Down With the Shine (17 page)

“No thanks,” Smith snaps.

I glance over and can’t miss the pigheaded expression that tells me arguing will be useless. He looks toward the exit, and I know he’s worried about Dyl and regretting this wish and five thousand other things, but going into “go ahead, make my day” mode is not really helping things right now. I attempt to communicate all this to him with a pithy, “Don’t be stupid.”

Despite my compelling counterargument, Smith remains unswayed. He slaps our linked hands on the bar top. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Rabbit’s mouth spreads in a big toothy smile that doesn’t fit in with the rest of his face, which remains tight with fear. “Wonderful!” For the third freaking time he claps his hands, a tic that’s quickly becoming unbearable. “Now, if you two don’t mind . . .” Reaching beneath the bar, he comes back up with a pair of handcuffs.

“You always keep handcuffs around?” I ask nervously.

“Mmm.” Rabbit smiles in a way that I think is meant to be reassuring. It’s not. “The bartender here was a boy scout, I believe. He likes to be prepared for anything,” he explains as he snaps the cuffs around each of our wrists.

Smith smirks. “That hardly seems necessary.” I look over at him, marveling at his ability to pretend he’s ice-cold when in reality he must be scared shitless.

“I’m not done yet,” Rabbit replies as he shows us an oversized metal staple, at least an inch thick. Placing it between the three metal links that act as a bridge between our handcuffs, he then produces a mallet and hammers the staple into the bar top, effectively pinning our coupled hands in place.

But apparently that’s still not enough, because he then circles around the bar until he’s standing directly behind
us. Producing a second pair of handcuffs, he snaps it around my free wrist and attaches it to the metal backrest of my bar stool. After repeating the same procedure on Smith, he returns to his place behind the bar.

“Is this really necessary?” I ask, realizing we are now literally chained up inside my father’s bar and that W2 and Dyl won’t be able to save us this time with a tennis ball machine and hair spray flamethrower.

Rabbit wipes the sweat from his brow and then gives me a sad smile. “Don’t worry, you’ll be released the moment the separation is complete.”

“I’ll bet,” Smith says, sounding belligerent and looking bored. If my hands weren’t locked down, I’d punch him.

After tugging at our handcuffs a few times to make sure they’re secure, Rabbit looks up at Smith. “Last call. Sure you don’t want that drink?”

Smith rolls his eyes. “All I want is to get this over with and have my hand and my life back. Let’s get on with it.”

A lump fills my throat and tears suddenly threaten. Smith and I are still connected, but I can already feel him pulling away. Funny how lonely it feels, how in such a short time I’ve come to count on him being here beside me.

“Okay, then. You ready, Lennie?” Rabbit places both of his hands over mine while his red and watery eyes stare at me in this disconcerting way. “I’m really sorry.”

Trying to be cool like Smith, I shrug. “It’s fine, Rabbit. Just do what you gotta do.”

“Such a sweet girl,” he says, while pulling a lighter from his pocket.

With one more muttered apology, Rabbit clicks the lighter, producing a flickering flame that he brings toward me until it’s licking at the thin skin stretched over my knuckles.

I stare in disbelief, and then, as the pain hits, I begin to scream.

I
blubber and scream and cry, but it doesn’t stop.

A mixture of tears and snot streams down my face. It still doesn’t end.

I writhe in pain, trying to escape my own skin, certain I can’t take any more. Yet somehow I do.

Clenching my eyes closed against the sight of my bubbling and blistering skin, I try to focus on something—anything—else.

There’s Rabbit’s trembling hand, holding the burning lighter.

Not that. Don’t look at that.

Beside me Smith thrashes, looking even more crazed than me. I actually check to make sure that Rabbit isn’t burning him too, but no, only my half of our conjoined hands is being used for kindling. Still Smith screams, his voice ragged and raw, threatening Rabbit, promising
he’s gonna kill him if he doesn’t stop. And then when it becomes clear that Rabbit isn’t going to stop, Smith reverts to repeating, his voice growing higher pitched and nearly frothing with each iteration, “You’re dead. You’re dead. You’re fucking dead.”

