Ballad (24 page)

James

“Whoa. Night of the living dead,” I said as we walked across the overgrown yard in front of Brigid Hall. “Or rather, night of the living geek. I had no idea music geeks danced.”

The campus was transformed. From the yard outside Brigid, it looked like a happening party. There were tons of black-clad bodies, gyrating to some sort of pounding bass, which I could just barely make out from where we were. As we got closer, however, I realized that the thumping bass was some trendy pop band. You’d think a music school could at least have scraped up a couple of
live
musicians, even if it had to be top-forty crappola, but there was a DJ up there between the speakers. And what had looked like sexy, coordinated dancing from far away was really a sidewalk full of writhing teens with dubious coordination. Some were wearing masks and others had actually bothered to work up real costumes. But mostly, it was just a bunch of music geeks wiggling to bad music. Sort of what I would’ve expected from Halloween at Thornking-Ash.

“It’s at moments like this”—Nuala paused and watched a chubby guy walk by wearing a fake set of boobs—“that I question whether or not I really want to be human.”

I guided her away from a girl in what was supposed to be a sexy cat costume. “Me too. How are you feeling?”

“If you ask me that again, I’ll kill you, is how I’m feeling,” Nuala said mildly.

“Roger that.” I stood on my tiptoes and looked for anyone useful. Or at least anyone I recognized. It seemed like the school population had multiplied by at least five or ten while I’d had my back turned. I tried to keep my voice light. “Sullivan wanted us to meet him by the perv satyr. We should find him first, right?”

“I have no freaking clue. Why would I know?”

“Because you’ve done this before?” I suggested. She gave me a dark look. “Fine. Let’s find Sullivan.”

“Or Paul,” Nuala said quickly.

I wondered what Cernunnos had told Paul. “Or Paul.”

We shouldered through the crowd, a solid black mass in the dull orange light from the bonfires. I still stank like whatever Cernunnos’ perfume was, but despite that, I could smell a weird scent hanging over the students. Herb-ish. Sort of bitter/sweet/earthy. It reminded me of this summer and it made me wonder if some of the faces behind these masks weren’t human.

Nuala voiced what I was thinking, “Whose party is this, anyway?”

I’d figured that the faeries would be out on Halloween, but for some reason I’d thought they’d stay on their hills.

“Sullivan!” barked Nuala behind me.

And there he was, looking grimly efficient. He made a beeline straight toward us. “Where the hell have you been?” he asked pleasantly.

“We were just looking for you. Have you found Dee yet?” I replied.

“No.”

Nuala gestured around at the dancers. “Is something funny going on here?”

“Yes,” Sullivan said. “All you need to know is that the school is very much an occupied territory at the moment, and it’s only going to get worse as the night goes on.”

“And Dee?” I insisted. “What if something is happening to her tonight? What if something awful is going to happen?”

Sullivan glanced around at the dancing bodies. “Dee is somewhere with
Them
. We’re still looking for her. If you want to help, you’ll steer clear of trouble tonight so she’s the only student we have to worry about.”

He looked at Nuala. “The staff’s lighting bonfires all over the campus. To keep out the dead. Wherever you are, whenever you’re ready, there’ll be a fire nearby.”

Nuala didn’t flinch. “Thanks.”

“And James?” Sullivan was staring past us; as he turned, I saw that he was wearing a long black coat that fluttered out behind him. For a second, I remembered Cernunnos and his long black shroud; then I was back in the present moment again. Sullivan finished, “Find Paul. He’s smarter than he looks.”

The bonfire went up behind Seward. First there was the reek of gasoline, some shouts, and then flames were clawing the sky. Students—at least I thought they were students—leaped around the base of the fire, black silhouettes against the brilliant white core.

I looked at Nuala, waiting for her to—I don’t know—
scream
or something, but she just made a strange little face. Screwed up her nose. I’d have been wigging out by then if I was her, but she just looked vaguely perplexed. Like she didn’t quite agree with their method of bonfire lighting, not like she was about to throw herself willingly into one.

I shivered, though I wasn’t cold. The bonfire was big enough for me to feel the heat of it from where we stood.

“Nervous?” Nuala asked ironically.

