Part 22 (1/2)

”Sissy!” she cried.

”I'm here!” the familiar voice shouted back. ”I'm coming.”

The snick-click of the lock gave way and Consuela pushed into the room, wrapping her friend in a hug.

”Thank G.o.d,” Consuela breathed with a squeeze, and let go.

Consuela shook where Sissy's lone hand touched her arm. ”It's Tender! I saw him!” she said. ”Tender's got a sword!”

Sissy gaped. ”A sword?”

”At Maddy's. He killed Maddy. Then he tried to kill me!” Consuela shouted.

The Watcher stood, stunned. ”He attacked you?”

Consuela nodded. ”Then he tried to kill V!”

”With a sword?”

”With scissors! With phantom Flow scissors!” Consuela squeezed her eyes, knowing that she was babbling.

”Where's V?” Sissy sounded scared.

”He got away.”

”Good. Great. Okay.” She grabbed a dry-erase marker and wrote a v on the mirror. Her right hand was missing, so she scribbled with her left. ”He'll see this. And at least we have that,” Sissy said, and pointed upward with the pen. Tacked above the door was the roll of fax paper on which were handwritten runes in flaking, brown paint. Not paint-blood. Old blood. The Yad's? Sissy gave a half nod, her one eye glossy. ”Yehudah made it for me as a last-ditch defense. We weren't sure if the ward could work this way, but I thought I'd put it up, just in case.”

Consuela stared at the banner. There were no licking, black flames. She doubted it worked. It drooped above them like a dead paper flag.

”Tender's killing everyone,” she said, her panic growing no matter how she swallowed it back. ”Why is he killing everyone?” She clawed at her memories. ”He kept talking about making the most impact-he showed me something with ants . . .”

”Slow down, slow down-you're not making any sense.” Sissy tried to sound soothing, which was odd; Consuela had been the one comforting Sissy as of late. ”I've got pieces searching,” she said. ”And you guys were right. Look.” Consuela allowed herself to be led to her usual chair and sat down, feeling the unfamiliar sc.r.a.pe of the armrests against her thighs. Was this chair always so narrow?

Sissy fell into her desk chair, fingers flying comfortably over the keyboard, seeking calm in what she did best. ”They say that once there used to be attendants for this-a.s.sistants, couriers, that sort of thing . . .” she said absently as she typed. ”Now I use UPS.” She was at the Web site, punching tracking numbers into their pull-down menus. Her voice sounded almost flippant as she concentrated. ”I play this little game with myself about what part of me will find stuff first,” Sissy muttered as Consuela looked over her shoulder. The screen was all confirmed s.h.i.+pping orders and addresses around the country. She squinted, trying to make sense of it, and rubbed her arms violently.

”Here we go . . .” Sissy gave a wicked little smirk. ”The eyes have it.”

”What?” Consuela stammered.

”Well, one eye, any way,” Sissy said. ”Because the d.a.m.n thing was a PO box number, I had to wait until they'd picked it up before I could look around. Tender's real name is Jason Talbot and he's at Mercy House in Willoughby, Ohio.” She awkwardly wrote something on a Post-it note and handed it to Consuela, who stared at the little square of yellow paper as if it were a dead mouse.

”Bones?” Sissy prompted.

”We have to stop him,” Consuela said, detached, uncomprehending. ”Here. Now.”

Sissy grabbed Consuela's hand in hers, crus.h.i.+ng the note between them. She noticed then.

”Your hand . . .” Sissy began. Consuela pulled back, ashamed and embarra.s.sed. The shadow pulsed with pain.

”It happened . . .”

”. . . when you lost one,” Sissy finished for her, stroking the spot delicately. ”It happens sometimes. It hurts, both inside and out. That's why we all need Tender. He doesn't just tend the Flow, he tends all of us, takes away the pain. He's supposed to, anyway. He's supposed to . . .” Her voice changed, shaking.

”Yehudah said he couldn't trust Tender. That no one was supposed to be here for so long, living off pain.” Sissy squeezed their hands and shook her head. ”We can't do anything to stop him here. In the Flow, he's too strong. And with weapons, who can stop him? Maddy's dead.”

”Wish . . . ?” Consuela started.

”I've been looking. He's either hiding, or dead, too,” Sissy said, her calm breaking at the edges in high-pitched quivers. ”Who knows who'll be next?” But she knew. They both did.

Consuela s.h.i.+vered with renewed panic. Death had come so close, it had pierced right through her. She put a hand over her belly.

”You can come with me,” she begged. ”I barely got away . . .”

”I can't,” Sissy said, and grabbed her arm, hard. ”Listen, Consuela, I found him. I found Tender in the real world. We've got him. I can't go out there, not in one piece. I'll be safe here. I promise.” She said it so she could believe it because Consuela couldn't. Sissy was placing all of their hopes in her.

”Now listen,” Sissy added with a tinge of menace. ”If anyone can appear in the world and put the fear of G.o.d into someone, it's you. Do you hear me?”

Consuela nodded, feeling numb.

Sissy shook her with a little emphasis, boring into Consuela with her one blue eye. ”Do whatever you have to do,” she said. ”Once he sees you, he'll have to listen-he can't do anything to you there, he's only mortal. You're you. Go out there, find him, and get him to stop!” Her eyes hardened, her words d.a.m.ning: ”He deserves to die!”

Sissy grabbed Consuela and gave her a quick kiss on both cheeks. ”For luck,” she said. ”For Yehudah and Nikki and everyone else. We're counting on you. Without us, there's no Flow. No one to save them from Tender or Death.”

Consuela struggled, uncertain and needing certainty. She wanted to ask Sissy so many questions. Why was this happening? Why Tender? How? How long had he been here? How long had she been gone? Where was her body in the real world, right now? Was she drugged up in some hospital on the brink of death? Did her parents know what happened? Was she missing, presumed dead? Or was she really dead and just didn't know it yet? She wanted to know more about life, about death, and most of all, about the Flow. She wanted to ask enough questions to hold back time. But Consuela knew none of the answers would make one bit of difference. She had to go. Right now. She had to live, or die now. Her choice. Right now.

Consuela disengaged gently. She walked under the banner of dried blood from a dead guy she'd met trying to protect a baby boy. It all seemed so impossible and unreal. Even her hatred for Tender, her newfound fear of scissors, seemed to belong to someone else-some other skin long undone. At the door, she stopped.

”Abacus . . .” Consuela said in soft confession. ”I never saw him. Tender said he was out and I believed him. He's probably dead, too,” she whispered. ”Forgive me?”

The Watcher nodded. ”I forgive you,” she said quietly. ”You know, we called him William Chang, but his real name was Weizhe. Remember that. The living are left to remember.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as Consuela opened the door.

”I am Cecily Amelia Gardner,” Consuela heard her say. ”Remember me, too.”

RUNNINg. Again. The Flow could be navigated once you got the knack. Wish had the knack, but unfortunately, Tender did, too. Wish stumbled while looking over his shoulder as he ran.

He wasn't here, yet, but like a shark with blood in the water, Tender could smell betrayal in the Flow. Wish knew-Tender wasn't here, but would be soon. And, like a shark, Tender was made for killing.

Wish didn't know if he swam with the fishes or was closing in on sh.o.r.e.

It didn't matter anymore.

He'd done what he could. For now.

He ran.

CONSUeLa debated appearing as a figure aflame, but the fire felt as slippery as oil as she struggled it on. It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.

There's no time!

The thought made her angry and her skin flared in response. Consuela tore the fire from her body and let it whisper to the floor. It burned, but not hot enough for her.