Seeker (33 page)

“I would never have gone against her,” he said again, looking at the burns along his arm as though he were just now beginning to feel them. “Am I dying, then?”

“I don’t know. The poison lives in your body permanently.” John tried to say the words gently. He adjusted his own arm, attempting to find a position that hurt less. “You’ve been getting the antidote since
long before she died.
Maggie
has been giving you the antidote. But it’s not working like it used to. I don’t know why. Now you’ve sent Maggie away, and you haven’t been getting any at all.”

Gavin looked up from his burns. John was expecting anger, but instead he saw relief flooding into the old man’s features. “I’m not crazy?” his grandfather asked. “I’m not losing my mind?”

“You’ve been burning yourself with a blowtorch, Grandfather,” John said. “I think you may be crazy. But it’s not your fault. I’m sorry.” It was strange to be the one apologizing when Gavin had just maimed him, but John could feel nothing but remorse at seeing the old man in this state of breakdown.

As John watched, paranoia began to sneak back into Gavin’s expression. The old man’s eyes went out of focus, darted about the room, and he whispered, “They’re coming after me. They’ll get rid of me.”

“No,” John told him firmly, gripping him with his good arm. “There’s no one here right now, Grandfather.
Traveler
is still yours.” He put his hand under Gavin’s chin and turned the old man’s face up to look into his own. “And I was so close. I had it in my hands.”

He glanced at his phone, sitting on the floor next to him. Then he looked again into his grandfather’s mad eyes. A harsh laugh came out involuntarily. His mother had wanted him to have Gavin for protection and stability, but his grandfather was providing just the opposite. He was another burden for John to shoulder.

“Maggie will come back here and help you,” John said. “Then I know where to go. This time, I
will
get it back.”

Time was growing longer. Quin could hear her own breath in the darkness, each inhale and exhale stretching out until they took minutes, it seemed, to complete. Eternity was all around her, like the water of the river that flowed around the estate.

Words from her oath floated into her mind, disconnected … 
the hidden ways between, rising darkly to meet me
 …

She had lost the thread of the time chant. She knew the words. They were on the tip of her tongue. Just there, just there, had been there forever …

Her breath slowly, slowly filled her lungs.
Why bother to breathe?
she wondered. It was easier to pause between breaths and hover there, letting the blackness float you away.

I will die here!
she thought suddenly. The realization was strong enough to speed her up again. Her breath went out more quickly, then in again.

Knowledge of self
. The words of the chant came back to her.
Knowledge of home
.

She forced the words to come through her mouth, out loud.

“A clear picture of where I came from, where I will go, and the speed of things between will see me safely back.”

This was
now
. If there was no time in this no-place, still she had brought her own time with her.
My mind will clear
, she told herself. And it did. With a rush of gratitude, she understood that her work as a healer had kept her mental muscles sharp.

She could feel the athame and lightning rod in her hands. There was a faint glow from the athame, just enough light for her to see its shape.

She was saying the chant again:
“Knowledge of self, knowledge of home, a clear picture of where I came from, where I will go …”

She knew where she must go. In the dim glow of the stone dagger, she turned the dials along its haft, feeling the shapes of the symbols with her fingers. These coordinates were the first her father had made her memorize, and they were burned into her mind below the level of consciousness.

“… and the speed of things between will see me safely back …”

She lifted the athame and swung it toward the lightning rod. Halfway there, it struck something else. Quin reached out in front of her, and her fingers came in contact with cloth. Wool, like they used to wear when she was a child, thick and itchy. She dug her fingers in, finding something softer underneath, maybe flesh.

She held the athame close, trying to see what she was touching in its vague light. By its size and position, she was fairly certain it was the figure of a human, as still as stone. She could not make out details, but with her hands she discovered a head and shoulders, belonging to someone much taller than she was. She felt further and grew uncertain. There were too many limbs, and they were in the wrong places …

How long had she been standing here with the figure? How many breaths had it been? Ten? A hundred? It was impossible to count, especially with her lungs moving so gradually.

“Knowledge of self.”
The words came sluggishly, like bubbles through molasses.
“Knowledge of home …”

She could not stay, or she would stay forever. She turned away from the silent figure, bringing the athame and lightning rod together. When the vibration enveloped her, she carved a new anomaly, drawing it as large as she could.

The tendrils of light and dark separated from each other, then became a solid border in front of her, creating a humming doorway. Its energy surged outward from the darkness, toward the world. There was a night sky beyond, and trees, a forest of trees.

“A clear picture of where I came from, where I will go …”
she chanted.

She turned around and moved a few paces back, feeling her way behind the strange figure. Placing her hands against it, she thrust it forward with all her strength. It was heavy and awkward, but frozen so solid she could push it as you would a statue. She shoved repeatedly, sliding it along in fits and starts toward the hole between nothingness and the world. At last, with a final push, the frozen figure reached the lip of the doorway, whose pulsing edges helped carry it through. It tumbled downward onto the forest floor, and Quin jumped out after it.

