Even If We Break

by Marieke Nijkamp

  The story settles around us.

  And I can’t help but fall for it. The mood that Ever weaves teases me and pulls me in. It’s magical, and despite everything that happened, despite all the walls I built around myself, I feel like I can be free here. Here, in this expensive cabin dressed up as a castle, with its rich window curtains and leather chairs, its weird dichotomy between classic furniture and high-tech systems.

  Here, all our pain falls away and all that’s left is murder. We’re trained as inquisitors and healers and thieves. We’ve built a world and a life together.

  I still wish this could last forever.

  Ever glances in my direction, a smile and a challenge in their eyes.

  “Yester Tower is more than a simple tower. It’s a winding castle full of rooms,” they say, and it’s almost as if they’re talking just to me. “Joanna’s personal quarters are still locked, and you have to find your way into her atelier as well. You may examine her body if you so wish, though no one knows what the arcane signs around her are. What do you do?”

  I suck in a breath. Steady my voice. “We investigate.”

  With that, we’re off. The living room is roughly divided in two sections. The couch and chairs in front of the electric fireplace are cordoned off with a green rope to form an out-of-game area. A safe space where we can convene and—quite literally—step out of character.

  The other half of the room, where the dining table stands, is littered with clues. Ever’s used red chalk to draw an arcane circle around the heavy oak dining table, while blankets give the appearance of a body on top. A quick glance tells me there are letters, clues, and puzzles hidden everywhere.

  The area around the staircase and around the door to the porch are clean. In case we need an easy escape route.

  Everyone snaps into action. Carter riffles through the papers, while Maddy examines the door to Councilwoman Yester’s personal quarters, as currently played by the kitchen door (“Everything is warded!”). Liva crouches next to the arcane circle. We’re a ragtag group of onetime friends and a ragtag group of adventurers, and we’ve all thrown ourselves headfirst into pretending this cabin is a castle. We pull on our characters like our costumes. In the world we built between us, everything is easier.

  Even after everything, I’m not sure I’ll find belonging like this anywhere else.

  Ever observes from a distance and smiles. Underneath the hood of their supple green cloak, their thick, black hair is bound in an unruly ponytail, and there’s a smudge of ink on their cheek. Shadows dance all across their face. They might as well be a member of the Unseelie Court, a storyteller to lure in unsuspecting travelers.

  I take in every detail. The quirk of their mouth. The raised eyebrow. The way their right hand grasps the fabric of their cloak, the smallest hint that they’re nervous. Their forest-green eyes settle on me.

  “Finn?” Ever’s voice is quiet. They normally only call us our characters’ names when in-game. “Do you have a moment?”

  I don’t trust myself to answer, so I nod. I grab my crutches and make my way over to the other side of the room, near the door to the porch, somewhat out of earshot of the others. My ankle still hates me for that stunt on the boulders.

  Ever bites their lip. Something of the game master persona slips, and there’s just my best friend left. The person who, even if I’m not sure I can trust anyone else here, is the constellation in the night sky that keeps me steady. “I meant to say this before the game, but…let me know if there’s anything you need this weekend, okay? I know the last couple of months have been hard, so just…let me know if there’s anything. Physically. Emotionally. Anything.”

  Warmth crawls up my cheeks. “Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Yeah. I…yeah. Cool. Thanks.”

  They take a step closer, and I take a step back, out of habit more than conviction. Ever’s face shadows, but they take a step back too, back into GM mode. “I want you to feel safe here.”

  My breath catches. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  This is one of the reasons why I didn’t want to come back to the game; we’re one step outside of the real world. The normal rules don’t apply. My walls don’t hold up. Ever deconstructs me. And I’m helplessly, overwhelmingly, absolutely terrifyingly in love.

  Again and again and again.

  I do the only thing I can. I run headlong into danger. I pull a battered notebook out of my pocket, grab a pencil from the coffee table, and purposefully make my way over to Liva. Because there’s only one way to play this and that’s to play hard. “Do you see any sort of pattern?”

