Wicked as They Come

“Excuse me?”

“You’re just too used to playing by the rules.”

“In my world, if you don’t follow the rules, bad things happen,” I said.

“In my world, which is now halfway your world, there are ways around everything. Loopholes. Nudging a toe over the line,” he said.

“But I can’t nudge a toe over from one world to the other. I don’t have a choice.”

“Well, as I see it, no one gets much of a choice, and everyone is forced to live between worlds, and you’ve got it a good deal better than most. After all, if you haven’t any choice, you must capitulate, and there’s a comfort in that.”

“That sounds a lot like being trapped.”

“Not necessarily,” he said. “Take me, for example. I drink blood. But I’m forced to live in a world that perverts my natural nature, reduces me to measured sips from a cold glass instead of deep gulps of hot, pulsing life. You think that’s easy for a creature? It’s like giving you a sandwich made of one onion and two pieces of parchment. Keeps you alive, barely. But I’ve found a way to make the best of things, beat them at their own game. I live by my own rules. You can do that, too.”

“How’s that?”

“You’ve got a gift here, a rare one. That gives you power and, as long as you travel with me, prestige. You won’t want for the things you need, you won’t go hungry. That’s a lot more than most people can say. And hell, pet, maybe you’ll learn to love me. Perhaps not. But what woman in any world wouldn’t give her little finger to have the love of one good man?”

“You’re a good man?” I asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Depends on the criteria,” he said with a grin. He looked down and said more soberly, “But I’ve been waiting for you for a long time. Whether you believe it nor or not, you’ll discover one day that we’re two halves of a whole. I just have to keep you close and alive long enough to learn it.”

“Let me guess. You think we’re going to live happily ever after, like some stupid fairy tale?”

“Why not?” His stare dared me to laugh or, worse, to argue.

“Because the whole thing is ridiculous,” I said. I despised the bitterness in my own voice. I sounded so damaged. Good. If he thought I was his soul mate for some mysterious reason he wouldn’t let on, let him see the worst of me.

“It’s not ridiculous to me. Perhaps that’s the difference between predators and prey, love. I’ll never stop hunting. But I expect that one day, you’ll stop running.”

“Because I want to die?”

“Because you want to live.”

I stared at him, trying to puzzle out the monster from the man. He looked so confident and graceful, even squatting in the grass. His grin mixed darkness with humor, hunger with promise. Something in me yearned toward him, it’s true. But what did he see in me? I was confused, stubborn, rude, naive, untrusting. I was straddling two worlds, and it was getting increasingly harder to separate Tish from Letitia. I had just learned to see myself as something other than what Jeff had made me. Caught between Sang and my other life, what sort of person would I become?

What’s more, I hadn’t told Criminy what I’d seen when my hand touched his skin, the vision of our future, of my ultimate destiny. Of my doom.

I shivered involuntarily, staring into the distance.

In two worlds, I had seen only one future. And for the life of me, I didn’t know how to stop it.

9

As the afternoon sun slunk over the moors, we remained in the grass. We were only three feet from each other but acres apart. I’d kicked more bunnies than I could count. The last one had been brazen, hopping over a dazed comrade to nibble my bootlace. I picked it up by the ears and launched it at the pink clouds with a feral howl.

“Isn’t there anything in this world that is what it seems?” I said. “Isn’t anything simple at all?”

“Not that I’ve found,” he said. “But you must admit it’s colorful.”

“It may be colorful, but I’d rather it was easy.”

“Easy things are worth nothing,” he said. “You should know that. Is your other world easy?”

“Most of the time,” I had to admit.

“Do you have a trade, or do you live with your grandmother?”

“I’m a nurse,” I said, feeling huffy. “I help sick people.”

“So you can stop the diseases?” he asked.

“Not really. I mostly help the people who are already dying, trying to make their last days comfortable.”

“You help people die,” he mused. “That sounds quite sinister, and that’s coming from someone who drinks blood.”

“It’s not like that,” I snapped. “I help people to end their lives with dignity, in their own homes, on their own terms. I change dressings, offer them pain relief, that sort of thing. It’s a calling, and it’s something I’m good at.”

“Are they all old?” he asked.

