Chapter 22
XXII.
My breath catches in my throat as I plunge into the forest. “Mom! Come back!”
Nate reaches for my wrist, but I slip out of his grasp and keep running.
I trail the shadow as it darts from tree to tree, a blur among the dead trunks and branches.
My heart jackhammers in my chest.
She’s come to find me.
Of course she has. That’s what mothers do.
“Mom, wait! I’m over here.” I chase her, my legs aching from running through the mud.
But how? How did she get here? She’s either dead or a figment of my imagination. And neither of those bring a happy ending.
I skid to a stop and drop my head, panting into my chest.
It’s another of Father’s ruses. It has to be.
My throat tightens as tears threaten my vision. This lot shows you things you desire most. I wanted her to be here so badly. To need me enough she’d cross the Underworld for me. But it’s an illusion. I’m as alone as Nate.
My chest heaves from sprinting. I bend over my legs to catch my breath and frown at a broken branch.
I could have her now if I want. The mom in this lot may be more accepting of me than the mom that’s not waiting for me on Earth. This lot will give me what I want most: a mother who not only loves me but accepts me. A parent who wants me. As long as I’m okay with chasing phantoms.
Tears spring to my eyes, and my palms shake against my thighs. That would mean staying here forever, while she’s given to me only to disappear, over and over. It would be the torture Father intended when he built this place.
No. Even if she walks away from me in person, it’s better than living with a ghost.
“You’re not real.” I clench my eyes shut, a tear trailing down my cheek. My hand curls around the hilt of my sword, the metal digging into my palm. “Leave. Me. Alone.”
The rustling stops. A breeze ruffles my hair, then settles. When I open my eyes, she’s gone. All that’s in front of me is rotting wood painted with the muddied handprints of the damned.
I wipe my face with the back of my hand and take a moment to steady my breath, then head back to Nate on legs that tremble with exhaustion.
“Okay,” I say as I break through the trees. “Don’t say a word. I’m embarrassed enough that I fell for that. I… Nate?”
He’s not where I left him. The soles of our boots still imprint the damp earth, but his trail off in the opposite direction.
I groan.
Not again.
“Nate? Where are you?” I follow his footprints, my small boots swallowed by the outline of his large ones. “Now’s not the time for games. I’m tired. And dirty. And have I mentioned how much I hate being in lots?”
He’s at the edge of the woods, his back to me, hunched over a tree stump. I exhale when I spot the large door looming behind him.
“Oh good,” I say. “You found the exit. You seem to be good at that. Way to actually be useful on this trip.”
He doesn’t respond. It’s not like him to leave a compliment hanging unclaimed. I frown and move closer.
He’s doubled over, retching up air as he grabs his stomach, tears streaming through the dirt and blood on his face.
What the—?
I touch his back, and he jumps, his body trembling so hard his teeth chatter as loud as ice against a glass.
My throat tightens. “Nate? Are you okay?”
He shakes his head. His voice is low and monotone, like he’s speaking from far away. “It was so real I could smell it. The carrot cake my mom used to make. Our house smelled like cinnamon and cream cheese frosting for an entire day. She’d let me lick the beaters when she was done.”
“Oh, Nate.” I sigh. “Tell me you didn’t eat it.”
He turns to me. White icing flakes at the side of his mouth, and he gags again. “It tasted exactly like hers. How did it taste exactly like hers?” He moans and falls onto his stomach.
I drop to my knees and shake his shoulder. He doesn’t move. I drum my fingers on my knee and try to recall my lessons with Mr. B. and the things we studied about this lot.
We’d discussed at length how the objects shadelings see here are illusions, meant to draw them in and then punish them for their desires.
But there was something else we’d talked about.
The lengths sinners would go through to try to keep the items. They’d bury them, or sit on them, and sometimes, they’d ingest them.
When I’d asked Mr. B. how they were punished for that, he went a shade of green similar to the one Nate’s exhibiting now.
“They’re poisoned,” he’d said. “Their insides eaten by acid till they pass out from the pain. It’s very unpleasant.”
“Dammit, Nate.” I rub my temples with grime-caked fingers. “What have you done?”
