Public Enemies (11 page)

But before I reached the old man, the world stutter-skipped, just like it used to when Kian ported me. I stumbled and fell over, scraping my knees on the cobblestones. Wait, what? Dizzily I took stock of the historical feel of the area.
I wasn't here five seconds ago.
Blood trickled down my wounded knee, through my tights, and my ankle was throbbing again.

“What the hell,” I muttered.

A single black feather floated down from above.

I tilted my head back to find an enormous black bird perched on the electrical wires above. It watched me with beady eyes, quietly preening its feathers. I blinked and the raven was gone, replaced by a pale-faced Harbinger. Today his eyes were ringed in kohl and his mouth was red, smeared as if he had been kissing someone up until a few seconds ago. Or maybe it was blood. Both ideas were equal measures of terrifying and revolting.

I blinked again and he was on the pavement before me now, not a bird and not man, but the wild smell licked around him like a brushfire.

“You are becoming a problem,” he said silkily. “Had I known you would be so much bother, I never would've made the deal.”

I stared up at him.

His eyes teemed with possibilities, all silver madness etched into ebony, and he looked so deep into me that I felt his stare gnawing at the back of my skull until it seemed impossible that my brain wouldn't topple out the back and splatter on the cement. Swallowing hard, I couldn't move; he had me pinned like a butterfly in a specimen case.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered.

“First you ruin my lovely spectacle, then you abscond with my favorite divertissement and now you're willfully trying to get yourself killed. Have you no mind at all, Edith Kramer?”

I'm normally the smartest person in the room,
I tried to say, but my lips burned as if they'd been stitched together. I touched them with trembling fingers but I didn't feel the rough black thread I could picture so readily in my mind's eye.
One of his illusions,
I guessed, but so effective that I literally couldn't speak.

“Rhetorical question,” he added, in case I really was an idiot.

I nodded slightly, remaining on my knees.

“You're forcing me to be helpful. Dutiful,” he went on, radiating ire. “Faithful. All the most revolting ‘fuls.' And you've
no
idea how much I loathe it.” He paced around me in a tight circle while I wondered why there were no pedestrians on this oddly archaic street. “So I'll speak one final warning. I cannot be everywhere at once, and if you are so determined to die, why not save your beloved and get on with it?”

The invisible thread unraveled from my mouth, so I could respond. “I wasn't thinking. Just … my mother … and that monster—”

“Your people created it, dearling.” But his gloved hands were surprisingly gentle when he pulled me to my feet. The blood was sticky on my knee, all the way down my shin. The Harbinger cupped both hands around one of mine, somber as a shadow. “Don't act like such an imbecile again. If you get yourself killed, it'll wreck my reputation—to say nothing of wasting your darling boy's sacrifice.”

I swallowed hard. “I don't want that.”

“Leave the stupidity for actual morons,” he finished. “Otherwise it's far too confusing. But … I most definitely must punish you. So you don't waste my time again.”

 

FUNERAL OF THE HEART

The scene skipped, and I stood alone on the street near my apartment.

There was no sign of the Harbinger, but the bag man and his terrifying children were nowhere to be found either. The Harbinger might have saved me, but whatever punishment he had in store was probably worse than simple death. Pain was his purview, after all.

Instead of going home, I headed for the subway. My dad wouldn't be around until late, and I was in no mood to talk to Vi on Skype, pretending to be fine.
I'm tired of lying.
But truth would only freak her out.

Forty minutes later, I walked toward the cemetery where we'd buried my mom. It was a cold afternoon, heavy cloud cover threatening snow. The trees were dark and bare, and the grass was brown. I wove through the gravestones, stepping over tree roots grown up through the ground and tangled like petrified tentacles of some ancient, desiccated beast. A lone statue of a woman stood down the hill, her stone hair pretending to blow in the icy wind. Likewise her gown was swept back from her legs, showing bare feet, bare arms, and a bare face. She was probably supposed to be a Greek maiden or possibly a goddess keeping vigil over a nearby grave, but I had the uncanny sense that her flat eyes were following me as I passed by. Shivering and huddling deeper into my thin school jacket, I glanced back once.

