The Undead Pool

“Yoo-hoo! Did you come to catch fireflies?” Newt called, and Trent’s pace bobbled when a black film of ever-after slithered over her and her thin, childlike shape grew to the more usual, androgynous, hairless, barefoot, martial-arts-uniform-clothed Newt that I’d once found hammering holes in my back living room. “They make fine night-lights for when the world ends,” she added, and then, as her eyes traveled over me, she gave herself hair, a sundress, and a big, wide-brimmed hat. “Hi, Rachel.”

Crap on toast, she looked like my mother, and I dropped my eyes before she could see my shock. Trent valiantly struggled for words, pulling himself together to extend his hand to Al. “Algaliarept. Well met,” he said, and Al all but bared his teeth.

“Call me Al,” he said, clearly not liking that we’d found him up here with Newt. “I insist.”

“Al,” Trent said simply, his hand falling as he turned to Newt. “Newt. Good to see you.”

Newt beamed, seemingly coy as she focused on him. “Hello, Trenton Aloysius Kalamack,” she said, and he stiffened at her seductive tone. Beside me, Al sighed. “You’re very dapper out in the ever-after sun. I’d forgotten how the light hits elven hair.”

She sidled up to him and I backed out of her way. “I’d advise not moving,” Al said, and Trent froze.

“Ooooh, so soft, even when it’s full of grit. Come home with me and I’ll wash it for you.”

“Ah . . .” he stammered, and Newt spun to me, her hair now looking exactly like mine, frizz and all.

“Rachel. Love. You want to trade? I have Nicholas Gregory Sparagmos about somewhere. I put him somewhere safe. I can’t remember exactly, but if I put my mind to it, I’m sure I can find him.”

Nick? Shaking my head emphatically, I grabbed Trent’s arm and pulled him to me. “No. Thanks anyway.”

“No?” she echoed, her expression falling. “Pity. I’m catching fireflies,” she said, black eyes a startling contrast to her innocent oblivion as she worked the lid off the large jar now in her hand. “Firefly, firefly, glowing there in the sky,” she sang, dancing away with the jar swinging in the air as a film of ever-after coated her and she was fourteen and sickly again. “Play with me and don’t be shy. Bring your light that will not die. Pretty little firefly.”

Trent’s face was pale as he watched her dance in the red light hammering down on us. “She wasn’t like that before.”

Ruddy face sour, Al swung his cane in a wide circle and watched her. “It comes and goes. We tried chaperoning her, dosing her into forgetfulness, spelling her into memory . . .” He shuddered. “Nothing seems to work but Rachel.”

“Me?”

Al gave me an unreadable look. “It’s especially bad when she’s remembered something. That’s why I came up here. I don’t like her mucking about with your line. Which is fine, by the way. Why are you here? With that elf?” he finished darkly.

Uneasy, I licked my lips, immediately wishing I hadn’t when acidic dust coated my tongue. “I might ask the same of you,” I said, avoiding him.

“I’d forgotten how barren it is up here,” Trent said, pointedly changing the subject, and Al pulled his eyes from Newt, hopping about as she tried to catch something in her Mason jar.

“Yes . . .” he drawled. “You made a fucking mess before you left us to die in it.”

Trent didn’t even flinch. “My ancestors, maybe. But not me.” He tilted his head. “What is she doing?”

Huffing, Al pulled his velvet coat straight. “And yet you’re still not going to do anything about it. Don’t tell me you’re innocent of the blame.”

“Newt!” I called, and Trent gasped when Al moved to cuff me to be silent. Dodging it, I shifted away from him. “Newt? What did you remember?”

The image of innocence, Newt ran back to us, a cover on the top of the jar. “I caught four this morning,” she said, little-girl voice excited. “They’ll be calling them out again soon, and I’ll be ready with jars and jars. If I catch enough, my room will be bright when the sun goes dark.” Head tilting, she looked straight at the sun, unblinking and with no ill effect. “I don’t like the dark,” she said, her enthusiasm dimming. “If you give them a good shake, they glow even brighter. See?”

Al cleared his throat as Newt energetically shook the jar and held it up, proud of something none of us could see.

“Delightful, delightful,” Al drawled. “Newt, love, can I have them? Pretty please?”

Her expression darkened suspiciously until he smiled his best and she coyly conceded. “You may,” she said as he took it, and another, identical jar appeared in her hands. “I can get more.” And off she skipped, making me shiver at the aspect of a sickly girl in hospital pajamas dancing in the desert.

Frowning, Al’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you here?” he asked Trent point-blank.

Oh God. I wanted to know that, too. “He’s here so I’m not alone,” I said before Trent could open his mouth. Behind him, Newt had caught something, setting her jar beside a rock before another appeared in her hand and she started jumping again.

“You don’t trust me,” Al said, and my eyes jerked to his.

“I trust you, but he doesn’t.”