  She tenses. Freezes.

  It’s all I need. I let my annoyance push away my vulnerability. Being angry is so much easier than getting hurt again.

  “Not yet.” Liva clears her throat and keeps her eyes on the makeshift corpse. “It’s clearly an arcane circle, and some of these glyphs are traditional wardings and markings. There’s blood magic here, and protection magic too.” Broken circles and rune-like slash marks. I recognize them from the countless other murders we’ve solved.

  But there are also glyphs that look like music notes, unlike anything I’ve seen before. And there’s a small wooden carving of a raven. “How about those?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing I immediately recognize.” She glances at Ever, who’s been walking around the room. Not following me. Definitely not following me. “Right?”

  Ever comes to stand beside us, resplendent in their green cloak, wearing a scheming smile and fully in game-master mode.

  “Right. You don’t know much about the nature of these glyphs,” they say. “You’ve studied the arcane, of course. But this is different. Older, perhaps. Or more recent. Clearly magical in nature, but it’s outside of your realm of knowledge. What it is exactly is up to you to discover.”

  Liva’s eyes flick from Ever to me and back again. “Rogue magic?”

  Also known as devouring magic, the type of magic that would destroy all others. “It seems likely. But if you want to know more, you have to spend skill points.”

  Liva frowns. “Not yet. Unless Finn wants to…?”

  “Nah, not yet.” I keep my eyes on my paper. With my crutches leaning against my hip, I make a rough sketch of Joanna’s body and her position with regards to the arcane markings, and wait for the heat of Ever’s body to disappear. “What about the raven?”

  “It’s new. You’ve never seen anything like this before.”

  “Is there anything else of note we see?” I ask.

  “Councilwoman Yester’s body has lain here untouched since it was found. As you go through her clothes, you notice the body seems to be unharmed. There are no obvious wounds, whether by sword or rifle, and you see no scratch marks or any other traces of wounds,” Ever says.

  In other words, unless she was scared to death, this could only have been poison or magic, and my money is on the latter.

  “What’s her facial expression? Can we still see it?” Liva crouches near the “head” and gently pushes at the cloth with one perfectly manicured nail. It’s almost as if she brushes a strand of hair out of a face. “Was she shocked, surprised, at ease?”

  “Hard to tell,” Ever says. “The state she’s in now, her expression seems to have mostly disappeared.”

  Exactly.

  “Any discolorations? Anything in particular about the color of her skin? Her lips? Her nails?”

  While Ever shakes their head, I poke through the fabrics that make up the body. They’re fleece. Simple square pieces in different blues and greens, with one moss-green piece signifying her cloak. As my hands follow the curves, I can almost imagine a real body lying underneath the cloth.

  “As you go through Councilwoman Yester’s clothes, you notice what fine quality the silk is. The stitching is exquisite. Her braided girdle, with a copper model of the council’s seal, lies limply to the side. Sh
e wears a simple golden necklace with a tiny cogwheel at the center.”

  “Her pockets?” I ask.

  They lean over me, and my breath hitches. “Her pockets are empty. It appears there are no clues to be found here.”

  Only when Ever moves to the other players, do I breathe again.

  Liva glances up at me. “You know, you could tell them how you feel.”

  I tense my jaw. “Was there any particular reason why you think I’d value your opinion?”

  It’s cruel, I know that.

  Liva flinches. “Finn…”

  I shake my head. Anger is so much safer than feeling. “Don’t pretend you care too much, Liva. We both know it’s a reach.”

  Something like anger rushes over her face too. Hurt, but deeper than that. We used to be such good friends. It’s evident still in the way she designed my overcoat. Not just in terms of the design—comfortable with or without binder, with enough movement not to impede my crutches—but in the style as well. Compared to my usual wardrobe of thrift-store goth, the bright red overcoat is by far the most colorful thing I own. But it’s a bloody red, and it matches well with the crow skulls decorating my crutches, my pale skin, and my faded silver hair. There are leather straps on my back for my crutches. A long, black leather belt wraps around my waist several times, complementing the look. It lets me be the chaotic queer disaster I missed so terribly. It stands out. She did that, because she knows me.

