Kingdoms of the Cursed, page 2
“Errol,” she said. “You don’t need Aster or the Kingdoms. You’re cured. You don’t have to go back.”
“What does that have to do with it?” he said. “Veronica, you were better off there. We both know that. You came back here for me. And Aster, she gave up Billy to save my life, and I know she loved him. So maybe I am cured, but I have lots of reasons to go back there. And anyway, what do I have here?”
“You don’t have to fight everybody’s battles for them, Errol,” she said.
“Maybe I don’t have to,” he said. “But I want to.”
“We might be able to go back, just the two of us,” Veronica said.
“Maybe,” he said. “But I’m not half-dead anymore, and you’re not exactly what you were. Without Aster, we’d have no idea what we were walking into. Anyway—”
“I know,” she said. “We can’t abandon her. I was thinking aloud.” Veronica patted his hand. “Always Errol, aren’t you,” she said. “That’s what I love about you.”
Veronica didn’t have a heartbeat, but he did, and he felt it go funny.
“What?” he said.
“Don’t get all weird,” she said. “I love you, that’s all.”
“Oh.”
Veronica wasn’t the first girl who had told him that, but that first girl had been lying. That was a big piece of what had nearly killed him.
“It’s okay,” she said, softly. She looked behind her, at the sky. Her smile faded a little. “It’s almost dawn. I better swim out of here before I start breathing again.” She stroked his face with the tips of her fingers. “I wish I could come here in the day,” she said. “And kiss you with warm lips.”
“Warm enough for me,” he said, and leaned through the bars.
“Oh, Errol, you old sweet talker,” she said.
He remembered the first time they had kissed. Their first real kiss, lying beneath the stars in a distant and exceedingly strange land. It had been an unexpected moment of confused delight during a difficult, disorienting situation. At the time, his soul had been confined in a body of wood, steel, and ivory; he hadn’t even had lips—but he had felt hers, all the way to his timber toes.
It was even better now that he was in the flesh. Now if only she had a pulse . . .
He knew he should tell her he loved her too. But as he fought his way toward saying it, Veronica reluctantly pulled away.
“I’ll come back tomorrow night,” she said.
“Be careful,” he said, feeling like a coward, but also a little relieved. It was too hard. He could tell her next time.
“You know me,” she said.
“Yes,” he said. “That’s why I want you to be careful.”
After Veronica left, Errol couldn’t sleep. It was oppressively hot, and the mosquitos were fierce, but he was used to that. His thoughts lingered on Veronica; kissing her, the nearness of her face to his, the remembered feel of holding her against him.
Did Veronica really love him? Did she know what that meant? When they’d first met, she had been a kind of monster—a nov, the spirit of a drowned virgin. She had lured countless men to watery deaths in a forest pool for three decades, her earthly life forgotten. She had tried to do the same to him, but thanks to the fact that automatons didn’t breathe, she had failed. Aster had restored her soul and her human memories. Now, thanks to the water of health they had found in the Kingdoms, she was alive by the light of the sun, although at night her heart and breath stopped again. In the Kingdoms, she had been scary powerful and sometimes hardly seemed human at all.
So when she told Errol she loved him, what did that mean?
And there was the other thing nagging at him, the problem of Aster. He had been known her since third grade.
And Aster was crucial. It was Aster who had taken his soul when his body lay in a coma and placed it in what she called her “automaton.” Aster who had known where to look for Veronica and how to bring her back to almost-life. Aster who knew how to reach the Kingdoms, where miracles happened with alarming frequency. She had needed Veronica and him to reach the Kingdoms, to find the water of health, and cure her father’s insanity. But when they returned, she had found her father was gone, kidnapped by a woman they once believed to be their friend.
If something bad happened to Aster, he might someday get out of Laurel Grove, but he would still be stuck here, in Sowashee, in the world of his birth, the world that had taken his father and nearly killed him, too. A world that someone had once told him was the last stop for souls on their way to oblivion.