I’ve never heard him so unhinged and out of control. All his earlier cool isn’t just gone, it’s like it never existed at all. I’d almost think he’s in more pain than me, except that’s impossible. The terrible agony guts me and I swallow, trying to keep from spewing out the churning bile in my stomach. I am still in the midst of this battle when the hurt surges upward, filling my head with a bright white light. Smith’s curses grow distant. I am floating away. Consciousness is fleeting, but I have one last thought.
This is hell. I am in hell.

A horrible sound, guttural and pained, brings me back down to earth. My eyes flicker open.

“Lennie, forgive me.” Rabbit sprays a stream of cold water over my blackened hand, which is no longer connected with Smith’s.

It comes together then. I held his hand all the way to hell and when I reached it . . . he released me.

Beside me Smith’s limp hand is still held by his handcuff. I follow the line of his arm. He’s slumped over, unconscious, falling off the bar stool and only held
there by his handcuffed wrists.

“Uncuff him,” I snap at Rabbit.

He stares at me and then stammers, “But, but your b-b-burn.”

“Get the cuffs off!” I roar, hardly even recognizing myself.

Without another word, Rabbit scurries around the bar. Despite my objections, he frees me first. I grab Smith, holding his body, so that when his hands are released he doesn’t fall to the ground. With my cooked nerve endings still screaming for relief it’s impossible to hold his weight, and I end up quickly lowering him to the filthy floor.

“Smith.” I give him a little shake. “C’mon, Smith, wake up.”

He groans and his eyelashes flutter, but he doesn’t come to.

“What did you do to him?” I stand and advance toward Rabbit. “Were you trying to kill him? Me? Is this all on my father’s orders? Was it even true about him being able to undo wishes?”

Rabbit hops backward. I lunge forward, suddenly not caring about answers anymore. Suddenly wanting nothing more than to slam my unburned fist into his face. Sensing my intentions, he pivots and scurries away. I am on his heels when he darts into the ladies’ room. Slamming my
whole body against the door, I follow him in.

Even though his hands are above his head in surrender, I can’t stop. I keep coming at him. One step after another until he’s backed into a corner.

“Okay,” Rabbit squeaks. “It was your father’s idea. He doesn’t want you tied up with the boy.” Tears fill Rabbit’s eyes and pour down his cheeks. “And yes, it’s true about your father being able to undo wishes. I would never have lied to you about that.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re a stand-up guy.” I throw my own hands up in exasperation. “I need to check on Smith. Make sure you didn’t kill him.” Spinning around, I march out of the bathroom and back to where I left Smith. Except Smith is gone.

A movement catches my eye and I turn in time to see the glow of the parking lot lights come from outside as one of the big security guys walks out with Smith flung over his shoulder.

“Smith,” I scream after him at the same time that Rabbit trots toward me yelling my name. Ignoring him, I head for the exit, but Rabbit heads me off. He flattens himself against the door.

“Lennie, stop. Look, please, can’t we sit and talk? When you keep moving around like this, I can’t stop myself from chasing you. It’s my nature, I guess. The need to hunt,
pursue, track my prey. That’s why everybody calls me Rabbit, you know.” He flashes me a nervous smile.

I shake my head, trying to make sense of this convoluted logic. “That doesn’t make sense. Rabbits don’t hunt—they run away.”

“Don’t they?” Rabbit shrugs. “Maybe not. Or maybe we know different kinds of bunnies.”

“Whatever.” I want to wrap my fingers around his throat and squeeze, but with my flambéed hand out of commission, I settle for grabbing his shirt and giving it a good shake. “Just let me out of here.”

Rabbit doesn’t budge. “If it helps, your friend is fine. The shock of the separation seemed to be a bit much for him. And, um, well, since you are no longer in hell, I assume the need to hold your hand will return. For those reasons he was taken outside for his and your own health.”