“Mostly,” I admitted. “Although I have one patient who’s only a few years older than me. Mr. Sterling was in a motorcycle crash on Christmas Day, and he never woke up. He was a concert pianist, so we always keep music playing for him.”

As soon as I said the name, Criminy’s attention focused on me, his gaze sharpened. “Your Mr. Sterling,” he said. “What’s his given name?”

“Jason,” I said softly. “Jason Casper Sterling.” Thinking about him always made me a little sad.

Criminy glared up at the sunset, his mouth pursed and his fingers drumming on his knee. I watched him, wondering if I would ever know what was going on behind those cloudy eyes. Finally, he said, “You must be peckish, my dear. Shall we find supper?”

He stood and held out his hand. I took it without thinking. We walked slowly, side by side, toward the caravan, silent. I felt we had said too much, but I expect he felt we had said too little. Neither of us had yet brought up what would happen that night, when I fell asleep. Would I dream bland dreams about forgotten tests and flying through the air, or would I wake up in my other world and make my grandmother’s breakfast and go to work while my body slept here, insensible and inert?

Oh, and there was another thought. A creepy thought. If my body was here, sleeping, while I was living in my own world, I would be utterly vulnerable. Anyone could do anything to my poor body, and from what it seemed, I might not wake up in response.

“You said I’d have a clockwork guard, didn’t you?” I asked nervously.

“Murdoch’s been working on it all day,” he said. “Do you like snakes?”

“I don’t know any personally,” I said slowly, then, “Wait—my clockwork is a snake?”

“Monkeys are complicated,” he said. “It takes more than a day to fit one. They have personality, you know. But a snake is flexible, fast, and good for protection.”

“Please tell me it’s not some giant boa constrictor,” I said.

I eyed an enormous clockwork bear juggling balls as it rode a unicycle. It was shaped like a polar bear but had copper markings around its eyes like a panda bear. Along with all the clockwork animals, Herr Sigebert had emerged from his wagon that afternoon for oiling and polishing. We had already passed a brass giraffe doing a bizarre contortionist dance and a silver and black ostrich that laid, and then ate, a golden egg. The creatures were surprisingly realistic, beautiful, and more than a little eerie, with softly glowing eyes that actually blinked.

“No, your clockwork will be something small. Wouldn’t be useful if it was ungainly.”

“That doesn’t sound too horrible,” I said.

“You’re worried about your body, aren’t you? While you’re away,” he said quietly.

“Anything could happen to me,” I said. “And I might never know.”

“But it won’t. I’ll be there tonight. I’ll guard you myself. Until we know more about how it works.”

“I don’t want to seem ungrateful …” I began, and I trailed my hand along a royal blue car with a brighter, greener version of the lizard boy painted on it. I didn’t really have the words to continue.

“But you’re worried about locking your unconscious body in a wagon with a known killer and probable lecher?”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Is there someone else you’d prefer?” His tone was guarded, but I could hear the dare behind his words.

“No,” I said, opting for honesty. “For some strange reason, I trust you.”

“Smart lass,” he said.

We’d reached the dining car by then, and he held the door open for me. I stepped up and in, and he followed and took my arm. But instead of leading me to the buffet, he escorted me to a man sitting alone in a booth. He was handsome, that man, staring out the window, lost in thought, fingers tapping on the table, his long hair cascading down his back in light brown waves. His poet’s blouse was open at the neck, the sleeves pushed up to bare elbows. Instead of breeches, he wore trousers cut off at the calf. He was barefoot, and after one day in Sang, I was a little scandalized. He had to be a Bludman, and a cheeky one at that.

“Letitia, my love,” Criminy said affably, “this is Casper, our harpsichordist.”

The man blinked away his daydreams and turned with a slightly annoyed smile, saying, “Nice to meet you—”

“You!” I cried, cutting him off mid-sentence.

I’d never seen the sapphire-blue eyes blinking at me from their delicate fringe of auburn lashes. But I knew the mouth, the raven tattoo on his forearm, and especially the long, agile fingers constantly tapping out phantom notes on the booth’s table. I’d cut those fingernails back for months.

“Have we met before?” he asked, polite but confused.

“No,” I said. “I just …” I looked to Criminy, who was irritatingly amused. I was amazed, flummoxed, and more than a little vexed that he had sprung this chance meeting on me. “Does he know?” I asked him. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">