What Blood Leaves Behind (The Poison Rose) (21 page)

“But what about
her
!” William tries to pull away from me so hard he nearly knocks me off my feet. He’s losing control. “
She shouldn’t be here
.”

He succeeds in breaking my grip and sprawls back, his rear slapping the wet pavement. He points at me with his arm crooked at an odd angle and an index finger extended. It’s a strange, melodramatic gesture that reminds me of Needle with his long, tapered, micro-thin white fingers as they pointed to the body of Gideon where it lay on its slab.

Tetch is also backing away from me as William scrambles to his feet, looking like he’s about to take off in a full-tilt run back the way we came.

But at that very moment an accelerating engine shrieks from nearby. It seems impossible it could have come so close to us so soon. Headlights sweep the cross street behind us and a motorcycle roars past, the rider invisible behind the single headlight’s cool, blue-white glare.

It’s obvious the Riders could close in on us at any time. They know we’re here, on this side of the river, but maybe not yet exactly where we are. We may still have a few minutes left to reach our destination.

At that moment I realize that I’m not frightened so much as plain angry. I can feel my plans falling apart. I’ve been so determined to complete this mission that I haven’t let myself think much about what might happen if I fell into Moira’s clutches again.

And I can’t afford to start thinking about that possibility now.

“Damn it, come on,” I tell them. “We can’t go back. Run if you want to but if I don’t catch you, you know who will.”

They both know I’m right. They both know there is only one way to go. Better Needle finds us then these others.

Anger gives me a boost of strength, strength I now need to ignore the quick internal flashes of the cage dangling over the river, the cage set close to the bonfire, the dank cellar of the Orphanage. The threats Moira’s made. All the blips of instant nightmare the sound of a motorcycle revs up in my head. I curse the time I’ve wasted on our journey listening to Tetch and William bicker and waver.

The high whine of another bike’s engine intensifies from several blocks away.

William darts back to me while staring over his shoulder, backs into me, willing and wanting to touch me now, deliberately pressing his back against mine. He’s breathing hard, hyperventilating.

Tetch has turned to us from a few yards away, her face still a pale blank circle, moonlike, haloed by the hood of her sweater.

For unknown seconds none of us move. The chuffing of the motorcycle fades into another street farther on. William takes slow, deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He steps back and turns to look at me. He nods ever so slightly. We both glance at Tetch and, without another word, we continue on as a unit.

It’s impossible to pick up our pace on these streets. It’s too dark and there’s too much junk everywhere.

It takes three more long blocks to find the building we’ve been seeking. It turns out to be brick and nondescript, looking burned out and ancient. It once housed a store front with an enormous plate glass window long since smashed down to a few jagged shards. I inhale the redolence of mildew, of decomposed food, of the spore of countless animals that have visited the space over the years—wafting out from the chaos of shadows inside.

William has stopped, staring at a dented steel door in a recessed space just off the sidewalk. There is an old intercom to one side with the names of former tenants dark smudges crisscrossing a faded display.

“This is it,” he whispers, although there’s no need to explain what I’ve already guessed.

“What do we do? Bang on the door and wait for somebody to open?”

He shakes his head urgently, obviously not wanting me to raise my voice. “It’s not locked. You pull it open and go inside. It’s never locked.”

He and Tetch watch me intently, expecting me to make the first move. I reach out to the rusted door knob and give it a yank. At first the door resists but then, with an agonized cry of rusted hinges, I work it open just far enough for us to squeeze inside.

It smells so fusty indoors, moldy and stale. “This place must be as old as the Civil War,” I say softly.

I hear William’s voice coming from right behind me. “We have to go upstairs. There’s a big old staircase back here.”

We walk by pressing our hands against the wall of a narrow corridor, feeling our way back into complete darkness. I hate the feel of the mildewed wallpaper, of the dank spider webbing that rakes against my face, my hair. Our feet clatter across hard, damp-spattered marble. “This is awful. Why do they make you come here?”

“They must have wanted a space the animals couldn’t get into,” Tetch says.

“It’s hard to breathe.”