  And I thought I knew her too.

  I always considered the possibility I’d get beaten up one day. It’s par for the course, isn’t it? Stardust High can be misconstrued as fairly modern, and even fairly liberal—especially by Arizona standards. But that doesn’t mean people like me—people like us—can fly under the radar. Most teachers and students are good about my name and pronouns, but I don’t pass as a cis guy yet, no matter how much I want to. No matter how much I thought I did, the first time I wore a binder. (I realized soon enough there was far more to it, but those first couple of days, I’d smile every time I saw my reflection. I finally found clothes that fit, and I found pieces of myself. Mrs. Akashi at the thrift store started putting shirts and coats aside for me, once she realized how much joy it gave me to be able to present the way I felt.)

  Still, Ever and I were two of the only openly trans kids at school. And we weren’t just not cis enough, but also not wealthy enough—or abled enough. There were always a few people who thought it was edgy to taunt, and insult, and spit at us. Of course, by that same narrow-minded worldview, to those same people, we were at least white enough. We had Liva’s friendship. We never bore the brunt of the bullying.

  But I never really thought it would progress past slurs and pushing us around.

  In a way, it didn’t. They didn’t start the fight. I did. That’s the part only my therapist knows. I didn’t mind that they spat at me and shoved into me as I walked across the football field on my way home. I’d learned to ignore that. I snapped and started the fight because they said something awful about Ever. Irrational gallantry, maybe? I never asked for this type of masculinity, but there it was.

  There were only three of them—two cis guys and a girl, all of them seniors too—and I’d seen Liva walk up to the sports field. I knew I wouldn’t be alone—

  I thought I wouldn’t be alone.

  Of course, that makes it sound like a far more considered decision than it was; it was anger, mostly. And protectiveness. And being worn down by the pain of a subluxated shoulder.

  I should have been smarter.

  I shouldn’t have trusted so foolishly.

  I thought Liva was a friend. I thought she would have my back. That was the worst thing. When I think about that afternoon, I don’t think about the people who took my punches and then beat me up. I know they are mean-spirited and shortsighted, and I don’t want to give them the pleasure of having hurt me.

  But I saw Liva from a distance. I saw her watch when they took my crutches and broke the cuffs off, which somehow hurt more than when they broke my wrist. I saw Liva stand there and stare. I saw her look away. She didn’t do anything.

  That was the moment everything shattered. The wounds have healed, but the scars are still there. Perhaps it’s good this is all ending. Perhaps it’s good this’ll be the last time we are together like this, figuring out clues, eating the dinner that Liva laid out, not noticing as the hours slip by. Friendships aren’t meant to last forever, right?

  Let me know if there’s anything you need. Physically. Emotionally.

  * * *

  As the night passes, I keep coming back to that moment. I’ll glance around the room and find Ever staring at me. The moment our eyes meet, they’ll blush and turn away, arms wrapped tightly around their chest.

  The game progresses around me, and outside, the sun has set. The shadows in the room have lengthened and the fireplace is burning low. Between the dark corners and the yellow light, it almost looks like a magician’s tower. Next to Ever, Carter and Maddy are sitting around a puzzle box, trying to find more information. There are fragments of paper spread out on one of the tables. Carter’s fingers are wrapped around a mug.

  “…from the letters, it’s clear that Councilwoman Yester had been in talks with the Leah Family, one of the ruling families of Gonfalon’s underbelly. Not a family a council member would usually be in contact with. More than that, most of the evidence seems to have been carefully burned to ashes.”

  “We really need to open up this chest,” Maddy says.

  “Wait, wasn’t the Leah Family behind that disappearance in the library?” Carter asks.

