played against the worn edges, growing brighter as he took his father's letter from the desk beside him. He touched the tip of the knife against the paper, and waited. The lick of fire searched its way along the decree, the flames making the stiff line of Jeremiah's jaw glow faintly. He held the paper until the fire licked his fingers and then let the last scrap drift down to float alongside his brothers' thirsty bouquet.

“Et factum est proelium in caelo,”
Jeremiah whispered, conjuring up the verses that he'd memorized while guided by the great masters. “And there was war in heaven.”

The scattered keys of the Kingdom. The last blood of the monarchy. The laws set in broken stone. Who was he to preserve them now?

 

The children found an empty house when they finally decided to leave. Dust stirred and settled as motes in sunlight, tripping on table legs and skimming the tops of kitchen counters.

They stepped into the front yard and were greeted with the smell of jasmine and a shock of color — a tropical garden in the middle of the woods. It would have been impossible to miss the day before, but somehow they must have, because no plants grew that quickly. The lush blanket of ferns was spattered with dahlia and rainbowed gladiola spears. Diving anthurium hearts poked through tangles of snapdragons and birds of paradise. Nearby, trees were choked with bougainvillea and honeysuckle, whose flowers dripped into the blazing mouths of amaryllis blossoms. Shawn wanted a moment to appreciate the color before they headed back into the slate green and gray of the woods, but he knew that they should move on. He walked with the satchel over one shoulder, while Megan trailed behind, guiding Rebecca with a quick and unrelenting commentary.

Shawn found the forest pretty, at first, and a welcome change from the dark woods that he was now used to. The light and warmth chased away the fear that they'd suffered through before. The fact that they now had a destination, whether or not they knew where it lay, was also comforting.

But then a few hours passed, and doubt began to creep back into their footsteps. Shawn broke off tree limbs, trying to mark their way. He began to worry that he was leading them in long, pointless circles. The sun never wavered, but only gave off the same warm, high-noon light. Time had stopped, and they were the last ones left alive, left moving, left guessing.

Shawn gave up. He found a fallen tree and sat down. He gave Megan and Rebecca some of the bread, but took none for himself. He was desperate to remember which direction they'd come from. His headache grew.

When a bird twittered nearby, Shawn froze. As the first sound since the lake and Baba Laza's cottage, it split the air like gunfire.

“Shawn?”

He glanced at Megan, who was staring into the woods.

“What, Meg?”

“Who's that?”

“Who?” He followed her eyes.

A man stood a dozen yards off, dressed in a dark brown trench coat. A light shadow of stubble dusted his jaw and his hair settled, curly and dark against his temples. He had an arm propped up against one of the low limbs of a poplar tree, and a white bird bobbed its way along the length of the branch, from the slim trunk to his waiting fingers and back again.

Shawn staggered to his feet.

“What is it, Shawn?” Rebecca, who looked ready to bolt, held on to Megan with one hand.

“I'm not sure.”

The man raised his arm in greeting.

“Don't be afraid,” he said. “I won't hurt you.”

Shawn tried to place the voice.

“Who are you?”

“Jeremiah,” the man said. “Would you mind if I came closer?” When he moved, the bird he carried bobbed its neck to match his footsteps.

Megan finally recognized him and gave a muffled cry.

“Oh, I'm sorry, darling,” Jeremiah said. “You're thinking about that dream, aren't you? Your mother's fine. She isn't even angry with me.” He held the bird at arm's length. “Would you like to hold Kala for a little while? She's a very good pet.” He offered his hand and waited as the Caladrius minced her way onto Megan's fingers. Kala looked at him with her shining black eyes before burying her face deep beneath her wing. He folded his arms and measured up Erika's youngest child. “No,” he said, puzzled.

“What are you doing here?”

Jeremiah glanced back at Shawn. “Pardon?”

“Are you going to help us?”

He opened his mouth, and then shut it again. “Hardly,” he said at last. “Not that I haven't been trying. I just needed to know … but I was wrong. So.” He pressed his lips together and then started pacing. “I won't be able to come back again.”

“Why not?”

“Because someone is trying to kill me.”

Shawn looked at Megan but didn't say anything. She was too busy trying to coax away Kala's fear. She kissed the bird's small white head and stroked the long feathers of her back and tail. Kala cooed and shivered into her own little breast.

Jeremiah reached up to massage his neck and felt a two-day growth of beard. He stopped pacing, hand poised just an inch away from his face, and glanced back at Shawn, and then Rebecca.

“Someone has a strong personality,” he said.

“Excuse me?” said Rebecca, offended.

“And knows it,” said Jeremiah under his breath. He dropped his hand and gestured at the elder Striplings. “Can I talk to you two for a minute?”

Shawn took Rebecca by the hand and led her away. Jeremiah smiled at Megan before following them.

When they were far enough away for a private conversation, Jeremiah stopped walking. “You're here because of your mother,” he said flatly. “She wants you to be with her. Personally, I think that it's a terrible idea, but it doesn't seem to matter. And after what I've done, how can I refuse her?”

“What exactly have you done?”

“To the point, Rebecca,” he replied. “Unfortunately, I haven't finished doing it, so it would be preemptive for me to say. But it started with a mishap.” His voice dropped. “Actually, it started with coffee.”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind,” he said. “Listen. I have a brother who might be able to help.”

“I need my eyes,” said Rebecca.

“Your … Oh.” Jeremiah touched the side of his head. “I'll try,” he said. “I
will
try. But I'm afraid that some things are more pressing. I need my head, for example, and I'm very close to losing it right now.”

“You said that someone wanted you dead?”

“Not just dead.” Jeremiah wet his lips. “I don't think you'd understand.”

“They're after us too,” Shawn said.

Jeremiah sighed. “That's not possible.”

“They wear black,” Shawn said.

“Around here, a lot of people do.”

“They're made of smoke.”

Jeremiah raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“They have dogs.”

“The hounds? I can't believe …” He shook his head. “They went for fireworks, did they? Well, then yes, you're right.” Again, Jeremiah sighed. “Don't talk to them. Can you do that for me?”

Shawn let a disgusted grunt escape his throat.

“It's the best I can do,” Jeremiah said. “They shouldn't be here. I could have them
charged
for being here.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Actually, that's not a bad idea. But look, I'm trying. I haven't slept for trying. I haven't eaten. It's complicated. I can't exactly waltz you through the gates.”

“Then what
can
you do?”

“Give you a little hope,” Jeremiah said. “You're human, so that should mean something to you. I won't give up and you shouldn't, either.”

“But what are we doing?” Shawn asked.

“Keeping on the move,” said Jeremiah. “You have to, since they're following. I'll send in the cavalry as soon as I figure out how, but now I have to go. I'm putting you at risk by standing here.”

Rebecca looked annoyed. “Then why don't you just
leave
?”

“I will,” Jeremiah said, “before you make me say something stupid.” He pricked a finger with the tip of his pocketknife and then whistled at Kala, who fluttered out of Megan's hands and latched on to his wrist. She opened her beak to the rising mist and, with a dry hiss of shifting leaves, they both vanished.