by Elise Kova
She didn’t wait to see Wayne’s reaction, and instead continued wandering through the house on autopilot.
Besides more of that relative messiness, it was still in much the same shape as she remembered. There were more little details depicting slight, barely recognizable change, however, like no upright piano in the hallway; a smaller, lower-quality television in the living room. As she walked into the kitchen, she noticed a lack of fruit in the bowl by the toaster, a pile of bills stacked in its place. Without turning her watch on to get a closer look, she could tell some of them were recent, especially the ones with Final Notice stamped in bold red ink along the front.
It occurred to her then, just how much her mother had been relying on her for financial stability. The money she made from various odd and usually illegal jobs—high paying stints with the Yakuza, usually—had always gone at least in part to her mother. Without that cut, how difficult was it for her to get by?
“This your little sister’s room or something?” Wayne’s voice pulled her through the kitchen and to the back of the house, her distraction giving way to confusion the moment she approached the open doorway.
“This—” she heard herself whisper on a half-second delay. Jo swallowed to clear the lump in her throat and make room for the rest of the sentence. “This is my room.”
But it wasn’t. Not really, not anymore. The walls were painted a light blue, toys and stuffed animals littering the floor. It was obviously a room belonging to a little girl, nowhere near what her own childhood room had been. Her walls had been a messy collage of movie posters and sticky notes, her “toys” limited to various computer parts and video games. Whoever this child was, she was very much not Josephina Espinosa.
And why should she be? Jo remembered the vague conversation of a miscarriage somewhere around when she’d turned eight, a passing comment about how it had probably been for the best. A casual joke about Jo being enough of a handful, though Jo was already old enough to recognize that it was more about another mouth to feed and all too recently filed divorce papers. Maybe, in this version of reality, Jo’s lack of existence meant the creation of this little girl’s.
Maybe embryonic Jo had been the one who miscarried.
Wandering throughout the room, letting her fingers brush against a bright, floral comforter, a stuffed unicorn, it finally hit her.
The world didn’t continue on without her. The loved ones she’d had and the memories she’d made with them didn’t just vanish; they were never there to begin with. She’d known that, Snow had implied as much, and yet the sinking realization hit her like jumping into an outdoor pool in the winter. Her sacrifice had created something entirely new: a world where “Jo” had never been. In giving up her own existence, she’d ultimately set everyone she’d ever known down a different path entirely. A new time-line, new reality.
Which meant—
“I need to go see Yuusuke,” Jo said abruptly, turning towards the closet door and imagining—no, believing—that the door would appear. It took a second for the sensation to manifest into something tangible, but just as she reached towards the handle, it began to shift.
Which was exactly when a small child, hair almost identical to Jo’s pulled into pig-tailed braids, came frolicking into the room.
Jo lost the image of the door instantly, turning on her heel with a start, part of her still expecting to be caught. She’d been so preoccupied with her thoughts, she hadn’t even heard anyone come home.
Just like the agents in the Ranger compound, the girl paid them no mind, going about removing her backpack and tossing it onto the bed. With a quick flourish, she plopped herself onto the comforter beside it and began digging through the small, purple bag with a determined expression. She looked to be about seven years old.
She looked nothing like Jo had at her age.
“Lydia!”
Jo’s heart clenched, her mother’s voice echoing from the kitchen. The little girl—Lydia, not named after her maternal grandmother like Jo had been, but her father’s mother—sunk her hands deeper into her bag. With a grin, she pulled a touchpad from somewhere in its depths and settled into her pillows.
“Mija, no games until your homework’s done,” came her mother’s voice again, this time closer. Jo found herself panicking.
She couldn’t see her, not like this. She didn’t want to see how tired her mother looked or how much happier she was. She didn’t want to know anymore either way.
A hand on her shoulder had her jerking back towards the closet, Wayne’s other hand was already on the handle; the keypad blinked, waiting for her to plug in a code. When she looked up at him, no idea what expression was written on her face, he only motioned at the door with his chin.
“Let’s make tracks, doll,” he said, voice serious and calming. It was a steady skiff in the swell of panic she was suddenly riding. She took a second to let herself lean into his touch before turning back to the keypad, the code forming like puppet strings tugging at her fingers.
She tried not to listen to the sound of her mother’s approach, keeping all of her focus on leaving that room, that house, and that life behind. For good.
Almost too quickly, they were on the other side.
Yuusuke’s familiar wreck of an apartment was laid out before them. Amidst that wreck was also Yuusuke himself, her friend lounging in an awkward half dangle off the couch. He seemed to be struggling with whatever game he currently had pirated onto his touchpad (Jo would, in any reality, default to assuming he stole it), and the sight was so blissfully familiar, it almost made her dizzy.
He was alive and well. Thanks to her wish, despite the little alterations of the new reality, Yuusuke was alive. Even though he’d never know about her sacrifice, it didn’t make the results any less real, and that made everything she was currently drowning in worth it.
Jo found the tension in her shoulders seeping out, a smile beginning to tug at the corner of her lips. She could go and accept her new life, knowing that he was well. She could make herself believe everything was going to be okay, knowing that she’d accomplished something with her wish.