  Liva walks toward them carrying a plate of cookies from the kitchen. “Oh yeah! That time when C almost lost his arm because he didn’t pay attention to traps. That was fun!”

  Carter scowls. “You have a weird concept of fun.”

  “Your arm got sucked into a stone wall. You should’ve seen yourself.” She offers him the plate.

  “Also,” Maddy adds softly, “didn’t you say you had everything under control?”

  Ever can’t suppress a smile, and Carter rolls his eyes. We’ve all come to learn Maddy’s softest words pack the hardest punch.

  “Hey, let’s open this chest, shall we?”

  I wander a little closer as Maddy picks up the puzzle box and sets to work trying to open it. It’s a bit of a stereotype, getting the autistic girl to solve the puzzles, but she’s also far better at figuring out the solutions than any of us are. More importantly, she likes it. She chose to be the puzzle solver. And she’s intensely focused, as she shifts the puzzle box back and forth, twisting and turning it.

  Her hands tremble. She has her tongue between her teeth and a frown creases her forehead.

  Twist.

  Click.

  The moment the last piece of the box shifts into place and Maddy reaches to open the lid, the fireplace behind her roars to life.

  A flash—like lightning.

  A crash.

  The flames jump from a light simmer, bright enough to add mood to the room, to licking tongues, bright orange and aggressive. Dancing against the glass as if they’re trying to escape.

  “Hell no.” Carter pushes back away from the flames—and his mug goes clattering to the ground. Ever yelps and jumps too.

  I stare at the fire, mesmerized, my heart rate at least three times the normal speed. I want to step closer, and I want to back away, and between the two I’m frozen. “I—I don’t think it’s supposed to do that.”

  It’s an electric fireplace, it should be under control. There’s no way it should be able to burn so…violently.

  “You think?” Ever’s voice ranges three octaves in two words. “Someone should cut the power. Liva, find the fuse box!”

  The flames grow higher, unreasonably so. They’re crackling, or perhaps that’s the electricity itself.

 
Carter backs farther away from the fireplace. “What if it explodes?”

  It looks possible. The flames are beating against the glass now. The whole room has been turned a terrifying red in its glow, and it’s already starting to become swelteringly hot in here.

  “Maddy, get back here.”

  Liva stands over the overturned plate of broken cookies, scattered across the floor. They’re mixed with shards of Carter’s mug. She blinks and blinks again. Her hands are trembling, and she’s gone pale. Then she starts to laugh, and she shakes her head. “Screw you, ghosts.” She crunches the cookies under her feet and makes for the hallway.

  Over the roaring of the flames, we all hear a door open. A click.

  A yelp. “Why are there rats in my cabin?”

  Ever scrambles over to help, but I don’t want to know.

  Then…

  The flames dissipate. The room goes dark. She’s cut the power to the whole cabin, and the only thing left is the sparse moonlight filtering in through the windows.

  In front of the empty fireplace, the puzzle box tumbles from Maddy’s hands onto the floor. Her fingers cramp around air, as if she’s still trying to hold on to the wooden pieces.

  This is how easily we crumble.

  Seven

  Maddy

  Their words sound like they’re under water—or maybe I am. Something’s churning inside of me, and I’m going to be sick.

  “What happened there? Ever, was this your idea?”

  “I appreciate atmosphere, but I’m not a fan of scaring people—or messing with electricity.”

  My skin is too tight, and I feel like I’m overflowing. Fire. Flames.

  “Perhaps the fireplace malfunctioned.”

  “If that’s the case, it had excellent timing.”

  I keep tapping my foot on the floor until my knee locks. If I were closer to the flames, I’d keep my hands too close to the fire until the heat scorched me and claimed me, and I would let it devour me. Instead, there’s darkness, and I can’t see or feel my edges. I need something to ground me, something to cling to. Am I supposed to react? How am I supposed to react? What is left of me?