Did you see that new girl?” Robbie McElroy asked, as he cut back weeds with his hoe. Robbie was brown-haired, reed-thin, and highly talkative. He had some problems with drugs which had landed him in Laurel Grove. He was sixteen, a year younger than Errol.
“No,” he said.
“She weren’t no crow-bait,” Robbie said. “I wouldn’t mind gettin’ up with that, you know? Hey-howdy!”
“Yeah,” Errol said, only half paying attention, concentrating on the row of beans he was weeding. Laurel Grove had gardens, a dairy farm, and orchards thanks to the “idle hands” philosophy of its founders. Errol didn’t mind, although physically he was still very weak. While he was off having adventures in the Kingdoms, his body had been lying in a coma for close to three months.
Robbie kept on going about the girl, but Errol wasn’t really listening until he said something about her talking funny. Then he perked up.
“What do you mean, she talked funny?” he asked.
“She had a goofy accent,” Robbie said. “Like maybe she’s from Sweden or some place. You know, like yurgen, burgen, glurben.”
Errol stopped hoeing and sat down for a moment, listening to the whirr of cicadas and feeling the sweat run down his face. “What did she look like, this girl?” he asked.
“I done told you, man,” Robbie said. “Sort of red-headed, you know. And a funny mark on her head, like a star.”
“What was her name?”
“Didn’t catch it,” Robbie said. He grinned. “I think I’ll call her Honey Baby.”
“Was her name Aster?” Errol asked.
“Man, what did I just tell you?”
But it had to be. Who else in Sowashee would have a star-shaped birthmark on her forehead? Aster hadn’t had that when he first met her—her father had hidden it with some sort of spell. But when they were in the Kingdoms, the spell had come off. When he last saw her, she had smeared make-up over it, but you could still see it if you knew where to look.
Did they think Aster was crazy? Probably, if she tried to explain a tenth of what had happened to them. He had been very careful not to say anything at all about what he had been doing while in his coma; if he did, he would be in here for the rest of his life. What was Aster thinking?
He had to figure out some way to see her. The women stayed on the other side of the campus, but there was a social hour coming up when they could mingle, assuming she wasn’t in a hard-case room strapped into a straitjacket. They would have to watch what they said to one another. But now, at least, he knew where she was. And with Veronica’s help, they ought to be able to come up with an escape plan.
He picked up his hoe and went back to work, mind spinning out possibilities. It felt good to have a problem to work on.
Dr. Reynolds barely looked up from whatever he was reading when Errol came in. He gestured for him to take a seat in the brown, cracked leather chair in front of his desk.
After a few moments, Dr. Reynolds peered at Errol over his wire-rimmed glasses.
“How are you today, Errol?” he asked.
“I’m doing okay, sir,” Errol said.
“I’m glad to hear it.” He took his glasses off and cleaned them on his blue button-down shirt. He was frowning, which Errol did not take to be a good sign.
“Ah, Errol,” the doctor finally said. “We admitted a young lady yesterday. She has asked repeatedly to see you. Are you aware of this?”
Errol didn’t see any reason to lie.
“Robbie McElroy mentioned her, sir.”
“This young lady. Would you say you’re good friends?”
“Yes, sir,” he said. “I guess I would.”
“Would you mind telling me how you know her?”
“Well—from school,” Errol said. “I’ve known her forever. Since third grade. I mean, look, she may be acting a little weird right now, but she’s really okay.”
Now the doctor was staring at him with an even stranger expression.
“School,” he said. “You mean your school?”
“Yes, sir,” Errol said.
Doctor Reynolds paused again, then tapped his intercom button.
“Carol,” he said. “Have Sam and Mason bring the young lady from 139.”
Then he looked back up at Errol. “Errol, when you were asleep—in your coma—did you have any dreams? Do you remember anything?”
Crap. What had Aster told them?
“No, sir,” he lied. “I don’t remember anything. Just, you know—passing out, and then waking up. It was the biggest mistake of my life, sir.”