“Wait until we get upstairs,” William says.

“What do we do when we get there?”

“We drop the stuff on a table and wait for Needle. He looks through it, asks us some questions and we leave.”

“But we
need
stuff. We’re not dropping anything off.”

“Then I guess we wait to see what he says.” He’s trying to sound blasé but his voice cracks on the word “wait.”

William suddenly reaches out and I feel him fumbling for my hand. He’s trembling, his hand alive with the shakes. I’m amazed that after all our squabbling and tussling he turns to
me
for comfort. I’m tempted to toss his hand aside but I can’t. Despite all that’s happened, I can’t be that cruel to a terrified boy.

He keeps me from moving, paused in the deep darkness of this front passageway. I want to keep going. I want to get it over with. But William reminds me so much of CJ or Terry when they’re scared.

I don’t want to have to force him. I don’t want to deliberately hurt him. I don’t think I could unless he hurt me first. I picture that large crescent-shaped scar above his eye like someone had torn a strip of flesh away as easily as if they were peeling an apple.

“Do you think we’ll see her?” I hear his small voice say. His hand is squeezing mine tight, the only way it can keep still.

I shrug but realize he can’t see me. The question annoys me because it’s so pointless. “How would I know, William?” But I’m aware that the chance of seeing his old friend might just give him the courage to continue on.

“What’s she like now?” he says, undaunted. “What did she look like, when you saw her with Moira? Did she say anything? What did she act like?” He keeps his voice low but it’s insistent, pestering.

I hadn’t told him much about that night, other than the fact that she was there. Why has he waited until now to ask me all this? He must be aware of how needy, how fragile he sounds.

“I barely got a glimpse of her.”

Moira and Jendra, the visit they paid me late at night in the dorm.

For a few seconds Moira waves the beam of light at the body of the girl standing next to her. I blink hard, trying to see beyond the glare that feels like it’s been burned into my eyes. It is Jendra—the face the same shape, the hair the same color. Except that the color of her skin is different, like she’s wearing the pasty pancake makeup of a cabaret singer.

“Moira!” Jendra yelps.

I finally say to William and Tetch in the dark below Needle’s room, or wherever we are, “We’ve got to keep moving.” I ease my hand away from William’s sweaty palm.

They continue to make me lead the way even though I have no idea where I’m going. Finally the toe of my boot clumps against the riser of the first stair. I take a nervous first step up and manage to grab a handrail that still seems firmly connected on my right.

I hate this place. We’re far too vulnerable here. I feel like we’re at the dead end of a passageway in a maze.

“Are you sure?” I ask over my shoulder, intending to say,
Are you sure this isn’t a trap?
But I don’t want to put unnecessary thoughts in their heads. I know they would sell me out in a heartbeat if one of the other Black Riders were to suddenly appear, maybe having followed us in.

We stumble our way up and up each invisible step, occasionally kicking aside stray bits of debris—a box, a can, sometimes something mushy—until we reach the second floor of the building, the area above the ruined storefront I saw outside.

“Now where?”

“There’s a big opening to your left,” William whispers. There’s a bit of an ambient glow coming from inside this space, a few stray strands of moonlight finding their way through a back window. We feel our way to the room’s entrance, a large opening with a missing door.

The stench in this place is much more intense as we make our way inside. My feet crunch on what I’m sure are bones, the bones of small animals littering the floor. A thick funk of decay pervades everything. It reminds me of the many times I stumbled across a shrunken corpse in the back room of a house I thought of occupying while we were on the road.

As if she knows what I’m thinking, Tech says, “They eat them. All these animals.”

I imagine bits of fur, viscera, goo now gummed to the soles of my boots.

“What are they?”

“The animals? Dogs, cats, squirrels, rabbits, birds. Anything they can get their hands on. But they hate it. I’ve seen them, at ceremonies, biting into a squirming thing, killing it, choking it down. They try not to let us see them. They’re ashamed.”

“It’s undignified. Horrifying,” a low voice says from a far corner of the room.

