Grim (9 page)

“What have you gotten yourself into, Jeremy?”

“Please, Gabriel,” said Jeremiah. “I can't explain. I just need to know if you'll do it. For me.”

“I can't,” Gabriel said. “You know that I can't.” He looked openly upset about that inability, his face pleading for his little brother to understand.

“Gabriel —”

“No, Jeremiah,” said the crown prince, more firmly this time. “It's too dangerous. For them and for us.”

“Just for a few days.”

“Not even for a few hours. I can't condone it, Jeremiah. I'm sorry.”

Jeremiah stared at the carpet under his feet. Handwoven and ocean colored, it had a delicate pattern of swirling flowers and berry-laden plants. “But you will condone Michael following me into the outer realm.”

“Jeremy —”

“You'll condone him hunting me like a dog until I have nowhere to run.”

“Jeremy, please —”

“He's going to kill me, Gabriel. I hope you realize that. I hope you realize that it isn't fun and games anymore, if it ever really was.”

Gabriel rose sharply to his feet, but Jeremiah had already put up a hand to calm him.

“That's all, Brother,” he said. “That's all. I'm sorry to have wasted your time.”

He pivoted on his heel and walked through the door before Gabriel could say anything else.

Shawn rinsed off his toothbrush and looked back in the mirror. His skin was swollen from lack of sleep, and his mouth was pinched thin with stress. He looked old and way too much like his father.

In the basement, the washing machine rumbled, and Shawn could hear the whir and clatter of it through the pipes along the wall. Rebecca would be down there, folding clothes and still seething over the morning slipup. She was terrible about holding grudges.

A knock rattled the door.

“Yeah?”

“Good night, Shawn.”

“Night, Meg. I'll be just a minute.”

“It's okay.”

“No, don't worry. Find a book while you're waiting.”

“Okay.”

Shawn rinsed his hands and flicked the toothbrush dry before putting it away. In the basement, the washer shuddered to a stop.

“Shawn?”

“What, Becca?” He opened the door and saw his sister walking down the hall in slippers and a robe, her arms full with a basket of clean laundry.

“Will you run down and check to make sure the lights are all off?”

“Sure. Do you want me to put the wash in the dryer?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Would you check on Meg, then?”

Rebecca pushed open Megan's door with her hip and walked inside, all smiles. It was nice not to fight, even if they were both just pretending.

 

Jeremiah waited patiently in the Stripling family living room, his hands in his jacket pockets, his head tipped back against the wall.

He heard Shawn coming down the steps, and glanced at the hallway when the light flipped on. Gold light spilled over the living-room carpet, just inches from his own feet. He waited for what felt like a long time before the lights went out again and Shawn's footsteps receded up the stairs. Megan's door clicked into place and then there was silence.

Jeremiah walked over to the bay windows and flipped out the blade of his pocketknife. It glinted in the moonlight as he brushed the trailing hem of the curtains. There was a space heater perched on the window seat. The report would say that it had been an accident.

How else to keep three children unconscious but safe while he granted Erika's last wish? Jeremiah hoped that she would never ask what he'd done to bring her children into Limbo, because he feared telling the truth. He feared, also, how difficult it was for him to keep things to himself while around her. Hated the armor he put on to keep her distant. There were so many things that he wanted to tell her, so many times that he wanted to comfort her. So many reasons that he knew he never could.

A stream of fire traveled up the edge of the curtains, too small to make much smoke yet. It crept along one of the pillows and then up to the wooden shutters, where it licked at the whitewash paint as if unsure of what to do next. Jeremiah turned away and tapped the knife against the knob of the front door. He waited for the
click
of the lock and then stepped out into the pitch-colored night. Behind him, the fire in the living room twinkled yellow and white, like an early-up Christmas tree.

 

Rebecca slipped off her earphones and sat up in bed. She reached for the cell phone on her nightstand as she sniffed the air.

The line clicked as Shawn answered. “Rebecca?”

“Hey,” she said. “Do you smell smoke?”

“Why are you
calling
me? I'm twenty feet away.”

“Seriously, Shawn. Did you leave something in the oven?”

“What? No.”

“Go check the hall.”

“I'm hanging up now.”

“I'm not kidding! Shawn, go downstairs and — Shawn?” She looked at the display and frowned at the “call ended” message. “Bastard.” Rebecca tucked her earbuds back into place and settled into her nest of pillows.

Her bedroom door crashed open.

“We need to get out,” Shawn said, smoke curling in around his shoulders.

“What's going on?”