“Yes, so you’ve said,” Reynolds replied. “But I’m curious. The doctors say two young ladies were present when you awoke. One was your friend, Aster. The other, however, no one seems to have known. Nor has anyone seen her since. Little blond girl.”
“I’m not sure who you’re talking about, sir,” he said. “It was all hazy.”
“One of the nurses saw you kissing her,” he said.
“Oh,” Errol said. “Yeah. Her.”
“Would you like to change your story?”
“It was some friend of Aster’s, Dr. Reynolds,” he said. “I think maybe her mom works at the Dew Drop Inn. I guess I was just so happy to be alive I had to kiss somebody. But I don’t know her name, or anything.”
“Are you aware that Aster’s father has gone missing?” he said. “Along with one of your teachers and the school guidance counselor?”
“No, sir,” he said.
“No.” He picked up a pencil and ticked it against his desk. “Your friend Aster is in a bit of trouble,” he said. “If you know anything about this, you aren’t helping her by holding back.”
“Dr. Reynolds, I was in a coma, remember?”
Reynolds nodded.
At that moment there was a rap on the door.
“Bring her in,” Dr. Reynolds said.
Errol turned as the door swung open, wondering exactly what Aster’s game was, how he was supposed to react. Sam and Mason were there, two of the biggest, toughest orderlies in the place. Between them stood a girl with auburn hair and a star on her forehead.
But it wasn’t Aster.
“Holy crap,” he said. “Dusk!”
TWO
MERRY-GO-ROUND
When the earliest light of the sun sorted through the trees, Veronica took her first breath in many hours. It was morning dew, honeysuckle, cut grass, and the faint gassy stink of a papermill. She sat on the banks of the creek, letting her clothes dry, watching water-skaters dimple the stream, listening to cicadas whirr as the day grew warmer. It was a nice place she’d found—a gorge nestled amongst the streets and houses of the town, a little wild spot in the city.
She hadn’t known such a place existed in Sowashee—in fact she didn’t know much about town at all—or if she ever had, she had forgotten. She had grown up in the county, and in her time since returning to the world, she had stayed mostly with Aster, who also lived outside of town. When the police took Aster, they went toward Sowashee, south on 292, so she had hitched a ride in after dark in the back of a battered pick-up. She had been planning the trip anyway, to see Errol, but Aster wouldn’t let her go, so she had decided to kill two birds with one stone—see her boyfriend and find out where the police station was. She found both on a map she took from Aster’s bedroom, but decided Errol had priority. She found Laurel Grove without much trouble. After leaving the hospital, she had let the creek guide her, and it had brought her here.
Upstream, some boys were stirring the remains of a campfire back to life and checking the trotlines for the morning’s catch. They hadn’t noticed her, but the two boys skinny-dipping in a deep pool in the stream did pay mind to the little group of girls who came down the steep slope a few moments later, dashing from the water in search of clothes.
It reminded her of the place she had spent so many years, but with no Creek Man to lord over her. She nursed a brief, fond memory of her cache of bones, nestled down in the muck. She eyed the boys a little differently now, but none of them suited; they weren’t old enough, and what cruelty she smelled on them was of the ordinary sort, common to most children—nothing that deserved special treatment.
She turned her mind from that. She was different now, wasn’t she? Reformed. A nov no longer.
“Hey.”
She looked up, a little startled. It wasn’t easy to sneak up on her, but someone had, a curly-haired girl who looked about ten or eleven dressed in rolled-up jeans and yellow shirt.
“Hey yourself,” Veronica said.
“I ain’t never seen you before,” the girl said.
“I’ve never been here before,” she said. “What’s this place called?”
“Massey Canyon,” the girl said.
“It’s nice.”
“You from around here?”
“No,” Veronica said. “I’m from out of town.”
The girl nodded. She seemed like she was about to say something else, but instead she focused off past Veronica’s shoulder. Veronica turned to see why.
