“Of course you weren’t, sweetie,” said Zoe’s mom.
“Stan really did hurt Bert and Betty,” he said. “And the magic man really did save Spock and Uhura.”
“Of course he did, sweetie.”
Zoe was annoyed by the way she was just yes-ing him. She fell behind to walk with her brother, who was still hacking at the snow like it was his enemy.
“Can you not?” she told him. “The snow is dead. You killed it. You win.”
She loved Jonah, even during his weird outbursts. She felt it strongly now. She wished the night could have bound them even closer to their mother, and for a while it’d seemed as if it would. Now her mom was floating away from them, looking up at the stars like Zoe and Jonah weren’t even there.
“We didn’t lie, Mom,” said Jonah, trying to reel her back in. “We didn’t.”
“Just drop it, Jonah,” Zoe said. “It’s not important that Mom believes us—because we believe us.”
They were 20 feet from the garage, and only now was it taking shape in the darkness, like the bow of a ship approaching through fog. It was a shingled shed built for two cars and divided down the middle by a thin wall. Jonah was strong enough to open the doors all by himself. He rushed forward delightedly.
“Which one?” he asked his mother.
“The one on the right,” she said. “But let me do it, please.”
The carport on the left held her mother’s silver Subaru Forester. Zoe’s car—a heinous old red Taurus that she referred to as the Struggle Buggy—used to be parked on the right. But Zoe had let Jonah convert her side of the garage into a mini–skate park so he could practice year-round. Her brother had installed a quarter pipe and a rail, and covered the walls with posters that said, Shred Till Yer Dead, and, Grind on It!
Zoe’s mom let out a sigh that made a cloud of vapor in the air. She asked Jonah to step back. Jonah wasn’t happy about it—he stamped his feet in the snow like an impatient horse—but he did.
Zoe stood by her brother, his partner in pouting. From inside the garage, she could hear scratching and scrabbling. She pulled Jonah even farther away, prepared for the raccoons to come tearing out. They were nasty animals. She picked up a snow shovel that was leaning against the garage and gripped it like a baseball bat.
Zoe’s mother reached down to open the door, then stopped and turned to them.
“I do believe you guys,” she said. “I’m sorry if it seemed like I didn’t.”
She appeared to have more to say, but she opened the door before continuing. It swung up with a metallic groan.
“Later, I want to hear all about the magic man,” her mother said. “But right now—”
Zoe saw a dark figure huddled on the floor of the garage. The figure turned to her, his face damp and beautiful and as pale as chalk.
“Right now,” her mother said, “you’ve got to help me get him inside.”
part two
A Binding of Fates
four
X heard a flurry of noises outside the garage: Voices. The rustling of clothes. Boots in the snow.
The door rose with a shivery screech, and the wind rushed in around him. He felt feverish, nauseated, depleted. Every sound was like a detonation in his head.
He looked up and saw three figures approaching in a funnel of light. It was the girl from the lake and her brother. A woman stood in front, shielding them. Their mother, surely. X winced and closed his eyes, as if it would make them disappear. He wasn’t afraid that they would do him harm. He was afraid they’d try to save him.
X knew he couldn’t be saved. Bounty hunters like him were just glorified prisoners, and they were bound by laws. He had been reckless—he had trampled on every one of them.
The most ancient commandment was None Must Know, meaning that mortals could never learn of the Lowlands’ existence. It could never be more than a story they told one another, a legend about a lake of fire they called hell. They could never have proof. That way, the living could be judged on how they behaved when they thought there would be no consequences. Bounty hunters were never to be seen by anyone but their prey. They were to strike quickly: in shadows and in silence.
X had put himself on parade. He’d spoken to the girl. He’d carried her and her brother through the stark woods. Worst of all, he had let the soul he’d been sent to collect escape into the trees, like a virus gone airborne. Had a bounty hunter ever failed to return with the soul the lords had sent him for? Had a bounty hunter ever refused to do his duty? X had never heard of such an outrage, until he had committed it himself.
And why had he been so weak? Why had he let Stan vanish into the hills? Because the girl had wanted him to.
No, there could be no saving him now. The fever that racked his body was called the Trembling. It was his punishment, and it had only just begun.
A day earlier, X had lain entombed in his cell in the Lowlands, a wholly different pain just beginning to stir.
He didn’t know if it was day or night—he never did—for the prison was plunged deep in the earth, like a tumor. He’d been trying to sleep for hours. He lay on his side, curled like a question mark on the rocky floor, when the ever-present bruises beneath his eyes began to burn. He ignored it at first, desperate for rest. But the pain grew until it was as if his face was on fire.
It was a sign—a signal. One of the lords would come for him soon and force him to capture some new soul.
X had heard stories about a Higher Power that ruled the Lowlands, but the lords were the most ferocious creatures he’d ever encountered. There were both men and women in their number, and they’d once been prisoners themselves. Now they were a race unto themselves. They wore golden bands that lay tight around their throats, and vivid cloaks that flashed in the gloom. Like the prisoners they ruled over—X knew of only one exception—the lords did not age. The ones who had been damned when they were young remained young forever. Often they were gorgeous and stately. The oldest, however, were a walking nightmare. X sometimes saw the elders stalking around the Lowlands, hissing and howling and sharpening their curling talons on the rocks. Some had long gray hair that rippled down their backs and bony hands that pulsed with veins as fat as worms. When X looked at their faces, he could see their skulls trying to press through.