Rob laughed out loud. The explanation was suddenly so obvious. It had to be Sunali. How was she generating those terrible emotions, though? Rob had never felt anything like it; they had felt so utterly, horribly real.
Rob ran back to the bench to retrieve his lute, then hurried toward the streets, wanting to see it unfold.
Movement caught his eye: a body, falling from High Town, plunging toward the roofs of Low Town, arms spread, loose dress flapping wildly. His breath caught for an instant before he realized it was another projection of the bridesicle.
He spotted another, falling toward the river. Then another.
Out on the street, traffic was at a standstill, drivers standing beside open doors, staring at the falling bodies, at the ghostly white women limping painfully from person to person, begging for help.
“Brilliant,” Rob said under his breath.
He probably should see if there was anyone who needed help, but instead he returned to his bench to finish composing the song for Winter—not just about Winter, but for Winter—as the bodies rained down from High Town.
When he finished, he played it through, flawlessly, as if he’d been playing it for years. He sent an audio recording of the performance to Winter, with a simple text message: I wrote this for you.
54
Veronika
“I think we’re on the cusp of a new age, of awesome changes.” There was a drop of foam on the end of Lycan’s nose.
Veronika swept at it with a napkin. “Yet you jumped off a bridge. When I hear you talk about your work, so excited… I don’t know, there’s such a disconnect.”
“Work and life are different things. If I could work all the time, I’d be happy all the time.”
“Then why don’t you?”
Lycan thought about it. “I don’t know. It gets lonely.”
Veronika barked a laugh. “What you need is a wife. Then you could work all the time, comforted by the knowledge that you have a neglected wife at home.”
Lycan didn’t laugh. “If I had a wife, she would always come first.”
He was such an earnest soul. He and Rob were similar in that way—incapable of sarcasm, unable to laugh at others. The complete opposite of Nathan. And her.
Lycan cleared his throat, which he seemed to do almost incessantly when he was nervous. “By the way, assuming everything goes well, do you want to do something to celebrate? Maybe a celebration dinner at my place?”
“Sure, that sounds great.” Veronika looked around for Nathan. He’d sent a message nine minutes ago saying he’d be there in five or six.
Lycan checked the time. “It won’t be long now.” He stuck his hands under his arms and squeezed, leaning forward in his chair. “I’m nervous. If something goes wrong, it could end my career.”
It had taken Veronika a while to convince Lycan to help them. When Lycan explained just how enormous a risk he’d be taking if he helped, Veronika had been sure he’d refuse, given that he hadn’t even been willing to donate money to help Winter. But in the end he’d surprised her, and once he’d agreed, he worked tirelessly.
Lycan was peering up at the thousand-story buildings that surrounded the massive Liberty Med Courtyard. He looked down at the hole that opened onto an expansive view of Low Town. Their seats were impressively close to the doughnut hole, providing them with the full, dizzying effect. Greenery bloomed among the tables, warmed inside an invisible containment barrier. It made nearby trees, with their naked winter branches, look dead.
“I should come to places like this more often. You get into patterns, going to the same places all the time.” He shrugged. “Or to no places at all, besides home and work.” He checked the time again, licked his lips.
“Hey, hey.” Nathan pulled up the third seat at their table, looked from Veronika to Lycan. “Just call me rueda de tres.”
He was not snapping back from the breakup with Lorelei in typical Nathan fashion. There were dark circles under his eyes, and maintaining the roguish smile appeared to be taking a great deal of effort. Referring to himself as the third wheel insinuated that she and Lycan were a couple. Veronika let it go.
There were four or five bumps under Nathan’s shirt, at the shoulder. He was doing bugs to ease his pain.
“How are my two geniuses today?” Nathan asked.
“I’m peachy.” Veronika checked the time. Any minute. Nathan had no idea what was about to happen; Sunali’s people had been deadly serious about leaks, and understanding just how important the element of surprise would be, Veronika had told no one, not Nathan, not Rob, not her sister. It would be fascinating to watch Nathan’s reaction. To watch everyone’s reaction, for that matter.
Lycan gasped, wide-eyed.
Veronika followed his shocked stare and spotted a woman approaching their table. Only it wasn’t a woman, it was the projection. The bridesicle was shivering, her skin white with a blue tinge, her hair caked with ice. Nathan lurched to his feet, his chair clattering to the floor as he hurried to help the woman, who looked about to collapse.
“What’s the matter with you?” Veronika asked Lycan, who was all but trembling, his face gray.
“I know her,” Lycan said.
“Please, help me,” the woman said. “Please, I’m afraid.”
Nathan reached for her outstretched hand; his own hand passed through it. He sank to one knee, like he’d been punched, his breath rattling.
“I’m so lonely and afraid,” the bridesicle pleaded. “I don’t want to be in this box anymore.”
“Oh, that is magnificent,” Veronika said as the bridesicle limped toward her. She glanced at Lycan, who was shaking more than Nathan. He was making a keening sound in the back of his throat. Veronika went over, shooshed like a mother. “Why are you so upset?”
Lycan’s attention was drawn by something a few tables away. Veronika followed his gaze, toward another copy of the same bridesicle, making the same desperate plea to another patron. Lycan seemed mesmerized by the sight of her. “Of all the women to choose from, they chose Mira.”
Lycan’s answer to her previous question suddenly registered. “Wait, did you just say you know her?”
That got Nathan’s attention as well.
“You recognize her?” Nathan said.
Lycan nodded, his eyes fixed on the apparition.
“From where?” Veronika asked. She watched, fascinated, as six or seven bridesicles wandered the courtyard. The nearest one turned, headed toward Lycan. Lycan leaped from his seat and hurried toward the arched exit.
“You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you?” Nathan asked Veronika.
“Yes. But we were sworn to secrecy.” She raised her voice, called, “Lycan, wait,” but he kept going. She opened a screen beside him.
A bridesicle wandered around a corner, stepped right into Lycan’s path. Lycan skittered around the image, away from her outstretched hands, her bluish fingertips. He was acting like he was seeing a ghost, like she was haunting him alone, rather than the entire city. Yet if the bridesicle had been someone Veronika knew who had died, she might react similarly.
“How did you know her?” Veronika asked Lycan, who was heading for the micro-T station.
“We dated.”
Veronika studied one of the wraiths as she stepped around a chair. She was beautiful, her tousled hair midnight black, her eyes almond shaped. “You dated this woman?” She tried not to sound dubious.
“At the bridesicle place. I was curious…”
Now they were getting somewhere. “Lycan, stop. Please.”
Lycan slowed.
“Okay, you visited her. Why are you so upset?”