Tomorrow Wendell (White Dragon Black) (33 page)

It was seeing the fat tail feather of a turkey that gave him the answer.

Feather in hand, he entered the room and did a quick double check. They hadn’t attacked again—yet. Probably hadn’t expected this much resistance in the first place.

He forced himself not to think about what he’d done to the one monkey man. It was something he had always sworn he’d never cast. Capping his guilt, Jonathan dipped the feather into the red liquid remains of creature he’d melted.

Wendell had cleared enough space.

“Okay, good enough. Sit back down and rest your head.”

Jonathan crouched and saw his gun.

“Here, hold this, would you?”

Jonathan began painting the symbol that had already once saved Wendell, around and under the chair. He had to go back to freshen the feather twice.

When he was done, he looked to Wendell.

The bleeding had stopped. The wound wasn’t even as bad as Jonathan feared. A nasty gash, but no bigger than an inch and a half, lay at the center of a wicked goose egg. It had just bled spectacularly as head wounds tend to do.

Once he knew Wendell would live, Jonathan took the further step of painting the symbol on the floor at the front door, but he thought it unnecessary. The sounds, their shrieks, howls, and the thudding, had stopped.

The next second Wendell was pointing his own gun at him.

Jonathan couldn’t figure out what had gotten into the man until he saw the panic in Wendell’s eyes.

Dropping like a sack of potatoes, he hit the floor with a grunt of pain.

A shot rang out.

Jonathan rolled onto his back and saw one of the creatures look down at the hole in its chest.

Even as he registered it, there was a crack, like thunder, and a good portion of the top of the creature’s head was missing. Jonathan rolled to get out of the way of the body as it toppled to the ground.

“Thanks!” Jonathan wheezed, lying on his back and panting. His brain said to get up—his body told it to go to hell.

“You realize I was aiming for its face, both times—right?” Wendell admitted, holding the weapon as though it were a rotten fish.

“You hit it and not me. That’s about all I ever ask for.”

Jonathan thought about getting up again and realized he was good where he was. “You doing all right?” he asked.

“I’m feeling all right,” Wendell said with an odd chuckle.

“I’m not feeling too good myself.”

“How much more of this do we have to put up with?”

“If you’re talking creatures trashing the place while trying to get at you, by the gods, I hope not much more. I hurt. If you’re talking time,” Jonathan glanced to the clock, “only another hour and forty minutes ’til midnight, but I’m keeping you in until twelve-thirty, just to be overly cautious.”

“Two hours. We can do that, right? Two hours?”

“We’ve made it this long. I think another two hours we can do,” Jonathan said, and resisted the urge to laugh hysterically.

“At least they don’t smell as bad as the Sluagh did,” Wendell said, and Jonathan gave in and brayed despite his ribs.

J
onathan finally made it into his chair, and the two of them waited out the last two hours. The expectation of another attack made them both tense. They masked it by reliving the encounters they had already survived.

The clock finally pulled its long arm up, pointing straight at the ceiling with the shorter one in front. Jonathan had been staring at it, and nothing else, for seven minutes by this point.

He gave a sigh of relief and announced the time.

“Whew,” Wendell leaned his head back. “For a while there, I had actually started to doubt that time was moving forward at all.”

“Well, you’re not going anywhere for another half hour, but I think you can probably safely leave the circle now. Why don’t you carry that chair over here, and we can toast surviving the last twenty-four hours?”

“Throw in another of those cigars, and you’ve got a deal.”

“You know smoking isn’t good for your health,” Jonathan joked as he grabbed one of the cigars from the humidor.

He’d have to pick up more, but he had one left, should he have need of it. If Wendell wanted to celebrate with the other, Jonathan wasn’t going to stop him.

“Yeah, I’ll quit again tomorrow. Back to healthy living and all that, but until that day dawns, I think I’ll live it up, see?” Wendell said as he placed the chair beside the desk.

Jonathan clipped the end of the cigar and passed it to Wendell with the lighter. While Wendell puffed on the cigar, making sure it was smoldering well, Jonathan took out a cigarette and popped it into his own mouth.

Because he was feeling cocky, and because the need was still tearing through his body like a hyena on a dying man’s chest, Jonathan caused the tip of the cigarette to flash into a flame lasting just long enough for him to inhale.

He poured three fingers worth of bourbon into both his glass and Wendell’s mug. This finished the bottle, and Jonathan dropped it off the side of his desk as he always did.

It landed with a clank, clatter, and thud. Jonathan chuckled, remembering that he hadn’t righted the wastebasket yet. He shrugged and, lifting up his glass towards his client, said, “To new days.”

“To new days,” Wendell echoed as they clinked the edges of their vessels together.

“So, another few minutes. Want to use the closet one last time for nostalgia’s sake?” Jonathan offered. “You know, something to remember all this by?”

“I think I’m good,” Wendell replied in mock seriousness. “As for remembering, Jonathan, I’ll never forget what you did for me.”

“I still want to figure out who or what was behind it.”

“I don’t know,” Wendell said, shaking his head slowly. “I’m starting to feel that the old adage of let sleeping dogs lie might be best.”

“I can understand that.” For Jonathan, that meant he would carry out any further inquiries as delicately as possible. He wouldn’t want Wendell to be disturbed by them.

Still, if Wendell’s left alone now, perhaps it is best not to poke the slumbering bear
.

He enjoyed the smoke and drink as if they were the first of the night.

Wendell had transformed into a version of himself completely different than anything Jonathan had previously seen.

A smile, small but unmistakable, stayed on his lips, and his eyes had a depth that brimmed with life. His body language was dynamic. No longer jittery and pulled in, instead relaxed and open.