“Our health? You set me on fire! And Smith was passed out on the floor. How does it help to drag him somewhere else?”

“He wasn’t dragged, he was carried. Gently. Well, maybe not gently.” Rabbit grimaces slightly, as if considering this. “But he’s alive! And you want him to stay that way, right?”

I swallow. This guy just held a lighter to my hand. My father told him to, or maybe he’s insane, but either way he’s
right—Smith is better off as far away from here as possible. And while the same is no doubt true for me as well, I’ve gone through this much to hear what my father has to offer, so I might as well see it the rest of the way through.

Screwing up every last bit of courage, I make myself take one and then another step away from the door. “Okay, take me to Cash.”

“Let’s get you bandaged up first.” Rabbit smiles as if we’re friends again, as he shadows my retreat deeper into the bar.

I come to a stop, planting my feet. “I don’t trust you.”

“And why would you? But you’ll soon see that I never meant you any harm and now I only want to fix what I’ve broken.” Placing a hand on my back, he gently steers me through the bar to the swinging kitchen doors. Boxes fill the space, stacked all the way up to the ceiling. I eye them curiously, but don’t say a word.

“This way,” Rabbit says, pulling open the door to the walk-in freezer.

“Really?”

He nods in a way that is meant to be reassuring. I am not reassured. But I’ve come this far, so I walk inside. The door closes behind us with a soft thunk.

“What now?” I ask, feeling slightly reassured that the air inside isn’t cold.

“Have a seat.” Rabbit gestures to one of the boxes on the floor. With a shrug, I sit. “Can I see your hand?” Rabbit pulls a tube of something from his pocket. “I’ve got burn cream and bandages here.”

Following the same nothing left to lose fatalism that has brought me this far, I hold my hand out. Rabbit takes it gently into his own surprisingly soft hands. I can’t stand to watch as he treats the ugly burn on my hand, but by the time he finishes wrapping the bandage and gently places my hand back on my own knee, the terrible throbbing pain is already starting to fade.

“Now,” Rabbit says, taking a seat on the box beside me. “I would like to explain myself before we go see your father. He won’t like it, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t share this conversation with him.”

“If he won’t like it, why do it?”

“I feel like I owe you an explanation.” Rabbit presses his hands together in a prayerful gesture. “If you’ll allow me.”

Even though I’ve had enough of Rabbit’s company, I am still not super eager for my upcoming father-daughter reunion. A little procrastination with the side benefit of giving me extra info can only work out in my favor. But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna make things easy for Rabbit. “Fine. Don’t think this evens us out, though. You’d have
to spill an oil tanker’s worth of explanation for me to be okay with this.” I hold up my bandaged hand and Rabbit winces.

“Of course, you’ve been hurt. I understand that.” Rabbit pauses and then reaches into his mouth and extracts his teeth. The whole mouthful of them are fake and now rest on his palm. With the teeth missing his face shrinks and his lips nearly disappear. “Your father’s the one who gave me these teeth. He took the ones I was born with. Pulled them from my mouth one by one, all the while telling me I was lucky he wasn’t sawing off my fingers instead.”

I can’t help but shudder. “Why do you keep working for him?”

Rabbit laughs. “Your father and me, we’re friends.”

“Friends? That’s not what I call a friend.”

“Well, like I said before, different bunnies, you know? He didn’t mean nothing by it—he just needed something from me. In fact, the same something you need.”

“And what’s that?” I ask.

“Information. You’re trying to put a puzzle together without all the pieces. You don’t know much about your father, do you? Well, besides the stuff that made the papers, right?”

I’m about to argue—to be difficult—when instead,
almost against my will, I nod. It’s strange, but before I can worry about it, Rabbit starts talking again.

“Yes, that’s what I figured. You can’t explain what you don’t understand, and no one’s ever understood your father.”

“But you do?”

“Understand him?” Rabbit laughs. “Nah. But I do know his secrets, and that’s something.”