Was her head at that angle before?

I told myself it was and that I needed never to watch the
Doctor Who
angel episodes ever again. But there was something inherently spooky about a graveyard anyway, knowing you were surrounded by acres of the dead. Even in the summer, this wasn't a cheerful place, though it must be prettier. I tried not to step on any plots on my way to my mom's grave, and as I knelt in front of her marker, now engraved with the Einstein quote my dad had chosen, I wished I had thought to bring some flowers. Not that my mother would care, but still. It felt weird showing up empty-handed, impulsive and thoughtless, just like chasing after the bag man. Ignoring how the damp ground soaked through my shredded tights, I bowed my head for a few seconds. In the movies, people didn't seem to feel weird unburdening themselves to dead loved ones, but I checked the area to make sure there was nobody nearby to overhear.

“I've really screwed up,” I finally whispered. “You're gone … and so is Dad, basically. I don't know what to do. And all I can think about is getting revenge for you when I should be figuring out how to save Kian. I mean, shit, haven't I learned
anything
? Wanting to get back at the assholes at school is what got me in this mess in the first place.” My voice broke.

The tears felt unnaturally hot trickling down my cold cheeks, dripping off my chin and onto my jacket. I leaned my forehead against the unyielding headstone to hide my face from anybody passing by. They'd probably guess I was grieving—and while that was true, I also didn't know how to fix any of the enormous problems looming over me. The immortal game cast a long shadow. Nerves drove me to sneak a look at the statue again. This time the angle was the same, but a black bird was perched on top of the woman's head.

Have I seen that one before…?
Familiarity warred with foreboding. But all crows pretty much looked the same, so I couldn't be sure. I didn't want to turn into the crazy girl shaking a fist in a cemetery, screaming,
are you following me, bird?
So I pretended there was nothing creepy about its staring.

“If this was an equation, I could solve it. But for Kian, where do I even start?” That was part of the problem, having no insight and no resources.

Unsurprisingly, she didn't answer. At least not out loud. But I heard her sighing. Since I had been listening to her sensible advice since I was a little kid, her voice sounded in my head.
What are you thinking, asking a dead person for help? But since you're here … you've been fighting with Kian about his decision, one that can't be changed, I might add. But have you ever once thought about how he must be feeling? You've thought only about yourself, how you'll feel about losing him. Now put yourself in his shoes. He's twenty … and he's dying.

“Oh, shit,” I said.

My mom—or my subconscious—was right. He must be scared to death. It wasn't like he made the deal with the Harbinger to be difficult; he honestly thought it was the best way to save me. And all I'd done was argue with him about what a bad move it was. Yet if he hadn't stepped up I might not even be around to give him crap. I hadn't come here to cry, but I did, as quietly as I could manage. By the time I stopped, my hands and feet were numb. It took me a couple of tries to push to my feet and when I turned, one bird had turned into many. Hundreds of them lined the trees, on electrical wires, and the ledges of the mausoleums near the gate. And they were all watching me, all those crows, quietly preening their plumage with a vigilant air.

I took a step toward the exit and they scattered, not disorganized, nervous creatures, but more like an aerial command unit. I'd never seen crows in formation like ducks but these birds were definitely a flock.
Or something worse,
I thought. Pretending I wasn't freaking out, I hurried toward the walls and as if that was their cue, they dove en masse. Suddenly I couldn't see for the fluttering wings and sharp claws lunging for my face. Something nipped at the back of my neck and I had them on my arms and shoulders as I ran. Their talons dug into my biceps, ripping my school shirt, and blood welled up in the shallow scratches.

In blind terror, I tripped over a short gravestone and wrenched my sore ankle again. When I hit the ground, I expected to die from a thousand beaks and claws. But the murder didn't happen; instead the murder of crows flapped away, soaring up and out of the graveyard, leaving me bleeding in the dirt like that was their goal. Sore and bewildered, I got up and staggered toward the iron gates standing open at twilight. As I approached, an old man came around the corner of a tomb with a shovel; he was probably harmless but I couldn't take the risk.

