Penult (5 page)

“
Why would they need a
navy?”

“
We don’t know. We are not
even sure it is Frelsians.”

“
Who else would it
be?”

She got up and helped me to my feet.
“We don’t know.” Her face went sour.

“
What’s wrong?”

“
You are leaving me
already. And I wanted you to fly with me to see the new
city.”

“
New city?”

But I was already tumbling. I had
awakened back in Coleman Medium. Some guy was singing at the top of
his lungs and someone else yelling even louder for him to shut up.
The noise echoed down the cell block.

*****

Chapter 4:
Together

I honored Karla’s request to make sure
I wasn’t followed by walking a route through downtown Rome so
circuitous and illogical that only a blood hound could have tracked
me to the Vatican. I wasn’t convinced that the threat she perceived
was real, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Who could be following her? Her wicked
father? Sergei’s avengers? Agents of the supernatural? All were
possibilities, but it was just as likely that her paranoia had no
basis in fact.

All I knew was that I ached to see her
after all these months apart and this ache was a physical, tangible
thing. It was probably impossible for the real Karla to live up to
the version I maintained in my memory-scape, but I knew I would be
satisfied with her in any form.

We had such a weird and tenuous
relationship. The actual number of hours we had spent together in
the living world probably totaled less than a week. Yet it felt
like we had spent years together. At least every minute together in
the Liminality was quality time, always intensely engaged, never
knowing who would fade first or when.

So many things had contrived to keep
us apart, not the least of them, her death. I wondered sometimes if
she felt obligated to me only because I had managed to reincarnate
her. Did she love me as much as I loved her? Why was she always
running away?

But now, I was striding full bore down
one of the widest avenues in Rome, heading for a rendezvous with
the only girl I cared about in all of existence. I was a sweaty,
thumping mess by the time I reached St. Peter’s Square.

I crossed over to a passage beneath
some tall columns separating the square from some adjoining
neighborhoods, hoping I had guessed right about this being her
special place. I had texted her earlier that I was on my way and on
foot, but she hadn’t responded. Not that I should have been
surprised. She didn’t own her own phone and only rarely borrowed
her cousin’s.

When I reached what I assumed to be
our designated rendezvous point—a wooden bench beside yet another
marble fountain—she wasn’t there. Some guy in a blue uniform sat
munching some stuff wrapped in pink paper. Behind me, a gaudily
dressed Swiss guard stood by the back entrance of a
building.

I checked my phone again, just in
case. If ever there was a time for her to borrow her cousin’s
phone, this was it. But I had missed no calls or texts.

My stomach felt like a couple
squirrels were wrestling inside. A cloak of dread began to spread
over me. My heart kicked up the beat. A panic attack was looming. I
could almost sense the roots reaching out from me from whatever
unseen, parallel dimension they inhabited.

A leaf fluttered down and landed on
the low wall of marble blocks that hemmed in the fountain. I
wouldn’t have noticed it, except that it had a strange shape with
long, sharp points like one of those Japanese star maples. But the
only trees anywhere the fountain were lindens.

As I stared, two of the points curled
into cylinders that reached and dragged the leaf around until the
central point faced me. This wasn’t my doing. My mind was blank, my
will disengaged.

The leaf lifted itself off the wall
and the central point folded into a concavity that looked like an
eye socket. I surged off the bench and smashed it down with my
fist. Some passing tourists stared.

I turned around and there she was,
standing by the bench like a mythical creature, an apparition or a
dream.

***

Karla Raeth. Not the prettiest name
for one who was not exactly pretty. But she was my Karla. Her
petite frame swam beneath a flannel shirt. Her eyes were wide and
frantic, her hair, longer than I remembered. Un-brushed. Greasy and
stringy. She looked almost feral, like a girl raised by
wolves.

Her cheeks were sunken, eyes rimmed
with red. She hadn’t been sleeping or eating well, that was for
sure. Grease soiled her jeans. Both knees were shredded and bloody.
Her sneakers had no laces. Their tongues flapped free.

“
Come!” she said. “We have
to go.”

She had made no attempt to greet me.
She didn’t even look happy to see me. I felt like someone had
punched me in the gut. She looked so serious and scared. She turned
her back to me and started passed beneath the columns that
separated us from the adjoining neighborhood.

I grabbed my pack from the bench and
ran to catch up with her.

“
What’s wrong?”

“
We have to leave Rome.
Immediately.”

“
Why? What
happened?”

“
Come.” She grabbed my
hand. Her fingers felt rough and dirty.”

This was not at all the kind of
reunion I had envisioned all those months in jail. Had I had fooled
myself into believing that she shared the feelings I held for her?
Maybe there was a reason she was always keeping a distance between
us. It wasn’t all due to fate.

She looked at me sideways as we walked
on hand in hand. Her expression softened. The beginnings of a smile
took form.

She stopped, glanced over her shoulder
and flung herself into my arms. She buried her chin deep into my
shoulder.

My doubts flew away like a flock of
spooked pigeons.

She leaned back and looked into my
eyes, her gaze piercing right through me. And then she rose up on
her tippy toes and kissed me long and hard.

In a flash, her face went serious
again as she glanced back in the direction we had come. She grabbed
my hand and dragged me onward.

***

We walked and ran at least a mile,
zig-zagging down residential streets, to the Vatican wall and away
again, changing direction almost at random.

“
This is how I move these
days,” she said. “Every city. Every country.”