“There's a fire, Becca, come
on
!”

Rebecca shot out of bed and followed her brother to the stairs, Megan running along between them. The smoke smudged the hallway into a dark blur. Shawn sprinted to the front door and tried the handle. When it wouldn't open, he tugged harder, bracing his shoulder against the frame.

“It's stuck!”

They ran into the kitchen, where he tried to pry open the back door, but it also refused to budge. Megan stood hand in hand with Rebecca, but her grip began to slacken. Rebecca scooped her up and tried to keep her conscious.

“Meg, honey, please listen to me, okay? Meg? Shawn,
hurry up
.”

He coughed hard into the collar of his shirt.

“Take her upstairs.”

“Smoke
rises
, dipshit!”

“Then why are you
fucking holding her
?”

She dropped to her knees, pressing Megan's face against her chest.
“Break a window.”

He grabbed a lamp from the sitting room and hurled it at the window over the breakfast table. The ceramic base shattered against the glass pane. Shawn stared at the pieces for a moment, speechless and horrified.

“Dammit, Shawn, can't you do
anything
?” Rebecca lay Megan on the floor and jumped up. She lifted one of the chairs and slammed its legs into the glass. Nothing happened. She thrust it again. Nothing. The chair spun and crashed into the refrigerator as Rebecca flung it aside.

Shawn grabbed her arm. “Don't panic,” he said, sounding panicked himself. “Call Matt.”

“I don't have my phone.”

“Well,
get
it.”

Rebecca skidded down the tile of the hallway and almost slammed into the banister when she turned and headed up the stairs. Her throat burned as she took a breath. She winced with each dragging cough and her eyes, stinging with smoke, squeezed out fresh tears. She found her cell phone and squinted down at the blue-white screen as her list of contacts scrolled past. A crash rocked up from downstairs as something heavy struck the back window, then a clatter as it hit the floor. Shawn let out a frustrated yell.

Then Rebecca heard Megan's voice, weak but high-pitched, from the front hall. “It's on the stairs, Becky! On the carpet!”

Rebecca stumbled out of her room. The hallway glowed orange and gray.

“Becky! Come back!”

She tried to yell for Shawn to grab Megan, but when she opened her mouth, a massive cough ripped through her. She doubled over.

Shawn's voice flew up the stairs. “Megan,
no
. Megan, come
back
.”

“But, Becky —”

Then soft, almost a whisper: “Beck?”

Rebecca looked down, half surprised to see her cell phone clutched in her hand. She brought it to her mouth, but no words came out. She could only cough.

Matt's voice drifted through the speaker. “Beck, are you there?” He sounded frightened and very far away.

Rebecca took a step back and tripped. The phone bounced out of her hand.

Beneath the hungry crackle of the fire, the house fell silent.

Jeremiah waited for the children's voices to fade away before he broke the seal and walked off down the street. He needed to hail a cab and get to the nearest hospital. Soon the boys would be picking up his trail.

Erika sat chewing her thumbnails on the bottom steps of the grand staircase. She'd started to regret asking Jeremiah to do anything. The longer he was gone, the less she trusted him.

Kala perched in her cage a few feet away, perfectly silent and perfectly still, more like a toy than a real bird. Her beak was settled against her breast, as usual, so that Erika saw only a hunched back and a silver tail.

There were noises outside from the gardener packing away his tools for the night. Dusk drifted through the city, and Erika, for some reason, kept expecting the call of nightingales. Instead, she heard the awkward trudge of the gardener's boots, and then other, cleaner footsteps coming up the walk. A cold breeze hissed through the open windows.

Erika got to her feet and walked to the front door, trying to step lightly on the cold marble floor. Her breath caught high in her throat as she pressed her ear against the heavy wood, wondering where the footsteps had gone.

“Well, are you going to let us in?”

She jumped.

“You're being rude, Uri.” The second voice sounded smoother, softer. Velvet.

Erika stepped away from the door.

“Who are you?” she asked, struggling to sound poised.

“The quality,” said the first voice. “Is our charming brother home?”

She opened the door a sliver.

“Your brother?”

The two men from that morning stood on the top step in their fresh-pressed suits. The shorter of the two had gray eyes and blond curls cropped close in a cap around his head. A sharpness to his jaw suggested a career military, and indeed he wore his scarlet cloak pinned at the shoulder, like a Roman commander.

The other man was tall and slim, his black hair tied out of his face.

“Little Jeremy,” said the first. He looked Erika up and down in the glimmer of light that spilled through the cracked door. “I thought I felt a human,” he said. “Though at least you're pretty for one.”

