Kelly Mendig - Three Days to Dead

He stopped behind an idling Honda. Opposing traffic flowed across the bridge while we waited to make a left turn. He shifted his upper body to face me more directly. I didn’t see the expected surprise—only sadness. “Why so short?”

“Like I said, the magic is unstable.” I chewed on my lower lip. “Anytime magic is used, it upsets the natural balance of things. Usually it’s self-correcting, but this is different. I died three days ago because I was meant to die. It was my time, no matter what Tovin said.”

“Who’s Tovin?” Alex asked.

I waved one hand in the air. “Never mind, because that’s not the point. It happened because it was supposed to happen, but when Wyatt brought me back, it upset the balance. Everything I do, everyone I interact with, is affected by my presence. There are consequences, and they compound with every extra hour I’m alive.”

“What sort of consequences?”

A car honked. The Honda had made its left. Alex hit the gas. We shot forward and barely managed our turn before the light changed back to red. Up onto the bridge, and toward the heart of downtown and Mercy’s Lot.

“What sort of consequences, Evy?”

“You, Alex. You should be busy planning a funeral right now, and while that’s depressing and terrible, it’s a far cry from being on a Triad hit list. You never would have been dragged into this if I’d stayed dead.”

“So what happens when your time limit is up? What happens at four o’clock, the day after tomorrow?”

“You get to bury Chalice. And I go back to being dead. Heaven or Hell or limbo, I don’t know, but I go back and the world turns without me.”

“Wyatt?”

A chill wormed down my spine. “He made a freewill deal with an Elder.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means that when I die again, Wyatt loses his free will to an elf named Tovin.”

“I still don’t—”

“In some ways, he’ll be no better than dead. Does that simplify it? Imagine losing your ability to make decisions; to take a piss without permission; to fucking love someone.”

Alex had paled considerably during my mini rant. “For how long?”

“Forever. There’s no statute of limitations on this particular brand of magic bargain.”

On the other side of the bridge, I directed him to go south. The background static, all but gone while in Parkside East, tickled the back of my mind. I concentrated on it, somehow comforted by its presence. Like an invisible security blanket.

We managed three more blocks before Alex spoke again. “You said you lost part of your memory, right?” he asked.

“The final three days of my life, yes.”

“Have you tried hypnosis?”

“Are you serious?”

“Chalice believed in it.”

“I’m not her.”

He flinched. I regretted the barb. I wasn’t Chalice, but I didn’t have to be insensitive to his suggestions. I believed that all manner of creatures roamed the earth and that we were on the brink of a species apocalypse, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe in something as small as hypnosis? Tragic.

“Have you ever seen it work?” I asked.

“At a carnival once.”

I snorted. “Not exactly a ringing endorsement.”

“What have you got to lose?”

Respect? I bit my tongue. Being around Alex encouraged me to curb the more serious side of my sarcastic nature. It was as inexplicable as it was annoying. But he seemed so gentle—pain-induced cussing aside—that I hesitated to bring out the big guns.

“This isn’t a crystal ball psychic, right?” I asked. “Just a hypnotist?”

“Sure, yeah. How about your shrink?”

“My what?”

“Sorry, Chalice’s therapist. She was going to counseling for a while. She never told me what for, and I was too self-absorbed to ask, but the lithium prescription kind of gave it away.”

Depression. Yikes. But the shrink gave me an in that—

Shit. The gremlins. “I don’t think that will work.”

“Why not?”

I explained. He pulled his lips into a taut grimace. I patted his knee. “Sorry you asked?”

“A little bit, but even if there’s no record of her being a patient, the doctor will remember her.”

“Yeah, but we don’t have time to make an appointment. I’ve only got two days. I like the idea, but let’s table it for a while. I need to concentrate.”

“On Wyatt?”

Was I wearing a sign? “Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Evy. He’s important to you.” Jealousy dripped from his words. His brain still had a difficult time distinguishing me (Evy) from the body that I inhabited. The befuddlement tempted me to just ditch him at the next block, but that was a death sentence. As soon as Tully and Wormer were found, Alex Forrester would be a wanted man.

Just like me.

But he was correct—Wyatt was important to me, and not just because of the investigation or our past. My resurrection bound me to him in a way I still didn’t understand. Since the moment he entered that burger joint, I had missed him. Physically missed his presence, like an amputee misses a leg or an arm. He was gone, and I was incomplete.

“He’s more than that,” I said.

“I figured.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He looked straight ahead, eyes on the traffic in front of him. “I’ve heard women talk about guys like that, with that tone.”

“We have a tone?”

“Forget it.”

“Oh no.” I turned sideways in the seat, giving my full attention, and he squirmed. “What tone?”

“You’re like a dog with a bone, that’s all.”

“You should see me when I really want information from someone.” I cracked my knuckles for effect; he winced.

“I just …” His fingers flexed around the steering wheel. “I mean, I’ve never even met the guy and I’m a little jealous. Just ignore me for a while, okay?” Humor speckled his words, so I let it go. “Where are we going again?”

“Lincoln Street Bridge. I need to check on a friend.”

He nodded and moved into the right-turn lane. “Lincoln Street it is.”

52:17

A coat of fresh, black tar covered the underside of Smedge’s bridge. Every available cement surface was coated with the oily substance that prevented bridge trolls from rising. Smedge had been forced to relocate. The city had a plethora of bridges—footbridges, overpasses, train bridges—and an almost equal number of trolls. Finding another home would be difficult. Until he surfaced and sent word, I had no way of contacting my last Dreg ally.

Alex remained in the car with the engine running while I inspected the area. He hadn’t argued, and I appreciated his growing trust. The footprints in the dust were inconclusive. Average shoe sizes, bipedal, and at least four different people. They left nothing behind. Even the body of the hound I’d killed the day before was gone, every drop of blood washed away. Someone was being careful. Too careful.

I climbed back into the passenger seat and stared at the dashboard, willing an idea to come to me. Something more productive than sitting around and waiting for dusk and the promised phone call from Rufus.

Staking out the phone booth was a good idea. That prevented someone else from getting there first and laying a trap—assuming he even called. I wanted to trust Rufus; his Triad was merely reacting to the information at hand. Their leader had been kidnapped. They needed to get him back at any cost. I understood that sort of blind devotion.

“Your friend’s not here?” Alex asked.

“No, he’s not.”

“So what now?”

It was time to do the one thing I’d been avoiding—go to the place I didn’t want to venture without Wyatt by my side. It could jog my memory, and I wanted Wyatt there when it did. He would understand without my giving him the details. Alex—bless his innocent little heart—needed everything painted in broad strokes. But as much as I hated going, I couldn’t just sit on my ass for four hours until the sun set.