This conversation and Rabbit’s detour-heavy way of explaining things is giving me a headache, so I try to push him toward the point. “Like the secret about how he once tried to kill me?”

“That is a juicy one, isn’t it?” Rabbit agrees. “Your father only married your mother because of her wish-granting abilities, but he gravely overestimated her powers, and as you can imagine, the marriage suffered because of it. But then, he found the loophole. When a wish granter willingly—that’s the important part—passes his or her ability on to another wish granter, it gives the second wish granter unparalleled powers. The theory for why this happens is controversial, but most believe that it’s not only the wish-granting talent being passed along, but the giver’s actual life force.”

“But my mom is still alive.”

“Well, certainly. Many people live long lives with no will to do so at all.”

I put my head in my hands, feeling battered. I wish I could pretend it was bullshit, but after what Benji told me earlier, it all makes perfect sense.

Rabbit pats my shoulder gently. “Not that you asked, but my advice is get out of town while you can. Got any money? Savings?”

I open my mouth, intending to tell Rabbit there’s no chance I’m gonna run. Instead, I hear myself say, “My uncles have six thousand four hundred thirty-three dollars and thirteen cents hidden in an old pizza box.” This is the second time since I’ve been in Rabbit’s presence that I’ve said more than I intended to, and it doesn’t feel like a coincidence. “What the . . . You made me tell!”

“Compelled you to, actually. That’s why they call me Rabbit, because I’m rascally.” This last bit he does with a full-on Elmer Fudd inflection, replacing the
R
s with
W
s. I ignore his latest attempt at misdirection. I need to know exactly what I’m dealing with.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Well, if you really want to know . . .” Rabbit stands and puffs out his chest. “I am the last of the once great and now almost forgotten Snitches.”

He is so obviously proud that I almost feel bad poking a hole in it. Almost.

“Never heard of ’em.”

Rabbit isn’t so easily deflated. If anything, he stands even straighter. “Of course you haven’t. You’ve already made it abundantly clear that you know nothing. No offense.”

“None taken,” I reply drily. “I wish I knew even less about all this shit.”

“Ignorance didn’t really work out all that well for you either, Lennie. So please allow me to educate you.”

“Actually, you don’t—” I try to stop him before he launches into what will doubtless be another longwinded story, but Rabbit waves away my protest.

“No need to thank me.” He clears his throat and then, clasping his hands behind his back, begins to speak. “Wherever there was power, there were Snitches. They lived in kings’ courts and were tasked with knowing the secrets of their enemies and whispering them in royal ears. It was a good life, until one cocky fool blabbed to the wrong people and ended the Romanov dynasty. When a whole family is slaughtered and it gets out that the Snitch who was supposed to be working for them had been telling tales to the enemy . . . well, you could say there was suddenly a lack of trust there. Without the protection of
the powerful, the Snitches faded away pretty quickly.”

This last part is said quietly, and Rabbit’s tiny eyes look almost watery as they meet my own. “They all died,” he says now. “Except for me. The one who betrayed his whole race was the one who survived.”

He bows his head and for a moment disappears into his sweater completely. I know that I should get back to the topic of my messed-up life, but can’t resist asking, “It was you? But why’d you do it?”

Rabbit’s head snaps back up, and he takes two steps—more like hops—forward, then leans down so close that his sour breath fans my face. “Why? Long ago, Snitches were trusted advisors, sitting at power’s side, but decades passed and somehow we were sitting at their feet, like trained dogs. Our information kept them strong against their enemies, and we gave it away to them for nothing more than a soft place to sleep at night. And one day that wasn’t enough for me. I wanted more.”

I shrink back. It isn’t his horrible breath pushing me away, but rather his words. Those last three ring in my ears, reminding me of my own rationale for crashing Michaela’s party.

My yearning for more blew up in my face. And now I’m so scared of making things worse, I may never again stretch for anything beyond my reach.

“And now you’re my father’s trained dog,” I say to Rabbit, feeling cruel and not wanting him to guess at the hollow ache his speech opened up inside of me.