Night Betrayed (3 page)

Theo swallowed. “How did you do that?” he asked, keeping his voice as nonchalant as hers had been.

“I’m not sure,” she replied, and her eyes crinkled a bit at the corners. A little smile, a bit rueful and even bemused, it created a few more delicate lines near the corners of her mouth. Not dimples, not wrinkles . . . but life lines. He realized suddenly that she could be in her forties, even.

“It was a sort of miracle,” she continued. “A definite miracle. It’s never happened before. But you were definitely dead. For a good . . . five, ten minutes.”

Theo found he didn’t really like that idea after all. He hadn’t actually died last time, had he? He closed his eyes, then opened them again—and noticed that her eyes, focused on him, were a light, rich brown. The color of caramel or brandy.

“Maybe you want to tell me your name so I don’t have to call you Miracle Man? Or Dragon Guy?”

“Theo.”

“Well, welcome back to the living, Theo,” Selena said. She shifted in her seat and Theo revised his guess at her age. Definitely no older than forty. Not with a golden body that tight and curvy. Maybe even early thirties. Look at those arms.

“How do you feel? Besides hungry?” she asked.

“Tired and sore,” he replied, pulling himself up a bit more. “Fuzzy-headed. Where am I, by the way?”

She’d picked up that damned bunch of sage and was smoothing her fingers over the long oval leaves. “Near Yellow Mountain.”

Yellow Mountain. It rang a distant bell, but the gloppiness prevented him from focusing. “I’m from Envy. Do you know where that is?”

Selena shrugged and flapped a hand. “That way? I’ve had people come from all over, Envy included. I don’t ask the details; it’s enough that they’re here.”

Theo smelled something, and it distracted him for a moment. A familiar smell, sweet and unmistakable, wafting in the air. He sniffed again, just to be sure. “Is that marijuana?”

She nodded, taking the empty mug from him. “Yes. Would you like some?” She smiled, then added, “I meant, would you like some more soup? Unless you’re in pain, and then I’ll have Vonnie bring the bong over when she’s done with Maryanna. It seems to help her; and if there’s anything I can do to make things easier, I will.”

All righty, then. It wasn’t as if pot was illegal anymore. The laws in this world were fairly nonexistent, especially outside of Envy, which was the largest known settlement of humans.

“I’m not in pain. But I could eat some more.”

And then all of a sudden, the murkiness slipped away enough for him to realize who she was. “You’re the Death Lady.”

A little humorless smile twitched her lips, and she nodded. “Yes, that’s what they call me.”

He’d heard of her, this woman who spent her life sitting with people as they died, caring for and helping them. Like a post-Change hospice, he guessed. And since there weren’t any real doctors and certainly no hospitals, let alone drugs or surgeries, Theo knew just how busy she must be. And how important her role was. He’d heard about her back in Envy, and on his missions beyond those safe walls as he tried to add members to the secret Resistance movement and set up network access points to build their version of the post-Change Internet.

“How the hell did you ever—” he started, then realized his tone made him sound like an ass, so he amended, softening his voice. “How did you get started doing this?”

Selena put the mug down and settled in her chair, folding her arms under the breasts that filled out her T-shirt quite nicely. “Most of my patients—I guess you’d call them that—don’t talk much, and certainly don’t ask me such pointed questions. But then again, everyone else who’s ever come to me has left this world and crossed over to the other. So I guess you’re just different all around.”

“So, yeah. Since you brought me back to life, you’ve only yourself to blame. You coulda let things alone, you know.” He cracked a rueful smile.

She looked at him thoughtfully. “I sure could have,” she replied, nodding as if some great mystery were revealed in his eyes. “But I was told how to save you, so I did.”

“You were told to save me. Dare I ask by whom? And how?”

Selena rose and picked up the mug, the spoon clinking once more. “You can ask, but I think I’ll keep that to myself. I’ll get you more soup, and if you’re really nice, I’ll tell you how I got to be named after a female wizard.”

With that, she turned and walked out of the area before he had a good chance to really check her out.

Nothing surprised him more than the vague disappointment that he hadn’t.

