Night Betrayed (13 page)

But he was a hot, demanding kisser. And he had a strong, lanky body with golden skin marred by lots of scars.

They weren’t lovers, but Remy suspected it was only a matter of time until that happened. Between the proximity, the lack of privacy, and the fact that they had, in fact, shared more than one session of deep, rough kisses, she knew it wouldn’t be long. One of those sessions had ended when she jammed her elbow into his belly and then her foot onto his instep, twisting away to make an escape from Ian and his father.

Not that she hadn’t enjoyed the kiss—or the ones that had tangled their tongues before—but the opportunity had arisen and she’d taken it. And it was shortly after that that she’d been reunited with Dantès and met up with “Dick,” and then only a week later that she’d come upon Ian again at Madonna’s.

Her relationship with him was indescribable and illogical: they were neither friends nor lovers, nor were they enemies. They neither trusted nor liked the other . . . and yet they remained together.

One thing Remy knew: he hated the fact that he had kissed her. It was as if he’d been forced into it, and now reviled himself for doing so. Whether it was because he had shown weakness or some other emotion, she wasn’t certain. She only knew what she read in his eyes.

He watched her, not with the heat Remy was used to seeing in a man’s gaze, but with cold calculation.

She stayed with him because it was the best camouflage and the safest place to be.

She wondered, not for the first time, just what he wanted from her.

Selena didn’t realize Theo had returned from Yellow Mountain even earlier than she had, and she found herself glancing out the window, wondering if he would even come back at all. But about two hours after she finished checking on all of her patients, she saw him walking toward the house, deep in conversation with Frank. He was wiping sweat off his brow, and he looked as if he’d been working for some time.

So apparently, he hadn’t stayed in Yellow Mountain this morning to be with Jen. Why did that make her feel so warm and hopeful? She bit her lip, realizing she was smiling. Despite him scaring the crap out of her with his stunt on horseback, she’d enjoyed being with him. They’d joked, they’d smiled, she’d found herself relaxing a bit. She felt comfortable around him in a way that she hadn’t been with anyone for a long time.

When her patient groaned, Selena turned her attention guiltily back to Maryanna. The woman’s death cloud sparkled softly in the morning sun. Bluish gray glitter, like shiny dust motes, curling and swirling, told her that the young woman’s time was near. Maryanna’s guides waited patiently, watching as their charge sighed and shuddered in what was no longer sleep but the ease of life into death.

Maryanna hung on between life and death for longer than Selena expected, the pregnant cloud coiling delicately in the corner of her room as the guides hovered silently. The young woman, who’d been breathing with rough desperation, opened her eyes and looked at Selena, lucid and calm.

“I’m going soon,” she said, her voice low and halting. “I’ll see my brother again and it’s going to be all right.”

Selena nodded and reached to cover her patient’s hand. Preparing. “Whatever separated you on this plane will no longer matter, I think, after.”

Maryanna’s smile looked to be one of peace, despite what Selena knew: she must be feeling searing pain from the infection that had wormed into her body, culling every bit of energy and leaving her little more than skin and bone. “He’s waiting for me too. Thank you for listening to me all these days.”

Selena returned her smile and curled her fingers tighter over weakening ones. “That’s what I’m here to do. I learn from each of you, all those who come to me.”

So very true. Every soul that she’d ushered into whatever came beyond this life had touched her or taught her in some way—and not only through their inherited memories. They taught her forgiveness and grace, peace and even humor. Often, humor.

And then there were the zombies . . . the ones with whom she could only communicate at the moment of their release. Those were the ones that haunted her.

“Are you in great pain?” she asked, seeing the flash of an uncontained grimace. There was so little she could do . . . but she would try.

The woman’s lips thinned and the peace from her smile ebbed. “It’s nearly over. I . . . I can manage.”

The guides had moved now, and Selena saw them reaching out their hands for Maryanna. Between them, and behind, was a young man waiting. The one person Maryanna needed to see before she could let go . . . and so she did.

The glaze of discomfort left her expression, and was replaced by a beatific one when she slid out of her body and into their arms. As she died, the slam of memories barreled into Selena, prickling and rushing through her in flashed images.