“Miss, what happened? Are you all right?” he called.

I ran. Well, as fast as my ankle would let me.

Two blocks, then three. Finally I had to pause because my leg was throbbing. If I had more cash on me, I'd just call a cab, but somehow I limped the rest of the way to the station, so I could get on the T. Nobody hit on me, likely because I looked kind of nuts, covered in grave dirt and smeared with blood. During the ride, I wished I had a smartphone because it was urgent that I find out what the crows meant. Something had clearly sent them as a warning but I couldn't interpret a bird attack without outside help. I drew more than a few sympathetic glances yet no one tried to get involved in my problems.

Belatedly it occurred to me—more than once I'd seen the Harbinger as a big black bird. And he'd said he would teach me a lesson or something. The birds hadn't hurt me seriously, only scared the crap out of me. Though I needed the Internet to confirm, I highly suspected that this was the trickster version of a spanking. Otherwise, the crows would've pecked my eyes out and eaten my brains through the holes in my skull. And though I'd heard the warning from Raoul, the Harbinger telling me I might make a reckless move that he couldn't protect me from? It was definitely sinking in that I still needed to be careful.

Feeling slightly better, I got off at the stop nearest Kian's apartment and I paused outside his building. It seemed wrong to just knock, knowing he was mad at me, so I texted,
I'm outside. Can I come up?
A long silence followed, ten minutes, so I sat down on the steps. I couldn't go home without apologizing. Everything else could wait.

Finally, the reply came.
If you want.

I limped to his apartment and knocked, my heart thumping like crazy. Kian let me in a minute later. He looked tired and, yeah, still mad. But the anger melted into concern. He reached for me, pulling me into the apartment while he took stock of my dishevelment.

“Edie…?”

“Nothing serious. I need to say this before I explain. Okay?”

“I guess.” He sounded none too sure that was a good idea.

“I'm so sorry. If you choose not to tell me something, I have to respect that. It's not my job to second-guess you. And I should never have said that I'll break up with you over this. I care so much about you, Kian, but I'm not very good at showing it. I get mad when I shouldn't even though that's not really what I'm feeling. I guess I just don't know how to admit that I'm freaking out and I don't know what to do. But I promise…”

This last part was hard to say, but I choked it out despite stinging eyes and a thick throat. “I'll be with you until the end. And if you're scared too, it's okay. I won't leave, just because it's hard. And … yeah, I'll look out for Aaron. After. If it comes to that. I'll live. I'll repay the favors. And I'll be free. That's what you want for me, right?”

He was breathing hard by the time I finished, his green eyes too bright. Kian hugged me to him, so I could feel how hard he was shaking. “I want to be with you,” he whispered. “But I can't be. I
thought
I was okay, resigned to the fact that I'd get six months … and somebody else gets the rest of your life. That it's more than I deserve anyway. But this is killing me.” He rubbed his cheek against the top of my head, drawing in a sharp breath. “Hearing you talk this way … I'm so damn scared, Edie.”

“I'm sorry. I was trying to make it easier.”

“You made it better … and worse.” He didn't explain but I suspected I understood.

Probably he was glad I wasn't bitching anymore but it couldn't be easier to hear when-you're-gone type of stuff from someone you love. In answer I wrapped my arms around his waist and just held on tight. His hands moved up and down my back as if he were memorizing the feel of me. Five minutes or so later, he stepped back and led me to the bathroom.

“Aaron…?” I asked.

“Asleep.” It seemed pretty early for that, but he was probably recovering. Kian flipped down the toilet lid and pointed. “Sit.”

Meekly I did. “What—”

“Just let me take care of you, all right? While I do, you can tell me how you ended up looking this way.”

Though part of me felt like I should keep it a secret, as he had the business with Raoul, I couldn't apologize and then be all petty two minutes later. So I summarized my afternoon while his mouth flattened. But he didn't yell at me as I half expected.