Before Jo had the chance to even turn back towards the door, however, a familiar beeping sound began to echo persistently from Yuusuke’s computer.
“Finally!” Yuusuke groaned, tossing his touchpad onto the couch cushions and scrambling to his feet. His headphones were in place and his fingers tapping furiously over the keyboard in seconds flat.
Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was jealousy—but before they left, Jo had to know what he was working on. For reasons she didn’t even particularly understand, she needed to see his current project.
All it took was one glimpse at the screen.
“You dumbass,” Jo hissed, taking a step back. Her hands were clenched so tight she could feel the bite of her nails against her palm. “You stupid son of a bitch!”
Wayne might have said her name, but it barely registered. All she could hear was the faint music coming from Yuusuke’s headphones, the rhythmic tapping of his fingers working through a reply to the messages—a thank you for this anonymous person’s assistance. All she could see were the start of scrolling files, the thumbnails and open windows depicting every bit of information she was still painfully, suffocatingly familiar with.
He was, after all, sifting through data that Yuu and she had worked on together for months. It was nowhere near as organized as when he’d had her help in collecting it, but that wasn’t something Jo could even take pride in. He was far enough, and the information was sound. At the rate it looked like he was going, he’d be right back in that server room in under a few months—weeks, even. Mere days, if he was reckless—and he usually was.
Yuusuke was still going after the Black Bank, alone this time.
She hadn’t changed a goddamn thing.
“Jo?” Wayne repeated her name for what could have been the second or umpteenth time, concern evident in his voice. Unfortunately, Jo was still seeing red.
&
nbsp; “Will he feel it if I hit him?”
Wayne didn’t answer right away, and when Jo shot her glare in his direction, the look of surprise was etched plainly across his face. “I mean, without time activated? No? But I don’t think you should—”
Jo didn’t even breathe before rearing back and slapping him across the back of the head, something she used to do (with far less force) whenever he was acting stupid. His headphones didn’t fly off, though, and he didn’t turn towards her with a shout and a crude gesture. In fact, Jo was pretty sure the action hurt her more than it hurt him. Deep down, though, she hoped she could at least give him a weird, unexplained headache.
If she knew how to use her blasted watch and time and magic, she could appear before him. She could be like some Latina ghost of Christmas Present wielding a “what do you think you’re doing” chancleta. But watching him obliviously race down the same rabbit hole that had gotten him killed the first time? That was the last straw. Something she couldn’t quite describe broke at the idea.
“Take me back,” Jo whispered, suddenly too tired to even believe the door would appear to her if she tried. When Wayne didn’t immediately respond, she turned towards him more completely, eyes pleading. “Take me home. Please.”
For a long moment, Wayne looked as if he was trying to figure out what to say. An apology maybe. Or some kind of comfort. But in the end, he did as told, leading her back to the Society without a word.
Chapter 10
Ready, Aim, Fire!
IT HAD BEEN a whole day since she’d last left her room in the Society.
At least, Jo thought it had been a day. She hadn’t turtled like this in quite some time. The hours washed over her like the one stone they couldn’t erode. Her anger was just as present as it had been when she’d left Yuusuke’s apartment.
She’d wished to save his life, and her family’s. But her mom seemed in no better shape—if anything, worse—without Jo’s monthly stipend deposited into her account. And Yuu was headed right toward failure with all the determination of a high-speed rail.
What was the point of her wish? What was the point of her even being here?
A knock on the door startled Jo from her thoughts. She twisted her head, looking dully at the offending portal. Didn’t everyone know that she was too busy sulking and feeling sorry for herself to entertain?
Another knock signified that her self-pity was officially over.
“Come in,” Jo called out. After a brief pause that seemed almost hesitant, Jo watched the knob turn and the door creak open.
“Jo?” Takako peeked around it, taking a cautious step into her room once she caught sight of her. “Wayne said you’d come back here after seeing your family, and no one else has mentioned seeing you for two days,” she said, as if trying to explain her presence.
“So, it’s been two days, huh?” Jo mumbled. She sat and massaged the stiffness from her shoulders. “I guess I really don’t need to eat anymore.”
“No, you don’t.”
Takako’s matter-of-fact manner brought a small smile to Jo’s lips, one she quickly abandoned. “So, what’s up?”
“Wayne said you were pretty upset.”
“I don’t need taking care of,” Jo huffed, even though her actions screamed to the contrary. “And I certainly don’t need Wayne spreading my personal business.”
“All he said was that you visited family and that you were upset. We don’t really pry when it comes to past lives.” To Jo’s surprise, Takako laughed—a soft breath of sound—but enough for Jo to hear. When she glanced back at the other woman, she was smirking, a subtle, barely-there tilt at the corner of her mouth. “And I’m sure you don’t need ‘taking care of.’ Even if you did, that’s more Nico’s thing.”
“All right then. What’s your thing?”
“Well,” Takako said, shoving her hands in her pockets. “I figured you might want to let off some steam.”
“What might that entail?” Jo already knew it would involve finally leaving her bedroom. It was way past time.