“Just wishing your name was shorter,” I said. “Saying it seven times is going to make my mouth tired.”

“You should shut up then and save your strength.” She reached for my hand, though, as she craned her neck, looking over the crowd. “Is it just me, or are there more people here than before?”

I frowned at the crowd on the sidewalk. Not just the sidewalk, now—they were in the parking lot, on the patio, around the fountain. They were better dancers, too. What word had Sullivan used? Invasion? I couldn’t remember, but “invasion” felt right. I showed Nuala the goose bumps on my arms before tugging down the sleeves of my sweatshirt—my body warning me of the faeries surrounding us.

“And these are just the ones
I
can see,” I said. “We need to find Paul.” I wanted to ask her when she had to burn, but I didn’t want her to feel like I was rushing her. And I kind of wanted to put it off for as long as possible. I didn’t care what kind of faerie she was—being burnt alive sounded risky to me. Especially if you were making the decision to be human partway through the burning. Faerie skin suddenly turning into human skin, suddenly feeling every bit of that scorching heat, peeling away at her flesh …

I felt like throwing up.

I was only spared from hurling by Paul, making his way toward us.

“Dude,” he said. “What the hell.”

I clapped a hand on his shoulder. “That phrase applies to so many things at the moment that I’m not sure which you’re referring to in particular.”

“What are They trying to distract us from?” Paul said. “Hi Nuala. Are you privy to what’s going on here tonight? I learned that from James—do you like it?
Are you privy
?”

“It’s awesome,” Nuala replied. “I know that something is going on between Them and the dead, something to link them together. Some sort of ritual, maybe. We thought you might know something.”

I watched someone throw a chair on the bonfire. “Oh, that can’t be good. So yes, Paul, what do you know about tonight?”

Paul pointed. “Man, that guy just threw an end table on the bonfire. What the crap! I think that’s from the lobby!” He shook his head and pushed up his glasses. “I know that when we hear Cernunnos”—he said it very carefully, KER-NUNNNN-OHS, like it was an unfamiliar spice in a recipe—“sing tonight, it’s going to be bad. All the dead will come out. Well, the dead he rules.”

“The ones who aren’t in heaven and hell, yeah, we got that from his song,” Nuala said. She glanced around as a knot of students pushed past us, but no one was paying attention to us.

Paul scratched his head. “Well, I’ve discovered that these newly walking dead will be a bit—what was the word you said the other day, James? When we were talking about the Red Bull and the Doritos?”

“Peckish.”

“Yeah. That. Peckish. The dead are a bit peckish. Soooo. I guess they’re lighting all these bonfires to keep the dead out. As long as we stay in the light of one of the bonfires, we’re cool. If not, we’re snack.”

“Soul snack, sounds great,” I observed. “So a bunch of well-meaning adults built a school to protect the supernaturally aware right in the path of the walking dead. Brilliant plan. I understand the idea that those of us who hear him are bigger security risks, but seriously. The
dead?”

“I know, dude, seriously,” Paul said. “But you know, I think that it used to be that the fey—whoops, I mean
Them
”—he corrected himself as some onlookers looked up at us—“I think They used to be afraid of the dead. So in the old days, you know, the ’70s, it was a protection against Them.”

There was another shout, across campus, as another bonfire was lit. Nuala narrowed her eyes.

“This is Patrick Sullivan, one of your friendly teachers and resident advisors!” Sullivan had availed himself of a microphone and was using the massive speakers for a public service announcement. “I’d like to interrupt the music to urge everyone to stay on campus grounds! Halloween is not a good time to wander off for a make-out session in the hills, boys and girls! Remember the horror movies? Something bad
always
happens to the couple making out! Stay within view of the bonfires and have a nice evening!”

Paul and I exchanged glances.

“What I want to know, dude,” Paul said thoughtfully, “is what They’re trying to hide. Don’t you? They’re keeping all the staff and students that know anything about anything running around making sure nobody gets pixy-led by all of Them that are here dancing with us.”

“It’s something about the ritual,” Nuala insisted. “Something about linking the dead to Them.”

