Lightbringer

“What—”

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Wendy gasped. “Just then?”

“Net,” Piotr shook his head. “I am fine. But that…what was that?”

“I don’t—I don’t know.” Wendy licked her lips and rubbed her hands together. Every nerve in her body felt pleasantly tingly, as if she’d passed through the eye of some electric tornado and come out the other end uplifted and unscathed. “I’ve never felt that before. Not even last time. You know, when we met.”

Wendy closed her cell phone and slid it into her pocket. This moment was more important than a masquerade for the living. Inside the diner Eddie and Jon were eating fries and tick-tocking their way through their normal lives; out here was insanity too immediate to be denied.

“Are you hurt? Did I…?” Piotr ran his hands wildly through his hair. “How do you feel?”

Her laughter came out a touch crazier than she’d intended it to; even to her own ears it sounded edgy and rough; high, sharp and broken. Wild. “Fine, I guess.”

“Should we…?” Piotr held out his hand, fingers splayed. An invitation. When Wendy nodded and held out her own hand in kind, he stepped closer. This time it was Piotr who reached for Wendy, threading his fingers through hers, cupping her hand in his. Wendy was helpless to stop it. Crazy electric sensations or not, she wanted to feel the intoxicating coolness of his not-quite-flesh pressed against the skin of her palm.

“This is amazing,” Piotr murmured before breaking off, bewildered smile fading. Hand in hers, his not-flesh sizzled faintly but only for a moment, and the smoke was gone in a breath. “How do you feel?”

“Alive,” Wendy whispered. “I can’t…it’s like…I can’t describe it. I don’t know.” She closed her eyes. “It’s nice. It hurts at first, and it’s kinda cold to the touch, but it’s only, like, a second of pain and then…whoosh! Every nerve lights up. I feel like the Energizer Bunny, Piotr, like every hair should stand on end.” Wendy bit her lip. “What’s it like for you?”

“It hurts, da, but the hurt is a blink. Then…I am calm inside? Quiet? It is very nice, very relaxed. I feel…peaceful.” His fingers squeezed hers again and a pleasant warmth filled Wendy’s chest at the gentle pressure. Dead or not, scarred or not, Piotr really was sort of attractive and he carried himself with such earnest conviction that even cynical Wendy found herself moved by his pleasure. She leaned in close, wanting to press her hand to his cheek when he casually added, “It is beginning to burn.”

Horrified, Wendy snatched her hand away, cursing herself for ten kinds of fool. “I’m so sorry! When it didn’t keep hurting me I just…did I hurt you? I’m such an idiot! Are you okay?” She started to reach for him, to soothe her touch, and then realized what a foolish gesture that would be. She tucked her hands deep in her pockets to quell the urge.

“I am fine.” He held up his hands, turning them palm out to her. “The burn is fading.” Piotr trembled, whether in joy or fear she couldn’t tell. Perhaps, Wendy reasoned, it was like stubbing your toe or picking up a splinter; it hurt more after you realized you were hurt. Either way, Piotr seemed in no pain now.

The threat of future pain didn’t slow him down for long. Marveling, Piotr reached tentatively forward, fingers hovering several inches from her cheek. “May I?”

Wendy closed her eyes and nodded. Feather-soft, his fingers brushed along her cheekbone and down the side of her neck, running through her hair and lifting the curling strands off her jaw with a whispering touch. When he ran his hands along each row of ear studs the metal cooled quickly, the posts growing painfully cold in her cartilage. Otherwise, his hand on her flesh was cool, pleasant and sweet.

Gonna have to get an acrylic barbell, Wendy inwardly mused then flushed with the realization of what her errant thought implied.

Slowly, feeling her way, Wendy reached out and mimicked his movements, brushing fingers across his eyebrows, down his nose, across his cheekbones. His lips were full and soft beneath her fingertips and the line of his jaw was firm. Everywhere she touched him, she tingled, the electric current running feverishly just beneath her skin. Inexplicably she felt sweaty and hot. Her corset was binding her torso close, and the jeans stretched across her thighs were suddenly too tight.