Another voice, higher, closer at hand, flamboyant and assured, like that of a movie actress, says, “You wouldn’t like to see it, Gillian.” I hear mirthless laughter. The voice is so familiar my whole body tenses yet it’s also different enough from what I was expecting that I can’t quite place it.

It’s not as dark in this room, the barest amount of light pressing in through a bank of windows on the room’s far side. As I stare into the gloom directly in front of me I’m able to make out the top of a fancy wingback chair and the outline of the head of someone seated in it.

“Who are you?”
My words sound weak, feeble compared to hers.

There’s no response. There are at least two of them in the room with us. There could be more. It’s a large room, maybe a waiting room connected to what used to be a suite of offices.

The thought fills my mind—It
is
a trap. It’s so obvious now that it would be. I should have known.

But I had to try to do this for Aiden.
I had to try.

Images of new torments to come flit through my head along with the thought of how unlikely it is there will be a reprieve this time.
Drowning me, burning me, burying me alive.
I’m sure these creatures are capable of anything. Absolutely anything.

“We don’t want trouble,” William stammers into the dark. “Needle. We want to see Needle.” His voice is so pathetically small next to the easy assurance of the female who spoke.

There is no response to his words.

Then I hear the sound of a small pinwheel turning, grinding against a scratchy surface followed by a small burst of flame. The pale white hand of the figure in the chair holds up a lighter and sucks the fire into the tip of a cigarette. For just a moment I can see the ashy lower half of her face from the nose down, a sensual looking mouth with lips the color of bruised plums.

“W-what do you want from me?” I finally say, stuttering a little, intimidated despite struggling with myself not to be.

“Don’t be so paranoid, little one,” this creature says.

She’s back in shadow now, face murky, indistinct. “You remember me, don’t you?
Aisa.
” She says her name as if it’s the name of a deity.

Aisa. Yes, I remember her.

“I like you, Gillian. I really do. You are—or soon will be—useful to me.”

“Useful,” I echo.

“Not just useful but you have potential. When you…change, I hope you remember who was kind to you. Who saved you from Moira. Despite what you did to Gideon.”

The van door squeals as its wrenched open and I feel a cold rush of air. Milo kicks me out of the van and I tumble to the hard pavement outside. Even as I fall, I continue to vomit, heaving up watery residue from my empty stomach.

I hear the sound of boots clatter to the ground as the two in back jump out beside me. “Get up in the light!” Milo orders me. I feel the toe of his boot jab into my side. I think just for a moment that maybe I could get to my feet, maybe I could run. But I can’t raise myself up any higher than my hands and knees and he keeps kicking at me so I crawl forward, to the front of the van until I’m gasping and heaving in the glare of the headlights.

I think,
These are my new friends
.

Aisa says causally, conversationally, “We’ve sort of been dividing lately.”

“Like an amoeba,” the figure in the shadows behind her says and laughs with one short brutish monosyllable—
huh
—like the grunt of a dog.

She looks over her shoulder and takes a long drag on the cigarette. The smoke fills the air, wafting through the stench of decomposition. I’ve never smelled smoke like this. It’s pungent, heavy and sweet, reminding me of nutmeg and cloves.

“Yes, like an amoeba. Dividing into two tribes. Do you understand? We were one tribe but now we are two. And when you change, we want you to choose the
right
tribe.”

Moira or Aisa
, I think. Is there any difference? I can imagine both are cruel. I’m sure that if I displeased Aisa, she would want me dead just as much as Moira does now.

“Remember who saved you, Gillian. You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me.”

“Why me?” I ask.

Aisa gives me a long, appraising look. Her eyes are shadows but I’m sure she’s watching me closely. “You’re the toughest Elder I’ve ever seen. The toughest
girl
I’ve ever seen. And I don’t pay many compliments, my dear.”

I feel tugging on my sleeve, urgent, impassioned tugging. “Let’s go,” William whispers, his voice weedy and desperate. “Needle’s not here. Let’s get out—”

Then comes the sound of another engine kicking into life, this time an old blocky, sputtering, choking thing like an enormous lawnmower turning over. “It’s the generator,” I hear the male figure behind Aisa growl.