The Nameless Ones by John Connolly
Chapter LXXI
Zorya was once again by the Zollamtsbrücke, watching the water run beneath. Spiridon’s friends in the United States had failed in their attempt to kill the dead girl’s father, which put Zorya in a very dangerous position. The Vuksans were being hunted in this realm, but Zorya moved between worlds, which potentially left her at the mercy of human elements in one and Jennifer Parker in the other. The Vuksans’ time was coming to an end, and Zorya thought she might sleep once they were gone. She did not want Jennifer to pursue her while she was at rest. A compromise had to be reached.
Slowly Zorya crossed the bridge, and Vienna faded from sight. In its place lay a gray landscape and a vast lake. A bench stood on the shore, but it was unoccupied. A fog hung over the water, a cloud of the dead seeking to lose itself in the great expanse.
‘You shouldn’t have come back here.’
The voice came from behind her. Zorya turned, and Jennifer was waiting.
‘I wanted to talk to you,’ said Zorya. She sounded different here, fainter. The dead owned this place, and their utterances held precedence. Zorya was more like them than most, but she continued to cling to some semblance of life.
‘You tried to hurt my father. You tried to kill him.’
The girl spoke softly, but there was no mistaking the rage in her voice, or the threat.
‘That was not my doing,’ said Zorya.
‘You’re a liar!’
Jennifer slashed at her with her right hand. Zorya felt the nails tear into her left cheek, but when she touched the skin, she could find no wounds. There was only pain.
‘Stop!’ said Zorya. ‘This won’t help anything.’
Jennifer relented, and peered at her curiously.
‘How old are you?’ she said.
‘I don’t know,’ said Zorya, and she was telling the truth. ‘I don’t look old, and I don’t feel old, but I remember so much.’
Jennifer sniffed the fingers of her right hand.
‘You smell bad,’ she said. ‘Like you’re rotting.’
‘I’m weary,’ said Zorya. ‘I need to sleep.’
‘Then sleep.’
‘I can’t, not while I know you’re looking for me.’
‘You should have thought of that before you set out to harm my father,’ said Jennifer. ‘Do you know what I think? You were hoping that if he was killed, you’d isolate me; that if he was dead, my connection to his world would come to an end, and he and I would be just like the rest.’
She gestured to the water, at the ones who would soon forget what they once had been.
‘Was I mistaken?’said Zorya.
Jennifer did not reply, but her eyes gave her away. Jennifer Parker was not as old as Zorya, and had not yet learned to hide her feelings. Zorya had been right: the father was the key.
‘You shouldn’t have tried,’ said Jennifer.
‘I agree,’said Zorya. ‘I should not have sown the idea in their heads. I want to make up for it. I can give the Vuksans to the ones who are hunting them.’
‘They’ll find them with or without your help.’
‘Possibly, but I won’t stand in their way, and I won’t warn the Vuksans of their approach.’
Jennifer was staring at Zorya’s hands.
‘You have very sharp nails,’ she said, ‘much sharper than mine, and your fingers are very long.’
Zorya tried to hide them by folding them into her fists, and felt the fingernails digging into her palms. She pressed down harder, welcoming the sting. It reminded her that she was not yet entirely as this girl was.
‘How many people have you hurt with them?’ Jennifer continued. ‘That’s what you sometimes do, isn’t it? You tear at them with your nails. Perhaps a long time ago, so long ago that you’ve almost forgotten the details, someone hurt you, and now you hurt others in return.’
Zorya twitched, as though to shake off the buzzing of a fly.
‘No one hurt me,’ said Zorya.
‘I don’t believe you,’ said Jennifer, ‘but you still have to be stopped.’
Jennifer was very fast, so fast that Zorya didn’t even see her hand move. Her right index finger cut a line across Zorya’s chin. This time, Zorya felt the skin open, and the wound began to bleed.
‘Why don’t you stay awhile?’ said Jennifer, and her eyes were entirely black. ‘We can play a hurting game.’
But Zorya was already retreating across the bridge. Vienna reappeared around her, the city emerging as though waking from a dream of itself, and her chin was red with blood.