Takako just gave a nod of her head and strode out the door, leaving Jo to disentangle herself from the cocoon of sheets. At the sound of Jo’s door closing, Takako glimpsed over her shoulder, as if to make sure Jo was still following.
When they got to the Four-Way, Takako led her straight across, where Wayne had pointed out the recreation rooms. There hadn’t been much detail offered on her tour, so Jo’s old curiosity perked up right away at the possibility for new information.
They stopped in front of one of two rooms positioned across from each other. Further down the hall, Jo spotted a solid black door to the left, and one in white at the very end. Neither had nameplates. At least, she thought neither of them did. They were so far away that she could make out little other than their color.
Before Jo could ask about the mysterious black and white rooms, however, Takako was pulling her smartphone out of her pocket and placing it on a small, gold shelf next to the door in front of them.
“We have to leave our watches outside?” Jo asked, involuntarily reaching for her own wrist.
“Don’t bother.” Takako stopped her from taking off her wristband. “No one can touch another person’s watch. And once yours is on the shelf, no one can alter that recreation room either.”
Eyeing Takako’s smartphone, Jo asked, “What do you mean no one else can ‘alter’ it? Use it, you mean? Like a sock on the door?”
At this, Takako chuckled again. “No, physically alter. The room molds itself to what you need. And, until you take your watch from the shelf, it won’t mold to anyone else. People can come and go, but it’d be useless to them if they want something different.”
As if in explanation, Takako chose that moment to open the door.
The entire room appeared to be a rather elaborate gun range, filling the area in both a width and a length that far exceeded what should have been possible based on the layout of the building. Targets were already set in place, each pulled back from the shooting booth at various distances, some going all the way out to what must have been at least five hundred feet, maybe more.
“So, firearms?” Jo sidled up next to Takako as she walked over to the side wall, the entirety of it lined with all manner of firearms from semi-automatics to long-range sniper rifles. Jo wasn’t deeply familiar with the logistics of gun use, nor would she consider herself a connoisseur. But that didn’t mean she was a novice either.
“I usually only use the recreation rooms to practice,” Takako answered, grabbing a few guns off the wall and placing them in one of the booths. She followed that up with a few boxes of ammo. “But sometimes, I also come when I need to clear my head.”
“So, they—the rooms I mean—change for everyone?” Jo’s mind was already spinning with possibilities.
Takako nodded. “It changes based on what you need.”
Takako was loading bullets into her first gun, a semi-automatic if Jo had to guess. As she watched in silent appreciation of Takako’s almost elegant familiarity with the weapon, Jo couldn’t help but wonder what her own recreation room would look like. Maybe it would have a really elaborate, high-priced, decked-out desktop—like the one she’d always dreamed about owning one day. The sort of thing she’d only buy when she’d done her last gig, made all the money she could hope to make, and was wasting away her days in a penthouse suite somewhere.
If she thought about it, she’d already crossed most of those things off her list:
Last gig, check.
A magical mansion was better than a penthouse. So, check.
She didn’t really have any need for money, now. Damn, if she wasn’t careful she’d talk herself into thinking she had a sweet setup going here.
“All right, you ready?” Takako successfully pulled Jo from her own thoughts once more, placing the gun in front of her in the booth.
“Me, first?” Jo blinked, looking down at it with a wary eye. She’d shot a gun before, sure; it was hard to avoid in the Lo
ne Star Republic. But it had been long ago enough that Jo was in dire need of a quick safety review.
Takako seemed to catch on quick, thankfully, and smirked a bit as she reached over and grabbed two headsets off a hook to Jo’s left. She put one on, and then, without hesitation, reached over to place the second over Jo’s ears. Jo could feel the gentle touch of the other woman’s thumbs as they brushed her temples, could see the concentration in Takako’s eyes as she adjusted the earmuffs to where they completely blocked out all sound.
Suddenly, the sound of her own breathing, a bit rushed, seemed very loud.
Before she could dwell on the other woman’s kind and careful action any longer, Takako was grabbing the loaded gun, clicking off the safety, and aiming. A deep breath, finger moving with practiced ease from the flank of the gun to the trigger, and then suddenly she was firing.
For the first shot, all Jo could do was watch her face. Takako’s expression never wavered, never flinched, both eyes open and zeroed in with a savage sort of focus. It was mesmerizing. It took Jo a substantial amount of effort to drag her eyes away and back to the targets.
With each shot, no matter how far, a bullet careened easily and poignantly into a bullseye.
Jo’s jaw dropped. It was incredible, like watching a pianist execute a perfect concerto, or a baseball player bat a perfect game. She could practically feel the energy emanating off of her, rolling in waves as each bullet left the chamber. It was as if she could see an aura radiating around her. Almost like, like—
Oh. It was like magic.
Once all six bullets had been fired, Takako took off her headset and set it on the booth. Jo did the same, still somewhat slack jawed.
“So that’s your thing then?” she asked before she could stop herself, trying not to flinch at the lack of tact. “I mean, your magic. You’re. . . a good shot?”
Again, Takako smiled at her, shaking her head a bit in amusement. This time, when Jo felt warmth spreading across her cheeks, it was welcome.