“And you are?”

“Uriel.”

“And Selaph,” said the taller brother.

“Would you let us in?” Uriel asked, his voice more gentle now that he wanted something. “We have news for Jeremiah. He's been gone for so long.”

“I don't think —”

“We can entertain you until he arrives, love. You must be bored to death.” Uriel smirked. “You'd think Jeremiah would be more accommodating, considering his background, but he always was a poor host. Please?”

Despite her better judgment, Erika pulled open the door and showed the brothers in. Selaph hung back near the entrance. His eyes, the darkest Erika had ever seen, searched the room with a single, sweeping glance. Uriel strode over to look at Kala.

“So this is where he keeps her now, for all the world to see. Clever boy.” He turned to Erika. “That's a lovely necklace.”

Her hand went to her neck.

“From my kids,” she said.

“How sweet.” Uriel cleared his throat. “And how are you liking our brother?”

“He's been very good to me.”

“Has he? That's unlike him.”

“He's never mentioned you.”

Uriel smiled and seemed to warm to her. “A little more expected. We aren't on the best of terms. He can be very trite. He was an accident, I'm afraid.”

“That's a terrible thing to say.”

“It's true. His mother was never a favorite. He's had a time of it. Hasn't he, Selaph?”

He turned to his brother, who was straightening his jacket.

“I can't blame him,” Selaph said.

Uriel shrugged. “Well,
I
can,” he countered. “And why not? We've never held it against him.”

“Father has.”

“And who is your father?” Erika asked.

Uriel's eyebrows rose. “He hasn't told you? Then we'll have to keep it confidential.”

“Between blood,” Selaph said thoughtfully.

“Do
you
have blood, then?”

“Oh, hell,” Uriel groaned. “Don't tell me that he did that to you as well? So dramatic. He gets it from his mother.” He took a silver pocket watch from his vest and checked it. “I'm very sorry, dear. I was sure that little Jeremy would be back before curfew. He's a bad example.”

“Curfew?”

“To keep the city in check,” Uriel said. “We wouldn't want anyone wandering about at midnight, now would we? It's the witching hour.” When Erika didn't answer, he gave her a small, deprecating smile. “Tell Jeremiah that Selaph and Uri leave their love.”

Selaph opened the door, signaling that they had finished.

“My name's Erika,” she said, coming forward a step as the brothers headed for the porch. Uriel kept walking, but Selaph turned back, one palm on the handle, and on his face a smile small enough to get lost.

“Erika Stripling,” she whispered. She didn't know why. Maybe she just wanted a place in this world that barely seemed to tolerate her.

“Nice to meet you, Erika Stripling,” Selaph said, also in a hush. “Welcome to the Kingdom.” He stepped out into the night and drew the door quietly after him.

 

Shawn came to in the soft dark of dusk with a touch of ice in his lungs and a prickle running over his arms. He sucked in a deep breath and was startled by campsite memories of wintered earth and cold air. He picked himself up, wiped off his face, and looked around.

There were trees. A low blanket of mist hung around the totem trunks, everything a wash of gray in the twilight. Shawn fell back onto his knees, his head spinning.

“Shawn?”

He saw Rebecca emerge from the bed of fog a few feet away. He lifted his hand, but couldn't bring himself to say anything.

Rebecca's voice was strained. “Where's Megan?”

An image flashed through Shawn's mind — a glimpse of his little sister stumbling toward a bonfire on the stairs. His heart thudded as he looked around.

There she lay, asleep beside the trunk of a thin aspen tree. He scooped her up and rested her cheek against his shoulder. Her skin was smudged with ashes, but he could feel her breath against his neck. He sighed, relieved.

“She's here,” he said.

Rebecca came up behind him. “Where's
here
?” she hissed. “Where the hell are we?”

“I … don't know.”

Shawn looked down at his arms, and at the back of Megan's blue pajamas. His lungs were sore from smoke and the smell of fire.

“Did we get kidnapped?” Rebecca hissed. “Dumped somewhere?”

“I don't know.”

“Oh my God. We did.” Rebecca dropped to her knees and covered her face with her own ash-blackened hands. “Why is all of this happening? Oh my
God
.” She was breathing hard.

Megan scrunched up her nose and blinked at the dark.

“Mommy?”

“No, Meg,” Shawn said. “It's just me and Becca. You want to stand?”

“Okay.”