When Maryanna was gone, Selena did as she always did. She spent quiet moments in prayer, remembering some of the images that had flashed through her mind at the moment of death, as a sort of private memorial.

Sometimes, that was nearly as difficult as the moment of actual death, seeing those times of happiness and joy. But the angry or frightened ones were the most difficult. Their sadness and grief.

It was as if she lived every emotion from a person over and over. But she did it in memory of the person who died. Then she wrapped the body in lemon-scented cloth. It would be given to the family if there was one, or taken to Yellow Mountain for cremation if not.

Selena looked down at Maryanna and wished that it was always this easy. This painless. This peaceful, ushering a soul into the after.

Her stomach tightened and she glanced outside. She’d been eighteen when she learned of her other responsibility. Of the power of the rose crystal.

She’d been outside the walls one night, returning to her home, when she became lost and couldn’t find her way. She was in the forest, lost and without light, and she pulled the crystal from her pocket because she knew sometimes it lit up.

Tonight it was glowing, and offered some illumination to help her find her way.

When she heard the moans from the orange-eyed creatures, Selena knew she didn’t have a chance of returning home. The trees were too tall for her to climb and there was nowhere else to hide from them.

She sat on the ground and prayed that it would be quick, holding the crystal, wondering if she’d see her own death cloud. She heard a voice in her mind that said, Be brave. All will be well.

She tried to heed the advice, for she knew it was her guardian angel. But when two of the zombies came to her, she tried to fight them back, terrified and screaming.

Suddenly, she realized they wanted only to touch her crystal. They didn’t tear into her, didn’t try to carry her off.

They groped and grabbed at her crystal, and deep inside her Selena heard the voice again: Help them. They need your help.

And when she opened her eyes—which had closed in fear—she saw the blond-haired Wayren standing there, watching and nodding.

As with the others that she helped, Selena didn’t wholly understand how or what was expected of her. But she knew peace when she saw it; and as she allowed the creatures to touch her, she saw it fill their eyes.

And when she looked at Wayren, she saw the woman nodding. This is your gift. Use it to help them.

And so, for more than thirty years, she had.

Some time later, Selena padded into the kitchen and found Vonnie in there, stirring something that smelled incredible. As usual.

Filled with a combination of love even as apprehension weighted her, she bundled the woman into a big hug. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever known,” she said, then smiled down at her.

Vonnie patted her on the cheek. “The feeling’s mutual, honey,” she said. “But what prompted you to say that?”

“Just the fact that it’s true. And because you feed me. What are you cooking?”

“Roasted mangos and potatoes with stewed chicken,” Vonnie said, removing a dripping spoon from the pot to the counter. She left a trail behind and swiped a quick rag over it. “And, for you, tomatoes and peppers and corn with quinoa. Lots of garlic and cilantro.” She knew Selena couldn’t eat anything that had a face, and always went out of her way to make meatless food for her.

“Thank you. Sounds delicious. Make sure to save me some of the mangos.” She reached into a bowl of newly picked almonds, most likely shelled by Frank. Three years ago, they’d almost lost their last almond tree, but Frank had babied it through a pest-infested drought just as he had their other special plants.

Selena cast a guilty look out toward the ruff of tall trees and thick bushes in the back third of the grounds. They were lucky the snoot hadn’t ever found their way past Frank’s camouflage. Part of the reason they didn’t get that far was that their leader, Seattle, was half terrified, half fascinated by the Death Lady—a fact that she exploited whenever she could.

“I’m sorry about Maryanna,” Vonnie said.

Selena nodded and shrugged. She was too, but there was little to say. It was a fact of life.

Another Why? for which she had no answer.

She glanced toward the window. The sun seemed to have moved much too quickly all of a sudden. It was still high . . . but now on its downward slope. She’d have to go out tonight.

“How about going to find Theo and letting him know there’s something to eat?” Vonnie said casually. “That man eats more than Sammy and Tyler combined!”

“He’s back from Yellow Mountain?” Selena asked, just as casually.