Guess I’m not dead yet.

Selena scooped up the broth, which had been made from peppers, carrots, and onions, roasted then simmered in water and wine and flavored with celery, parsley, and garlic. It smelled delicious and set her mouth to watering. And Theo had certainly enjoyed the soup if the way he slurped it down was any indication.

But being brought back to life . . . not so much.

Not a bit of gratitude.

He didn’t come out and say it, but she sensed it. There was some reluctance to return to this world, this plane.

There were some who fought death, and some who went easily—it depended upon whether they had unfinished business here or not. But this one . . . this dragon man . . . he’d done neither. He just seemed ready. Tired.

Why did you tell me to save him? She looked around, reflexively up toward the ceiling, even though the guides usually sat or stood at eye level. As if there’d be an answer. She’d been asking why for forty years, and she’d never had a clear one yet.

But occasionally, the guide she’d come to think of as her own guardian angel would appear. Not giving answers to why, of course . . . just guidance. Just as she had the first time she had experienced the death cloud—or at least the first time she remembered doing so.

Selena was five years old, sitting next to an old woman out in a field and making daisy chains while Vonnie picked raspberries with the old woman’s daughter. The old woman seemed dry as an old stick, ready to blow away in the breeze, shriveled into herself in peaceful silence. Her eyes were watery but bright, and she spoke very little, but mostly not at all. Her hair was white, with a bit of gray threading through it.

Selena remembered chattering on and on to the old woman when the blond-haired woman who often came to help her and Vonnie appeared, sitting on the grass. At that time, she thought little of the fact that the mysterious Wayren often materialized like a puff of air; it was just the way she came and went. As Selena had come to learn since, children were much more accepting of the presence of guides and angels than their older counterparts.

“Watch,” Wayren had told her, her pale blond hair shining in the sun. She always seemed to have a happy glow around her, but that day it seemed to grow larger and larger . . . and eventually encompassed the elderly woman.

Selena saw the glittering in the sunlight, the little sparkles around the woman. Silver and gray, and then bluish, spinning, whirling, spiraling up.

“It’s pretty,” she said.

Wayren nodded. “No one can see it but you. It’s a gift. But more than that, it’s a responsibility. Now . . . hold her hand, for she’ll need you to help her. She’s about to leave us.”

Selena didn’t understand how the woman was going to leave if she held her hand, but she did as her guide said. Grasping fragile, skinny fingers, she looked into the elderly woman’s gray-brown eyes.

The flurry of glittering gray and blue fog grew larger and she knew something was going to happen. “Hold on to my hand,” Selena said, not knowing what prompted those words. “I’ll be here.”

And so it had happened. Selena hadn’t been frightened, or even particularly sad. She gained those attributes as she grew older and began to understand what it meant to the people left behind.

It took her longer to realize what Wayren had meant about it being a responsibility—that it was something she must employ, must use to help people find their way from life into death. She helped ease their discomforts—pains physical and, more importantly, emotional and spiritual.

But the greatest part of her calling she didn’t learn until she was much older, when she discovered the power of the crystal and what she had to do with it.

Giving herself a little mental shake, and coming back to the present, Selena gathered up Theo’s refilled mug and a clean spoon. After a moment of thought, she added a hunk of bread studded with sunflower seeds to a small plate. He looked hungry enough. As she passed by the window, she couldn’t ignore that the sun had lowered to rest on the horizon, an infinite expanse away.

Darkness in a few hours. Night seemed to come so much more quickly lately. Too quickly.

She’d have to go out into it too. Find whatever zombies she could—or have them find her. Selena looked into the distance, toward the purple-gray jut of the mountains, the dull green of forest, and the boxy shapes of ruined buildings studding the space between. So peaceful. Now.

But soon . . . 

I could stay in tonight.

The temptation seized her, tightened like a vise on her throat. Just one night.

She could sit with her patients, she could even exchange jokingly rude comments with miraculous Theo, watch him gulp down more soup. Maybe even see if he’d give her a decent game of chess since no one else could; or if he’d try and figure out how to fix the old
DVD
player that had finally ground to a halt.