A cry echoes from the forest, followed by longer wails, like the trees themselves are resonating with despair.
I curse under my breath as the sounds grow closer, rolling Nate onto his back before shaking his shoulders. “Come on. We have to get out of here.”
He opens his eyes, and I sit back on my feet, unclenching my jaw. “Devica?”
Placing my hand behind his shoulder, I help him into a sitting position. “Do you think you can stand?”
“Sure.” He boosts himself up, then drops like a boulder. “Nope.”
A shadeling emerges from the woods, trailed by at least twenty more. They surge forward when they spot us, their moans chorusing through the trees.
I sigh in exasperation and glance between them and the half-conscious boy on the ground.
Seriously, it’d be great if one thing in this place could be easy.
Grunting, I sling an arm over Nate’s shoulder. “Time to get up, Cake Boy.”
I push us off the ground until we’re standing. Nate leans against me like a boulder, pressing me into the mud.
I stagger to the exit, muttering at him to walk while dragging him behind me.
My muscles burn by the time I reach the door, and I prop him against the wall before I reach for the handle. The door moans in protest. It opens a crack before wedging itself in the mud. I curse under my breath and tug harder.
My back is soaked. Whether it’s mud or lake water or sweat, I have no clue. It could be all three. I clench my jaw and keep pulling.
Whoever thought mud by the exit was a good idea needs a stern talking-to.
Of course, no one’s opened this particular door in years. Unlike the entrance, it’s solid steel, its only function to trap the weak shadelings within.
Except I’m not a shadeling. And I’m not weak.
“Work with me here.” I plant my feet in the mud to brace myself, then yank as hard as I can. The door grinds against its hinges, but it opens wide enough for me to shimmy through.
Nate’s barely conscious when I heave him off the wall. He slouches over my shoulder, his chin digging into my neck. “Stay with me, Nate. We’re almost there.”
I yank him through the door as a shadeling makes an unsuccessful grab for my hair. The bridge leading off this cursed island and over the water is above us, the wooden planks sagging and swaying. It appears to be unguarded.
About time I catch a break.
A tall ladder leads up from where I’m standing to the bridge, and I chew the inside of my lip. Okay, maybe not as much of a break as I thought.
“Nate,” I say, “I’m going to carry you up to the bridge, but you need to help at least a little.”
I shift him with my hips so that he’s propped against my back. Then I lace his hands around my neck like the cloak I lost.
My bangs are plastered to my forehead. and I push them out of my way before gripping the steel ladder with a sweaty palm. “All you need to do is hold on. Think you can manage that?” Nate groans against my back. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
I start up, gripping each rail as he drags me down and grunting through my teeth. Sweat beads on my forehead and drips into my eye, but I don’t chance wiping it away.
“You smell like cookies,” Nate slurs from behind me. “Delicious.”
My brows crinkle, but I don’t slow. “Hoo boy, that’s some strong poison. Hang in there, Nate. Once we get to the other side of the bridge, we’ll find somewhere to hide so you can sleep this off. Okay?”
He doesn’t respond.
I give a weak but triumphant cry when I reach the top of the ladder. My muscles scream, and my legs shake beneath me. I steady myself against the railing, panting hard.
Nate says something else, but the feathers of my wings muffle the sound. Probably for the best after that cookie comment.
I hoist him higher and start across the bridge, his feet dragging behind me.
His toes catch between the planks as we cross, and I have to keep stopping to yank him out.
Memories of Ferus dragging me across a similar bridge to Lot Eleven surface before me and I blink them away.
This isn’t the same thing. Ferus did that to humiliate me. I’m doing this to save Nate.
We’re almost at the other side of the bridge when Nate speaks again. His words are garbled, but his tone is urgent.
“What?” I snap. “I’m a little busy saving you at the moment.”
“Sjsfkwopwefkfw,” is what I understand from his mouth.
I sigh and spin so that his arms are still around my neck but we’re face-to-face.
He pants sharply, his breath hot against my face. “The exit, Devica. The door didn’t close behind you.”
Then he collapses against me.