Chapter 13 #2
When he stacked the four newspapers, the clerk frowned as if he disapproved of anyone acquiring quite so much knowledge at one time.
If he also objected to the Life Savers, he gave no sign.
The clerk handed over his change, but as Malcolm reached for it, a wave of nausea seized him.
Coins slipped from his palm and clattered to the floor.
“Jesus,” Malcolm whispered, turning away from the newsstand with the stack of papers clutched to his chest. He breathed through his teeth to avoid the little cloud of putrid stench that seemed to envelop him.
If not for the column beside the newsstand, he might have gone to his knees.
Fighting the urge to vomit, he glanced around, trying to make sense of this abrupt sickness.
Nobody seemed to have noticed him, and he saw no one having a similar episode.
Malcolm drew his forearm across his nose and mouth, blocking out as much of the smell as possible as he sailed away from the column, headed back the way he’d come.
Yet this was more than a smell and a sickness.
A dreadful melancholy seized him, something beyond grief or worry.
It seeped into him like something hot he’d swallowed, spreading its cold through him as a cup of coffee might spread its warmth.
This was a black sorrow that filled his chest and clogged his throat.
Malcolm collided with a businessman with a white goatee. He met the older man’s gaze but couldn’t muster an apology.
“Watch your step!” the man chided him. “Drunken fool.”
Did he seem drunk? How much time had passed?
Did he still have the newspapers clutched to his chest?
He had to look down to confirm that indeed he did.
The memory of kissing Violet on the train platform floated into his mind, and he clutched at it as if it were a life preserver and could keep him from drowning.
He had to reach Violet. And his mother …
Maggie had told him not to leave her body until she was buried in her hometown.
Had she cast some kind of hex on him to force him to keep that promise?
Don’t be stupid.
Maggie Wise will take your eyes. That was what the kids used to chant as they hurried past on the sidewalk, thinking themselves brave just to be near the house.
The whole town had thought Maggie was a witch, and Malcolm had never really questioned it.
Of course his mother was a witch. But had she been the kind of witch with actual power or simply a woman of uncommon knowledge and wisdom?
Had she been the kind of witch who could—who would—put a spell on her own son to make him violently ill if he broke a promise?
That was ridiculous.
Fever sweat trickled down the back and sides of his neck and beaded on his forehead.
The people flowed around him. Malcolm nearly tripped over a small child, or was that a dog on a lead? His eyes blurred and he wiped sweat away, only to find the tide of travelers had swept him right up to the tall doors he’d been aiming for.
The doors opened. The constant patter of rain surrounded him. He kept his feet moving, shook his head to clear it, and started to look for the baggage car of his train, where Violet and Alfie waited.
He glanced back into the terminal through the still-open doors and saw his brother, Elias, following him.
The sight brought Malcolm to a halt. People shoved past or flowed around him.
The doors into the station began to swing closed, interrupting his line of sight, and for a few moments, he told himself he must have been mistaken.
Then a fresh wave of travelers emerged, and through the open doorway, they locked eyes.
Elias wore a tired smile as he lifted his hand to offer a sheepish sort of wave.
The sound had dropped out of the world—the shock of seeing his brother deafening him—but now it rushed back in, the footfalls, the steaming shush of the idling train, the voices merged into one urgent murmur.
Elias looked as rumpled as ever. Hair tousled and tie askew, he wore a wrinkled suit that hung loosely on his frame.
Still young, he didn’t look it. Years of too little sleep and too much drink had caught up to him, and yet he still had the aura of the gambler.
Always on the hustle. As Elias hurried through the doors onto the platform, he held out a hand like he was running for office.
“Malcolm,” he said, blinking away raindrops. “I’m so glad I caught you in time.”
The brothers gripped hands. Malcolm knew his smile had an edge, but he hoped Elias wouldn’t notice.
“You’re quite a surprise. What are you doing here?”
A flicker of hurt crossed his brother’s face. “I got your message. By the time I telephoned, you’d already gone, but I managed to reach Pax Keates, and he told me about this wild assignment Maggie’s given you.”
Malcolm wanted to relax. This was his older brother, his first childhood friend and protector.
They’d fought as often as they’d played together, always comrades, but when childhood faded, so had that bond.
This man with his yellowed complexion and dark stubble, with the odor of whiskey permeating his skin—Malcolm didn’t know him anymore.
It helped, a little, to come face-to-face with the brother whose wife he’d fallen in love with and not feel connected to him.
“Violet’s with me,” he said. “On the train.”
Elias wouldn’t meet his gaze. “So I’d heard. She’s doing okay?”