“
Did you ever figure out
who’s after you?”

“
Does it
matter?”

“
Well, maybe. It could be
someone benign like … the Friends of Penult.”

“
Like who?”

“
Penult.”

“
Never heard of
him.”

“
Penult’s not a person,
it’s a place. In the Liminality.”

She shook her head. “I am not worry
about the Liminality. All I know is that my father wishes to punish
me and he has many friends. And I know this Sergei gave my picture
to every drug dealer in the EU. I don’t know if it is one or all of
them coming after me. All I know is that I am being chased. I do
not want to come to Rome again, because it is worse here. But it is
the best place I know to meet you without having to
say.”

“
Maybe we should stop
running until we find out who it is. Maybe you’re running for no
good reason.”

“
Don’t be stupido. A
gazelle does not let herself be captured to find out if it is a
leopard or a lion doing the chasing. Why does it matter if both are
predator?”

“
What if it’s just another
gazelle?”

“
I said, don’t be stupido.
We have to leave Rome.”

“
Okay. And go
where?”

“
We do not speak out loud
our destinations. They have ways … of hearing.”

***

We caught a bus out of Rome to some
sad and nondescript town on the outskirts, and then boarded a slow
train heading north towards Verona.

Karla refused to let me buy tickets
with the black card, but she gladly dipped into the thick wad of
Euros I had taken from the old lady’s safe deposit box. Her eyes
popped at the sight of all that cash.

She had lived practically homeless
most of the time I was in prison. Any money she had, she spent on
transport, scrounging food from grocery store dumpsters, or
leftover crusts from sidewalk café tables.

“
What’s in Verona?” I
said.

“
Nothing. We will not stay
in Verona.”

“
Where are we
going?”

“
Don’t worry about it.
You’ll know when we get there.”

“
I’m not worried. I’m just
curious.”

“
The less we say, the
better. No ears to hear us.”

“
Who’s
listening?”

“
You should know better. My
father has friends. And Weavers make avatars. Like your Billy, yes?
Your little familiar who feeds you sounds and visions?”

It had been a while since I had been
able to conjure Billy—that manifestation of my will who seemed to
have a mind of his own. What was left of him had pretty much
dissipated.

Early on at Coleman Medium, when my
cabin fever was at its worst, I was able to conjure him from shreds
of tissue and cotton swabs to create a little moth-like creature
whose eyes and ears I could share. I made him fly out the window
and buzz strip malls and movie theaters. Having him was like having
a personal surveillance drone. He went a long way to making my time
bearable.

“
Billy’s … gone,” I
said.

“
Trust me, I cannot squat
to pee behind a bush without thinking that someone is watching
me.”

“
Actually, I … uh … I think
I saw one.”

“
Where?”

“
Back at St, Peter’s
Square.”

“
You see?”

“
That means it can’t be
Sergei’s people, then … or your dad. They’re both … muggles … or
whatever. It’s got to be someone with connections to the
afterlife.”

“
Your friends?
Penult?”

“
They’re not
my
friends. But I don’t
know why they would come after you. You have no connection to
Frelsi or Wendell … other than me.”

“
Who is this
Penult?”

“
I’m not sure. I get the
impression they think of themselves as angels’ helpers. Only the
angels they’re helping aren’t exactly from … uh …
Heaven.”

“
Heaven?” She huffed. “You
still believe?”

“
Maybe.”

“
Well, these Penults, if
they really are angels, maybe to them I am an abomination. Once
dead. Twice alive. Like Jesus.”

“
Or … a miracle. I don’t
see how they could hold it against you. It wasn’t fair for you to
die in the first place.”

“
Who says death is ever
fair?” Karla’s lowered her eyes. “Did I tell you? I was unable to
find Isobel. I think … she might be dead.”

“
Don’t say
that.”

“
But there is not a trace
of her. She was staying at the farm like we agreed. They were
taking good care of her. But then she made some friends. She moves
to Cardiff. Jessica tries to stop her but she does not listen. She
is living there for a while. Hanging out with some punks. And then
she is gone. No one knows where she goes … what happens to her.”
She avoided my gaze. “I fear … she is gone.”

I threw my arm around her and pulled
her close to me. “No way! She’s a tough kid. She can take care of
herself.”

Tears dribbled down her cheeks. “She
is my little sister. My only. I don’t know what I would do if … she
is gone.”

“
Listen. I’m sure she’s
fine. I’ll help you find her.”

“
But even on the other side
… in Root. There is no trace of her. I have looked.”

“
Well. That’s good. Right?
It means she’s happy.”

“
Or gone to the
Deeps.”

I took her by the shoulders and forced
her to look at me. “Stop! We’ll find her. I promise.”

***

It was already late in the evening
when the train pulled into Verona, its terminus. Karla made me wait
until all of the other people had retrieved their luggage. We only
exited when the conductor made his last sweep of our car. We exited
the train as far from the station as possible, charging across the
tracks through the train yard.

A track worker shouted and swore at
us. Karla made a rude gesture and kept running.

“
Where now?” I said, as we
climbed over a fence to reach the road.

“
We take a bus.”

“
Which bus? To
where?”

“
Any bus. Wherever it takes
us. I don’t care.”

“
Sheesh!”

We found a station and it was no
secret when the next bus arrived that we were going someplace
called Bolzano. We boarded and went to the very back where the
lighting was faulty and the seat was veiled in shadows.