K. McEntire - Lightbringer

“There’s a reason for that,” said a voice behind them and Piotr felt a sharp pinch on the back of his neck. Lights blared into existence—across the vast expanse of basement, several Walkers systematically stripped the blackout sheets away from the windows in the Never as another group flicked on the lights. Wendy blinked against the glare. Her eyes were seeing the two worlds pressed together, hotel lights brilliant in the Never but dark in the living world. The Never was stronger here, stronger than she’d ever seen it before, and the living world was fading from view fast.

“Amazing,” the White Lady said, “what a little bit of time and preparation can do.”

They were, Wendy realized, in a vast Never ballroom, the walls rounded at the corners and festooned with sweeps of gaily painted decorations. Here and there long, thin cracks in the walls were mending before her very eyes as the living people above went about their daily business and the multitude of students revved up for the next day’s competition. If she concentrated, Wendy could just make out the edges of the real world beyond the intense brilliance of the basement, but the Never was too dazzling to ignore for long.

Dozens of Walkers lined the walls like ancient, rotting wallflowers, their hoods flung back, each one marked with long, fresh wounds, still seeping, that had been roughly sewn closed with hanks of black twine. It was the far wall, however, that caught Wendy’s attention. The missing Lost—a dozen of them—huddled together, bound hand and foot like an under-aged chain gang beneath a temporary stage that winked in and out of existence as the Palace, pulsing with energy, cycled through the ages and all the renovations it had been through.

All of the Lost had been starved and drained of essence; fear and pain came off them in palpable waves that Wendy could sense in her gut. They watched her avidly, hungrily. Piotr groaned—among them were Dunn, Dora, Tommy. No recognition shone in their eyes.

Beside the Lost, wrapped in rapidly expanding tendrils of spirit web, were the rest of the Riders. Lily, face slashed; Elle, mouth bloody, and James, both eyes blackened and with one arm hanging at a gruesome angle from his shoulder. It had been an ambush.

They were trapped.

“Wendy,” Piotr moaned, the strands of spirit web spinning quickly around his neck and snaking down his arms, “become the Lightbringer.” Walkers held him on each side, half supporting him. “Please.”

“I can’t,” Wendy whispered. “I can’t do that to you. I’m not ready for you to go.” More than Piotr’s closeness, however, was the matter of the Lost. They had risen to their feet now, each straining against the bonds that held them. The Walkers on each side of the group held a long chain in their hands. All they had to do was drop the chain and the hollow-eyed Lost would be upon her, feeding.

“Winifred, not even a hello?” asked the White Lady, stepping beside Wendy. “How rude!” In her hand she held a syringe filled with a bubbling, oozing black liquid. “Spirit pollen,” she explained. “And seeds, of course. You’ve seen my topiary outside?”

“Yes,” Wendy said through lips gone numb from the intense cold emanating from the woman beside her. “It’s foul.”

“Briar Rose’s citadel had a field of pricking rosebushes,” the White Lady said, nonplussed. “European castles had moats. I thought my palace could use some protection to keep the riffraff out. It appears that I was right.” She drifted across the room to James’ side.

“This one,” she said, ruffling his dreadlocks, “isn’t as stealthy as he thinks, hmm? He’s been spotted in my territory a number of times ‘doing his rounds’ when they were looking for the children, just never this deep in. So we decided to make it a little more challenging for him.”

She gestured to the Walkers around her. “I had no end of volunteers for the germination process. I’m told it’s quite painful.” She laughed at that and Wendy was once more reminded how insane the White Lady really was, despite her air of rationality.

“You’re sick,” Wendy yelled over the tittering laughter. “Sick and twisted. Let them go, everyone here, or else.”

“Or else what, dear?” The White Lady crossed her arms over her chest, her giggles finally tapering off. “You’ll awaken that pathetic little ability that slumbers deep inside? I’ve seen how long it takes you to rouse the Lightbringer. I could have every last one of them ripped to shreds before you even unlocked your Light.”

“Think so?” Wendy bluffed. “I’ve been practicing.”

The White Lady rolled her eyes. “Please dear, you’re embarrassing yourself. There is absolutely no way the likes of you has sped up in a mere day or so.” Casually she reached out and took Wendy by the chin, turning her face from side to side as she examined her. “No, no, dear, my initial assessment still stands. You will never show half the power of the other Lightbringers, I’m afraid. Pity, that.”

Piotr moaned and his vision fluttered; when it did so, the strands of spirit web began to smoke and burn, catching fire and puffing away in a whiff of smoke. The Walkers hissed but held on; they’d not been told to let go.

Catching sight of the web burning, Wendy shifted so the White Lady’s back was to the blaze. If she could just keep her distracted long enough for Piotr to figure out a way to wrestle free…

“Let go of me!” Thinking of nothing more than keeping the White Lady’s attention, Wendy jerked her chin away. She could still feel the press of those icy fingers, a million times more horrible in real life than in her dreams, burning against her flesh. “I swear, no matter what it takes, I’m going to make you regret—”

“Threats, threats, threats,” the White Lady said, waving a dismissive hand. “All you do is threaten! In my day we didn’t threaten or boast or complain, we just did!” She chuckled again, shaking her head. “But I suppose this was your pathetic attempt to do, eh? Shoddy work, that.”

“Where’s Eddie?” Wendy snapped, carefully keeping her gaze away from Piotr. “What have you done with him? And my mom?”

“Eddie’s close.” The White Lady snapped her fingers and two more Walkers, larger than the others, appeared from the darkness, shambling forward until their stench filled the air and they were only a few feet from Wendy’s side. “But first, we have a little business to transact. A bit of a trade to handle.”

“Go to hell,” Wendy snapped. “I’m never helping you, and if you think you’re getting Piotr, it’s going to be over my dead body.”

“That,” the White Lady said sweetly, grabbing Wendy by the back of the neck so that smoky steam billowed at her touch, “is exactly what I had in mind.”

The Walkers, one at each side, attacked.

Wendy screamed, throwing up her arms to block, but she was still in human shape and the Walkers were very quick, very strong. Drawing visible essence from the White Lady in arcs like lightning, their sharpened bones punched through the tender skin of Wendy’s midsection, ripping through her skin like tissue paper and spearing the organs beneath.

Framed in curls of silver smoke, Wendy sank to the floor. Her fingers, blood-bright in the dimming light, curled around her side, pinky curving against the fine copper chain at her waist, thumb indenting the flesh just under her ribs. She was bone pale in that final gasp of day, the warm red that had leached from her cheeks now spilling slowly through her fingers.

“I did warn you that some ghosts can touch the living,” the White Lady said. “You should have listened.”

“WENDY! WENDY! WENDY!”

Pushing against his captors, Piotr struggled against the hands holding him, but these Walkers were old and tough, prepared for his wriggling. He could not wrestle free.