“This is crazy,” Wendy whispered at last, drawing her fingers away, dulling the strange, fierce tingle that turned her muscles to jubilant jelly. “This shouldn’t be happening.”

“Insanity,” he agreed and folded his hands in his lap, hunching over and shifting so she saw only his profile.

“Piotr?” Forcing her traitorous fingers to remain still, Wendy held back the urge to reach out and touch his shoulder. “Are you okay?” She was almost positive that none of the light inside had leaked through her skin when she’d been touching him, but the sensation of interacting with a ghost without reaping it was so fresh and new.

“I am fine.” He grimaced and then shook his head, chuckling at some private joke. He shifted awkwardly, which seemed unusual considering the grace that Wendy had already seen him possess. “Just…overwhelmed.”

“There are so many questions.” Wendy crossed her arms over her chest, acutely aware of his proximity. After this crazy discovery, part of her knew that she ought to be reaping him right now, this second. Another part though, a deeper part, simply wanted to know why this dead boy, out of all the ghosts she’d ever encountered, was different. “Maybe your…this friend of yours will be able to help us figure all this out. Lilah?”

“Lily is wise and she may have theories about Dunn, but I doubt she’s heard of this before.” Piotr held up one hand and stared at it as if the fingers themselves held the answer to all the fresh questions he had. Wendy’s eyes followed the movement and Piotr forced his hand to his side, baring his teeth in a pained half-smile. “It is unlikely.”

A convertible swerved into the parking lot, overflowing with bleached blondes and pounding out rap with deafening bass. Chel scrambled out of the back, retrieved her bags, and waved as the convertible sped away. Bouncing with each step, she sashayed around the corner of the diner and vanished, presumably joining Eddie and Jon inside.

“My sister’s here. I have to go.”

“She doesn’t look like your sister.”

“Bleach.” Wendy shrugged but was acutely uncomfortable. Chel’s predilection for normal and average was still very disconcerting to her. God help her if she ever laid eyes on one of the dying. She’d go crazy.

“She’s not as pretty as you.” Piotr’s lips quirked in his half-smile and Wendy jerked as if he’d touched her once more. Her knees, already weak, threatened to spill her on the ground.

“I…I have to go.” Wendy rose, hands trembling, and ran her fingers through her hair. The interlude had left her empty and shaky, as if the first brush of his hand had stripped some core strength away. Wendy refused to entertain the idea that it might have been his words, not his touch, that left her so flustered and on edge. There was no way he was flirting with her. It was impossible. He was just being kind.

Still, she mused, the possibility of it wasn’t unpleasant, just bizarre. Heart thrumming in her chest, Wendy desperately wanted to brush her hand against his cheek again, to touch his wrist, to say goodbye, to assure herself that this really was real. Part of her was scared that if she walked away now she would never see him again, that he wouldn’t find her, or that the meeting itself was some crazy fluke never to be repeated. She’d spent the past five years dreaming of Piotr, drawing him, thinking about him and wondering how he was doing. Was she really just going to let this strange twist of fate end?

“I understand. Be safe,” Piotr said and turned away.

Crushed, Wendy turned to go back inside and was ten steps toward the diner before she realized what she had to say. Quickly she turned, hoping to catch him before he got too far. Luckily, Piotr was still at the edge of the parking lot.

“Piotr! Wait!” Wendy hurried to join him, ignoring the strange looks of passing bicyclists as she reached to grasp thin air. “I live off of the corner of Montecito and Farley, not far from here,” she said in a rush, fear tumbling the words from her lips in a tangled torrent. She forced herself to slow down and enunciate. “There are some town homes—”

Studiously not looking at her, Piotr made a hurry-up twirling gesture with his hand, expression inscrutable. “I’ve been there.”

Forging ahead, Wendy said, “My bedroom’s upstairs at the back of the house, the one with the bench in the side yard. If you…if you need me that’s how you can find me, okay?” The irony that the first not-Eddie boy she was inviting into her room was dead was not lost on her; Wendy flushed and clasped her hands together to keep from twining them nervously through her curls. “It’s the pink room. Punk pink though, not like rah-rah girly-pink. And