Shawn knelt down to put Megan on her feet. Once she'd moved away, he turned to grab hold of his older sister. “For God's sake, control yourself.”

She gaped at him, indignant, even as she tried to brush away her tears. “Don't you tell me what to do, Shawn.”

His fingers tightened around her shoulders. “Are you trying to say that this is my fault?”

“Well, it's not
mine
.”

“Nothing is ever
your
fault, is it? Wake up, Becca.”

“Are we dead?” Meg asked.

Shawn and Rebecca turned to look at her at the same time.

“No, Meg,” said her sister. “Why would you think that?”

“The fire,” Megan said simply. “Is this heaven?”

“God, I hope not,” said Rebecca. Shawn threw an angry look at his older sister.

Megan looked at the two of them, expectant. “Where are we, then?”

Shawn faltered. “We're … We're …”

The look on Megan's face made Rebecca pull herself together. “We're on an adventure, honey,” she said quietly, and held out her hand as she pushed herself up. Shawn watched the transformation but didn't comment.

“I don't want to go on an adventure,” Megan said. “I want to know what happened.” Despite herself, she had to stifle a yawn.

“I know, Meg,” Rebecca told her. “So do I. But let's find a place to sleep first.”

Shawn watched his sisters stumble off through the woods and resigned himself to following along behind. He too wanted to know what had happened. He noticed that Rebecca's hands trembled as she ran her fingers through her hair and looked down at their little sister, and he realized how hard she was trying — how hard they were both trying — to be calm for Megan. He took a deep breath. The air felt clean and almost astringent, but the warm musk of smoke still gripped his clothes.

Once, when he was six or seven, his mother had gotten angry enough to hurl a vase of flowers through the back window. The vase had shattered on the patio in a spray of cobalt glass and gerbera daisies, and the hole had stayed in the window for almost a month before she found the time and money to replace it. Shawn looked at Megan's and Rebecca's clasped hands, both gray with ash, and thought about the heavy clatter of the microwave as it bounced back from the window and hit the breakfast table. One metal corner had dented, as if smashed against a brick wall.

Now they were God knew where. Maybe Megan was right — maybe they
were
dead. Maybe they would find their mother, then. Shawn's mind raced and he wondered if he wasn't coming unhinged. Then his stomach dropped and he thought about his dreams, and about how desperately his mother wanted to come home. Being dead wasn't the same as being safe. He sped up to close the gap between himself and his sisters.

 

Erika still waited on the bottom step of the main staircase, though this time, her nerves had doubled. She smoothed the skirt of her dress, crumpled it, and smoothed it again, trying to keep her mind away from her children before the thoughts made her sick. She felt as flighty as if she'd eaten too much sugar.

When Martha passed from one side of the entry hall to another, carrying bundles of wash or dust rags for cleaning, Erika opened her mouth as if to speak, but she never built up the courage to actually do so. Instead, Martha did all the talking. “He's late, miss,” she would say after one pass-through. “It's after curfew.” “He'll be back soon, miss.” None of it calmed Erika, though it was intended to.

When the lock of the front doors finally clicked, Erika flew up from her perch. It was Martha, however, who appeared in the blink of an eye to open the door for Jeremiah and take his coat and hat.

“Send for my brother,” he said quietly as he slipped off his gloves. Martha didn't need to ask which one or why now. She could tell from his face that he had already thought it through.

Erika took a few steps forward, looking uncertain, and steadied herself on Kala's cage before Jeremiah noticed her. He faltered, and then collected himself.

“You're awake,” he told her.

“I am.”

He asked nothing else, but instead gave her a one-armed hug, still looking a little thrown, and led her into a parlor at the back of the house.

Erika realized that her children were not with him, and fell silent until they had stepped into the low light of the parlor. Then Jeremiah dropped his arm and walked away from her, over to a bronze log holder beside the fireplace.

“How are they?” Erika whispered. “
Where
are they?”

The dying coals blazed as Jeremiah tossed handfuls of kindling into the hearth. When he turned around, Erika was still on her feet.

He pointed to one of the armchairs. “Sit. Please.” He took a seat himself and slumped forward to stretch the tension out of his shoulders and back. When he was comfortable, he settled against the pillows of the couch and concentrated on Erika. “They've come,” he said. “But that's only half the battle. There are issues with bringing them any farther than where they've ended up. There are rules to break. Rules that I have no authority over.”

“You
are
trying?”

“Of course I'm trying.” Jeremiah shaded his eyes against the firelight. The logs he'd added were beginning to catch. “I'd do anything for you, Erika.”