Her feet touched ground, and she stood still a moment. She was in a clearing with thick woods on all sides. The east was growing lighter. It was almost dawn here. Her breath and heartbeat were speeding up, returning her to normal.

In the moonlight, she could see more clearly the figure she had brought with her from
There
. It was not one man but three, cloaked and hooded, their arms intertwined, one clutching the second’s arm, while the second grabbed the third’s shoulders. They lay there in the
same positions in which they had stood, their legs pointing awkwardly away from the ground.

The first figure was an old man who was not familiar to her. The second she knew. Though she could not locate specific memories of him, his name came to her mind immediately:
the Big Dread
. This unlocked something else: a memory of the two Dreads, one of whom was much smaller.
A girl
, her mind told her.
I do remember her
.

The third man was Briac Kincaid.

Quin had brought her father back to the estate.

Shinobu was still sitting by the pool, staring at the spot where Quin had stepped through the anomaly and disappeared. It was painful to be in her presence, because of the memories she stirred up. Yet he could now feel the places where she’d been pushed up against him, like those parts of him were highlighted in his senses. Had she felt the same way when he’d put his arms around her to help her with the athame? Or was he still just a distant cousin, as pretty as a painting and equally untouchable? No. At least he was too dirty to be considered pretty now.

He was startled by a hand on his shoulder. His mother, Mariko MacBain, was crouched on the grass behind him, a dressing gown pulled tight around her in the slight nighttime chill.

If he had expected her to be mad at him, she was not. There was a cautious look on her face, though, like she worried that Shinobu might try to strike her. This made him ashamed.

“You came,” she said softly. “Was that Quin?”

“Did you see?” he asked her quickly. The idea that she might have seen Quin step through the anomaly bothered him. His mother had
successfully put their life on the estate behind her—he didn’t want to bring it back.

“See what?” she asked.

“Did you see her leave?”

“No. I heard her near the house a few minutes ago.” She moved closer on the grass, but not close enough to touch him. “She’s the one who saved your brother this morning. She didn’t know who I was, but I would know her anywhere. She’s gotten quite pretty, hasn’t she?”

Shinobu drew out the bag of herbs. The thick plastic had kept everything dry.

“The medicine you asked for,” he told her. “I’m very sorry about what happened to Akio, Mother.”

He could feel her eyes heavy upon him.

“ ‘Sorry’ does not repair the damage that was done, Shinobu. It was a very near thing with your brother this morning.” She still didn’t sound angry, merely exhausted. That was worse.

“I’ll go through my room, make sure there’s nothing else—”

“I’ve already done that, of course.”

“I meant to drop off the herbs without you seeing me. Please forgive my continued presence here. I should leave.”

He always became more Japanese around Mariko. There had been lectures, when he was a child, about things like manners and honor. Those lectures had meant a great deal to him, back when he’d believed his life would be full of honor.

“Perhaps you should leave. Before I become angry again. This morning I might have killed you if you’d been around.”

“I’m sorry, Mother.”

He got to his feet.

“Tell me—how did Quin get to Hong Kong?” she asked him before he could walk away.

“The same way I got here,” he replied, sinking his fists deep into his jacket pockets to stop them from shaking. He turned toward the garden gate.

“At the same time?” She was on her feet, catching up to him. She was tiny compared to Shinobu, little more than five feet tall. Her very Japanese face was turned up to look at his, her eyes piercing.

“Yes,” he answered. “We came here at the same time.”

“You never told me. I thought you escaped alone.”

“It doesn’t matter. We were never together, not really.”

“Are you helping her?”

“No—yes,” he corrected himself. He stared down at his boots, still damp and dirty. “One thing, that’s all.”

“Even when you were small, I could see something between the two of you. Your father always liked her, poor girl.”

“I’ll go now,” he said, turning away.

“You’re thinking of your father,” she called after him. “It’s all right. I think of him too, all the time. It’s what he wanted—you here with me and Akio.”

“I know, Mother. It’s what he wanted.”

“Please, Shinobu. You can … change yourself. And come back to us.” She was trying to sound firm, but he could hear the pleading in her voice.

When he had first been reunited with his mother, he’d tried to tell her about Alistair, about that last night on the estate, but he hadn’t been able to make the words come. Mariko had sensed he was trying to make a confession, and she’d told him it wasn’t necessary. She’d said his past was forgiven and they need never speak of it again.

It had felt wonderful, at first, to have that forgiveness. He hadn’t understood that it would be another matter entirely to forgive himself. Only the drug bars offered that mercy. Drugs had made him unfit to be near his family and had almost killed his little brother, but
the bars on the Bridge were the only places where he found a small measure of relief. How could he give that up?

“I’m not thinking of my father,” he lied, walking for the gate without looking back. “I’m thinking of a ghost.”

Brian Kwon was not a ghost, but he was getting close. After two hours of searching, Shinobu found him huddled on the filthy pavement behind a large waste receptacle two blocks from Queen Elizabeth Hospital, from which he had apparently run, trailing an IV tube and many half-wrapped bandages.