Vonnie shot her a look laced with skepticism, a little smile twitching her lips. “He’s up at the arcade, I think.”

What does Theo want with all those old things in the arcade? And who gave him permission to go there?

Vonnie answered before she could ask. “Well, it’s Frank. He’s taken a bit of a shine to the kid, and said he could go up there.”

Kid. Right. He’s a kid.

Selena had to keep reminding herself of that.

The house they lived in and where Selena cared for her patients was generous—a mansion, said Vonnie; a hacienda, argued Frank—but they used very little of the area for living. And since there weren’t many people who wanted to share space with constantly dying people, it was only Frank, Vonnie, Selena, and Sam who actually lived in the long four-story building.

What they called the arcade took up the entire third floor of the house; the doors that led there had been sealed off by Frank years ago so that no one—especially the snoot—knew it existed. Selena had seen arcades on DVDs, and Vonnie had apparently been to them before the Change—but the one here was much larger and more interesting than anything she’d ever seen, if one considered rows and shelves and counters of dust-ridden machines that no longer worked interesting. She hadn’t been up here for more than five years, she guessed, and only briefly with Frank.

When she opened the door, which Frank had fixed to look as if it was boarded up but really wasn’t, at first she didn’t see Theo anywhere.

“Theo?” Selena called, hearing a soft whirr from one of the far corners. She realized belatedly that she should have put on shoes before coming up to this dusty, abandoned place.

No answer. She walked toward the whirring sound and became aware of a quiet clicking and a rattle—he was definitely there. She found him then, around a corner with the window behind him open and stirring the air and dust.

He didn’t look up as she approached; he was staring at the screen of a computer. His lips were moving and his brows furrowed as his hands moved like lightning over a keyboard, clicking the keys, stabbing them with emphasis, then suddenly, “Fuck you, asswipe fucker, you know you’re fucked if you don’t fucking do what I fucking say!” . . . and then he was back attacking the keys with his fingers as if his life depended on it.

“My, what a sweet-talker you are,” Selena said, moving closer, fascinated by the intensity on his face. His eyes were so focused, his hair standing up in all sorts of loops and spikes like the feathers of a ruffled bird.

He whipped around to look at her, hands settling on the keys. The surprise in his expression was fleeting, but indicated that he truly hadn’t heard her approach. His face seemed strained, a little tight, as if something was bothering him.

“If she would behave and do what I wanted her to, I wouldn’t have to get tough on her,” he said, his expression softening. “Females can be very temperamental.” Humor warmed his eyes. And warmed her. “I’m glad to see you. I needed a break.”

Selena walked closer, her attention drawn to that writhing red dragon on his arm, and up along the swell of his biceps to a solid, curving shoulder. Not exactly a kid . . . She blocked the rest of the thought from her mind.

No more pity kisses. That was going to be her new mantra.

Selena regrouped. “We females certainly can be temperamental if the situation warrants it,” she replied, turning her attention resolutely to the screen. It was lit up with all sorts of characters—lines and lines of them. She’d never seen a computer in real life, working like this. Only on DVDs, and then what was on the screen looked a lot different—almost DVD-like. This looked much less exciting.

Nevertheless, her skin prickled with worry; it was dangerous. He shouldn’t be here.

“Yes, especially when they disappear without warning,” he commented, holding her gaze now with his dark one. “Last night . . . did it occur to you that I might be a little concerned for your safety when you went off outside the walls?”

“Does it occur to you that I’m a grown woman and well able to take care of myself?” she replied very mildly. She didn’t want or need to argue with him about this again. He seemed to be looking at her feet, or the floor. She hoped he didn’t see another spider—or something worse—but she wasn’t going to ask, as the likelihood of that was higher than she preferred.

Then all at once, she realized the significance of what she’d somehow ignored, and her brain refocused. “You really know how to work these?” She waved her hand to encompass the machines in the room.

“Yes.” He glanced up at her.

“How?” she asked. A little shaft of prickles rushed over her body as the memory washed through her mind. His memory. Sitting in front of a screen like this one—but much smaller than the ones that took up the walls. Very at home there.