He was tall, sixteen or seventeen. He wore long pants but no shirt. His stomach was flat, his arms thin but corded with muscle, and his black hair hung almost to his waist. He had big, dark eyes and an olive complexion. For lack of a better word, he was beautiful.
He didn’t look exactly like he belonged with the other kids, who shied away from him a bit.
And he was staring at her in a way that made her belly go all light.
“Who is that?” she asked the girl.
“That’s the Gypsy,” she said. “He comes down here sometimes.”
The Gypsy waded into the water and took a few steps toward them.
“You,” he called.
“Yeah?” she said.
“Come here, please.”
Part of her wanted to, but the fine hairs on the back of her neck pricked up. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t a Creek Man, but he was something, and despite her earlier nostalgia, she really did not want to end up captive in some in-between place again.
“What’s the quickest way out of here?” she asked the girl.
She grinned. “You sure?”
“Yes,” Veronica said.
“Come on, then.”
The girl ran along the bank about twenty feet before starting up the side of the gorge along a well-worn rut in the red clay using tree roots as handholds. Veronica followed, fighting down a weird mixture of panic and longing.
She spared a glance back down to see if he was following her, but he was just standing in the creek, watching her leave.
“What’s your name?” he called out.
She didn’t answer. By that time, she had reached level ground. The girl had gotten ahead of her and was running; Veronica followed the flashes of yellow through the trees. A moment later, she burst from the woods onto grass.
She realized she was in someone’s backyard, and that the someone was there. She was old, with more grey than brown in her hair, hanging up laundry. The girl in the yellow shirt was no place to be seen.
“What are you doing?” the woman demanded. “Girl, you gave me a fright.”
“I’m sorry ma’am,” Veronica said. “I guess I got lost.”
The woman was looking her up and down, now, seeing the jeans and T-shirt she had borrowed from Aster, still wet and dirty from the creek.
“Looks like you’ve been lost for a couple of days. Where did you come from?”
“Down there,” Veronica said. She looked back nervously, but no one had followed her.
The woman frowned. “Down where?” she asked. “Ain’t nothing down there, at least not anymore. Used to be Massey’s Canyon, but they filled that in before you were born.”
She paused and clipped a shirt to the line.
“I’ll go on,” Veronica said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
But the woman fastened her with her gaze.
“You know, I was just thinking about Massey’s Canyon. Daydreaming, really. We used to have quite a time down there when I was a kid, especially in the summers. Kids now don’t have it good like we did back then. We used to leave at dawn and not come home until the sun went down, and nobody worried about us. Sometimes we camped and spent the whole night. Now I guess it’s just too dangerous to let your kids run around like that. It’s a pity.”
Veronica thought back to that day at the falls, her new tennis shoes, the neighbor she had trusted.
“I bet it was dangerous back then, too,” Veronica said. “People just didn’t notice as much.”
“You might be right,” the woman said. “Anyway, bless you. Have fun and stay out of trouble.”
“I’ll do my best,” Veronica said.
When Errol had last seen Dusk, she had been clad in armor and carrying a sword; now she wore the loose, light green pants and smock most of the patients dressed in when they were indoors. But no matter the costume change, Errol wasn’t likely to forget the woman who had decapitated his girlfriend and chopped off one of his legs.
Dusk smiled. “Errol?” She said. “Is that really you?”
He realized he’d gotten out of his chair and was backing up.
“Valyeme,” Dusk said. Something about her changed—the set of her shoulders, the way her clothes hung on her body.
“Doctor—” he started.
He didn’t get much further before Dusk started moving, fast. She punched Sam in the throat and kicked Mason right in the propers. Then she grabbed a nearby chair and smashed it over Mason’s head before delivering an uppercut to Sam’s chin that sent him sprawling on his back.
“Oh my God!” Dr. Reynolds sputtered, as Dusk sprinted toward him. He fumbled at his desk drawer, but whatever was in there he never got out. Dusk dropped him with an elbow and then kicked him a couple of times after he fell. She bent over and came up with a chain of keys.