Staring at the long shadows, and at the same time watching for the hulking movements of the zombies, Selena’s shoulders tightened. She felt as if her muscles would snap at the slightest movement.

She knew she couldn’t save them all. Of course she couldn’t save them all. Just as she couldn’t ease every dying person into the next plane.

She could stay in.

But I wouldn’t, dammit.

She would’t.

Because it was her gift. And her responsibility.

When Theo battled through the dreams and dragged his eyes open, it was dark. But this time, he didn’t need a moment to recall where he was.

“Ruuu-uuuthhhh. Ruthhhhhh.”

The distant, mournful cries of the zombie-like gangas filtered through the silence, and at first he thought they’d followed him from out of his dreams. The window next to Theo was open; a fresh night breeze streamed over his clammy skin. Damp and sticky he was, from the memories of death and destruction, as vivid and horrifying now as they had been in reality fifty years ago . . . and over all the years since. He closed his eyes, trying to banish the remnants of the nightmares that clung like stubborn moss. They wouldn’t release him.

They didn’t come every night, not anymore. But often enough that he had to drag himself free, and that the nights he didn’t, he awoke grateful for a full sleep.

“Ruuuuuuuthhhh.”

The hair on his body rose when he realized the groaning monsters were the real ones, out there somewhere in the night.

Still prone, he stared out the window, able to see only the black sky twinkling with stars. In the distance, he could make out a few awkward shadows with orange eyes, lurching and lost, beyond the other side of the safe wall enclosing the area. Zombie-like gangas, searching for a man named Remington Truth.

And somewhere out there, beyond, miles away, was Envy. And Sage.

With Simon.

Theo’s mouth twisted, flattened, in the dark where there was no one to witness his weakness. His heart hurt. Emptied. Why not me?

And what now? It would be a long time until he could bear seeing her with someone else.

From beyond the gently wafting blanket walls, Theo heard soft muttering, likely a fellow patient, followed by the rustle of bedding. Someone murmured back, low and soothing, and he wondered if it was the Death Lady crooning to one of her charges. What exactly did she do besides hold their hands and offer them pot?

What a depressing job. Watching people die. His mouth flattened again.

He’d seen enough suffering and death in his lifetime; more than most people of his generation would have ever expected. And he had so often relived the tragedies in dreams and memories that he couldn’t imagine choosing to face them every single day.

And yet . . . that woman, the Death Lady, had a peaceful, accepting aura about her.

Other than her offering of a replenishment of his broth, along with a hunk of thick, dark bread, Selena hadn’t made another appearance—at least not in Theo’s carrel. But her friend, the older, plumper woman whose name was Vonnie, had come by several times before night fell and the lights were turned off. She’d helped him wash up and get comfortable, all the while chattering on about . . . well, everything. To his mind, she seemed much too light and enthusiastic to be hanging around dying people all the time—knowing there was nothing that could be done for them but watch them in pain and weakness.

Within Vonnie’s nonstop prattle, she made a point of saying more than once that never before had one of Selena’s patients recovered as Theo had, which led him to his own snarly, grumpy thoughts: So why change her track record now?

And who the hell had seen fit to resurrect me from the dead—a second time? Wasn’t once enough?

Theo sighed and stared at the ceiling. Okay, so here he was again: should have been dead; brought back to life— For what? And why me?

Hell, he’d asked these questions for the last fifty years, and hadn’t gotten an answer yet. He’d been searching for the reason he’d been transformed—or not—and the purpose. He’d been going through life since then, watching and waiting for some great event to explain it all.

But nothing. Just days and days and years and years of trying to get beyond the horror of losing everything he’d ever known, except for Lou.

Lou.

Dammit.

His twin was probably worried beyond sick. And Theo had hardly given him a thought, being dead and all.

Though it wasn’t as if he hadn’t squeaked by death before. Lou said Theo had more lives than a cat, and that had been even before the Change. And since then . . . well, only a month ago, he’d been trapped by gangas in an old shopping mall with Elliott. And that was only the most recent brush he’d had with the Grim Reaper—other than this one.