Jonathan knew that part of this was the reprieve they had earned on his sentence. However, Wendell had started living a new life now—one with magic and mystery.

After what he’d experienced and seen over the last couple of days, things would always be different for him.

And then Jonathan looked up and it was thirty minutes past midnight.

“Well, that’s it, my friend. Grab your coat, and let’s get out from between these four walls.”

Wendell rose, threw back the last of his drink, and drew in a deep breath. “Well, that’s a recommendation I can’t refuse.”

They put on their coats and Jonathan led the way.

He took the elevator for the simple reason that he doubted he could take the stairs with the way his body felt.

“So, what do you say to some hot food and coffee over at The Lucky Monkey?”

“Actually, if it’s all the same, I’m really looking forward to getting home, taking a hot shower, and collapsing on my bed,” Wendell replied as the elevator door slid open.

Jonathan nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Although he had been looking forward to the two of them having a celebratory feast, it wasn’t as if he couldn’t understand Wendell’s desire.

“Might just do the same myself, now that you mention it.”

“Great,” Wendell sighed. “Maybe later, in a few days, say, we can get together and catch up over a meal?”

Jonathan held open the front door and then followed Wendell into the bitter cold air. The street lights cast amber pools on the thin layer of snow which lay on the ground. It was just deep enough to squeak annoyingly with every footfall.

“I know there is still a lot I’m going to have to learn about all the other stuff. I’d like to think I can call you a friend and, you know, have someone I can call when things get weird.”

“Or dangerous?”

“God, I hope not,” Wendell laughed. “Think I’ve had my fill of that, see?”

Jonathan clapped him on the back. “I’d like that Wendell.” Then, steadying the tall man as he suddenly leaned backwards, he asked, “Are you good to drive?”

“Yeah, just there’s a layer of ice under the snow; nearly slipped.”

“You’re sure?” Jonathan pressed.

“Absolutely.”

“Well, I’ll walk you to your car.”

“It’s just down by the corner there,” Wendell said, pointing along the empty street.

The two of them walked like old men, careful not to fall on the ice.

As they passed along the front of Jonathan’s building, both of them looked up, searching for signs of the assaults they had repulsed.

“Kind of hard to believe from out here,” Wendell commented.

“Yeah.” Jonathan returned his eyes to the sidewalk. “You’ll get used to that sort of dichotomy. That’s how it all stays, just the stuff of movies and campfire tales to the masses. People forget, rationalize, and it’s almost as if the universe itself does all it can to ignore the ways its supposed laws are broken and bent.”

They had walked to where Wendell’s car was parked, only one space in from the corner. The only other car parked on the street was Jonathan’s, down in front of the door to the office building.

They walked out into the street and Wendell unlocked his door, but before opening it, he turned back to face Jonathan.

“I’ll give you a call once I’ve caught up on my sleep.”

“You do that, Wendell,” Jonathan said and clasped the man’s hand in his own.

He saw headlights sweep into view from the corner of his eye and stepped a bit closer to Wendell. He wanted to allow the vehicle plenty of space to pass.

Wendell, however, planted both of his hands on Jonathan’s chest and, with all his strength, shoved him away.

Jonathan yelled out in surprise. Stumbling backwards, he lost his balance.

He ended up sprawling into the middle of the street. Jonathan craned his head up in a desperate attempt to keep it from being cracked open on the asphalt, even as his shoulders bounced off the slick road. His torso clenched in a hot fist of pain.

He was gliding over the pavement. Sliding on the black ice.

Sliding like the minivan, which, even as his eyes came to focus on it, crashed its front corner against the sedan door . . .

. . . crushing Wendell like a nutcracker.

Jonathan howled in rage and denial as the last bloody breath was forced from Wendell’s mouth.

Jonathan tried to rise. The ice under him mocked his efforts.

From far away, a horn sounded, and a voice began screaming. The person repeatedly cursed the very night.

Jonathan was hauled to his feet by strong arms on either side.

As he yelled in pain, he realized it had been him cursing the gods.

He heard his name and came to understand that Bao and Quan had helped him up.

Eventually, it registered that Quan was asking if he was all right. Jonathan nodded without taking his eyes from the long torso draped over the steaming, crumpled hood of the minivan.

Despite his silent assurance that he was unhurt, neither man released their hold on his arms. Jonathan wasn’t struggling. He knew there was nothing he could do.

Wendell was gone.

After everything, it was as simple as a car accident. “But it was after twelve. It was a new day,” he declared with bitter vehemence.

Cautiously, Quan said, “It’s not twelve yet, Mr. Alvey.”

“Yes! We waited,” Jonathan insisted. “Waited till almost one.”

“Mr. Alvey, it’s just midnight now—look.” Quan lifted his wrist.

Reluctantly, as though looking away would somehow rule out any chance of a miracle happening, Jonathan looked at the numbers digitally displayed on the watch.

According to the timepiece, it was just one past twelve.

“But . . .” Jonathan began. Then again he insisted, “It was after. It was after one.”

Then Jonathan understood, even as Quan told him the truth.

“Time changed, Mr. Alvey. Yesterday night—time went back.”

Jonathan remembered Wendell coming into his office complaining that his watch wasn’t working. His own clock had to be turned manually, but Wendell’s, Jonathan understood now, would have automatically reset itself.

He nodded and said he could stand by himself.

As though letting go of a child riding his bike for the first time without training wheels, the two men slowly withdrew their hands.

Sirens were already drawing close.

He heard a voice talking and realized someone from the restaurant must have come out after Bao and Quan to tend to the driver of the minivan.

They were talking the young man out of getting out of the van, instructing him to wait for the paramedics. An airbag held him against the seat. Despite this, he had managed to get a gash on his forehead.

Jonathan wanted to feel anger toward the man.