“I was brought here.”
The boy nodded. “You were. Mei, she’s good people. A little headstrong, but a Reaper has to be for all they deal with. There’s no one like her in all the world. The same could be said for Hugo. And Nelson. Apollo. Even you and Alan, though not quite in the same way.” He went to one of the tables and grabbed hold of a chair. He grunted as he pulled it down. It was bigger than he was, and Wallace thought it was going to crash down upon his head. It didn’t, and he set it on the floor before climbing onto it and sitting down. His feet dangled as he kicked them back and forth. He folded his hands in his lap, twiddling his thumbs. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Wallace. I know so much about you, but it’s good to see you face to face.”
A fresh wave of terror washed over him. “Why are you here?”
The boy shrugged. “Why are any of us here?”
Wallace narrowed his eyes. “Do you always answer a question with a question?”
The boy laughed again. “I like you. I always have, even when you were … you know. A bastard.”
Wallace blinked. “Excuse me?”
“A bastard,” the boy repeated. “It took you dying to find your humanity. It’s hysterical if you think about it.”
A flare of anger burned in Wallace’s chest. “Oh, I’m so glad this is all such a riot to you.”
“There’s no need for that. I’m not being facetious. You’re not as you once were. Why do you think that is?”
Wallace said, “I don’t know.”
“It’s okay not to know.” The boy tilted his head against the back of the chair, staring up at the ceiling. It too shimmered like the walls, as if liquid instead of solid. “In fact, an argument could be made it’s better that way. Still … you’re a curiosity. And that means you have my attention.”
“Did you do this to them?” Wallace demanded. “If you’re hurting them, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” the boy asked.
Wallace said nothing.
The boy nodded. “I told you I wasn’t going to hurt you or them. They’re sleeping, in a way. When we’re finished, they’ll awaken and things will be as they always were and always will be. Do you like it here?”
“Yes.”
The boy looked around, the movement strangely stiff as if the bones in his neck were fused together. “It doesn’t seem like much from the outside, does it? A queer house made up of many different ideas. They should clash. They should crumble to the foundation. It shouldn’t stand as it does, and yet you don’t fear the ceiling collapsing onto your head.” Then, “Why did you step in to protect them? The Wallace Price of the living world wouldn’t have raised a finger unless it benefited himself.”
“They’re my friends,” Wallace said, awash in unreality. The room around him felt hazy and muted, only the Manager crystal clear, a focal point, the center of everything.
“They are?” the boy asked. “You didn’t have many of those.” He frowned. “Any of those.”
Wallace looked away. “I know.”
“Then you died,” the boy said. “And came here. To this place. To this … way station. A stop on a much larger journey. And you did just that, didn’t you? You stopped.”
“I don’t want to go through the door,” Wallace said, voice raising and cracking right down the middle. “You can’t make me.”
“I could,” the boy said. “It would be easy. No effort on my part at all. Would you like me to show you?”
Fear, bright and glassy. It wrapped its hands around Wallace’s ribs, fingers digging in.
“I won’t,” the boy said. “Because that’s not what you need.” He glanced at Hugo, expression softening. “He’s a good ferryman, Hugo, though his heart often gets in the way. When I found him, he was angry and confused. Adrift. He didn’t understand the way of things, and yet he had this light in him, fierce but in danger of flickering out. I taught him how to harness it. People like him, they’re rare. There’s beauty in the chaos, if you know where to look for it. But you would know about that, wouldn’t you? You see it too.”
Wallace swallowed thickly. “He’s different.”
“That’s certainly one way to put it.” The boy kicked his feet again as he settled back into the chair, hands on his stomach. “But yes, he is.”
The anger returned, burning the fear away. “And you did this to him.”
The boy arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Wallace’s hands balled into fists. “I’ve heard about you.”
“Oh boy,” he said. “This should be good. Go ahead. Tell me what you’ve heard.”
“You make the ferry … people.”
“I do,” the boy said, “though I don’t want you thinking I pick them without rhyme or reason. Certain people … well. They shine brightly. Hugo happened to be one of them.”
Wallace clenched his jaw. “You’re supposed to be this … this thing—”
“Rude.”
“—this grand thing that oversees life and death, delegating the responsibilities to others—”
“Well, yes. I’m the Manager. I manage.”
“—and you put the weight of death on someone like Hugo. You make him see and do things that—”
“Whoa,” the boy said, sitting up quickly. “Hold on a second. I don’t make anyone do anything. Goodness gracious, Wallace, what have they been telling you about me?”
“You’re callous,” Wallace spat. “And cruel. How could you ever think putting something like that on a man who’d just lost his family was the right thing to do?”
“Hmm,” the boy said. “I think we’ve got our wires crossed somewhere. That’s not the case at all. It’s a choice, Wallace. It all comes down to choice. I didn’t force Hugo to do anything. I merely laid out the options before him and let him make up his own mind.”
Wallace slammed his hands against the counter. “His parents had just died. He was suffering. He was grieving. And you opened a door to show him that there was something beyond what he knew. Of course he would take what you offered. You preyed upon him when he was at his weakest, knowing full well he wasn’t in his right mind.” Wallace was panting by the time he finished, palms stinging.
“Wow,” the boy said. He squinted at Wallace. “You’re protective of him.”
Wallace blanched. “I…”
The boy nodded as if this were answer enough. “I didn’t expect that. I don’t know why. But with all I’ve seen, the most wonderful thing is that I can still be surprised by one such as you. You care about him very much.”
“All of them,” Wallace said. “I care about all of them.”
“Because they’re your friends.”
“Yes.”
“Then why don’t you trust Hugo enough to make decisions for himself?”
“I do,” Wallace said weakly.
“Do you? Because it sounds like you’re second-guessing his choices. I would hope you could tell the difference between being protective and doubting someone you call a friend.”