“But you can’t just go out into a bunch of dead spirits with the munchies to try to find out what’s going on,” I said. My stomach twisted, sick with the idea of Nuala burning, sick with the idea of Dee with the faeries, sick with the premonition of loss.

And then I heard the first strains of Cernunnos’ song.

Paul winced. “Here he comes.”

And he wasn’t alone.

Nuala

When the end comes, dark and hungry

I’ll be alone, love

When the end comes, black and starving

I’ll say good-bye, love
.

—from
Golden Tongue: The Poems of Steven Slaughter

I heard the rush of wings first. Flapping and whispering and shimmering overhead, they wheeled away from the light of the bonfire, back into the growing night. I squinted into the darkness. It was moving, shifting, reflecting the moonlight in places.

James whispered in my ear, “And to think I ever thought
you
were scary.”

I couldn’t say anything back; my words were stuck in my throat. The thorn king’s song cried out
grow rise follow
and his horrors fled before him and dragged themselves behind him. As terrifying as the unhallowed dead were, faintly visible beyond the light of the bonfire, what was worse was the cold knot of certainty that was growing in my gut. The bonfires were all lit. The dead were walking. My knees were locked to keep my weak legs from trembling. I was running out of time.

“Paul!” Sullivan shouted from near us. “Paul, I need you to tell me who’s on the list tonight! Has it changed? Come here! Hurry up!”

Paul, who’d seemed frozen by Cernunnos’ song, jerked to life. He exchanged a look with James and pushed past a group of green-clad dancers (too tall and willowy to be students) to get to Sullivan.

My legs wanted to buckle so bad; I felt light-headed. I hated to tell James that it was time. Saying it would make it real.

“Izzy,” James said, and he grabbed me clumsily under my armpits before I even realized I was falling. He lowered me to the ground with a bit more gentleness.

I’d been an idiot. I should’ve gone sooner. I was just a coward, after all. My eyes felt so heavy; I had to tilt my head back to look at James. “I love that you call me that.”

James half-closed his eyes in pain. “Don’t get all sentimental on me now. The only way I’m making it through this right now is because you’re so bad ass.”

“Grow a set,” I suggested, and he laughed weakly. “Help me up.”

He hauled on my arms, but my legs just gave out again. Nobody seemed to notice us; they were all dazzled and glamored by the faeries dancing in their midst. That was okay. I couldn’t afford to get pulled out of the fire by some well-meaning bystander.

“You’ll really need those balls,” I said, “because I think you’re going to have to carry me.”

I watched his throat move as he swallowed wordlessly and awkwardly picked me up, arms under my knees and looped around my back and armpit. I held on and resisted the temptation to bury my face into his sweater. It would’ve been nice to take his smell, pipes and leather and soap, with me, but he only stank of Cernunnos right now anyway. I was going to have to go it alone.

James silently carried me around the back of the bonfire. It was huge now, shooting forty or fifty feet into the air with toxic-looking flames from whatever upholstery was currently fueling it. On this side, the farthest away from the buildings, we were alone. Just us and the yawning darkness of the hills beyond the firelight.

Even twenty feet away from the fire, the heat of it seared my face. James didn’t so much kneel as crumple to the ground with me, and suddenly he hugged me, hard.

“Nuala,” he said. “I have the most awful feeling about this.”

My chest was bursting with the effort of keeping my heart beating. “There’s no other way,” I whispered. “Help me stand.”

“You can’t stand.”

It was desperately important that I walk into the fire under my own power. I didn’t know if it was a
real
reason, or just one of principle, but I just felt like I had to do it myself. “Get me close, then help me up.”

He carried me a few steps closer to the fire and halted.

“Now say my name back to me,” I whispered. “So I know you won’t screw it up and I won’t forget you.”

James said it into my ear. Perfectly. Then he lowered me to my feet, and I stood.

There was no time for anything else. No time to stretch my hand up to the white flames to get used to the idea. No time to worry about whether or not he would stay here with me or leave to find Dee. No time to wonder if saying my name would really work. No time to think that if it didn’t, it really would be like I was dying. Because the girl that got a new body from the flames wouldn’t be me. Not anymore.

I should’ve told James I loved him before I went. But there wasn’t time for that either.

I stumbled into the fire.