Society of Wishes

by Elise Kova

  “But I do. I can see it in the Severity of Exchange.”

  Jo hung her head, searching for options. She took a breath and straightened her back. “Okay, I messed up, I’m sorry.” No one seemed to have any interest in her apology. Not that she blamed them, of course. “But I’ll fix it.” She looked to Eslar, hoping he’d save her from the grave-shaped hole she’d dug without knowing. “I can fix it. We just have to make the wish happen before he’s transferred, right?”

  “That’s only three days from now,” Eslar said uncertainly.

  “Plenty of time!” Jo may have sold her reassurance a little too hard. Her laugh was strained and thin. “Really, plenty. If I can take down the Black Bank in less than a week with my magic, I can falsify some hospital and research records. It’ll be simple, I’ll just—”

  “How much time do you have left?” Snow interrupted her again.

  Jo looked down at her watch, and her heart sank. “Just over an hour. . .”

  “Not enough.”

  “I promise you, it is.” She fished around in her pocket for the USB and pulled it out, showing it to everyone. “I can code here, and use this to bring my scripts to the real world. I just have to hit ‘run’ and make sure nothing goes wrong. It worked for the Black Bank and it’d work for this. You told me to learn my magic, so I did, and this is how I can use it best.”

  “And if it doesn’t work, we’re left stranded.” Snow shook his head. “We must look for another way.”

  “It will work,” she insisted.

  “You have done enough.”

  “Let me help you,” Jo pleaded, looking between Snow and Eslar. “I can do this, I promise, believe me.”

  “We shall continue thinking of a way without you,” Snow spoke with a heavy note of finality. “As we were doing before you decided to arrive. Therefore, you are no longer needed for this discussion.”

  “Are you kicking me out?” Jo balked.

  “I was giving you the opportunity to leave yourself, before I had to say it outright.”

  Jo opened her mouth to protest, but Wayne cut her off. “Let’s make tracks, doll.”

  Before she could say anything further, Wayne had already pushed her from the room. Jo seethed silently halfway down the hall to the Four-Way, but burst when she could take it no longer.

  “Who does he think he is?”

  Wayne made a hushing noise at her.

  “Oh let them hear, I don’t care.” She threw a rude gesture back at the doors.

  “We messed up.” He buried his hands in his pockets, looking like a freshly scolded child.

  “I know we did!” Jo sighed, lowering her voice. “I’m sorry. I’m not angry at you. I can’t be. All you did was help me and got in trouble for it.”

  He didn’t contest the fact.

  “I get it, we made an error. . . But I can still help. You’ve seen me work, Wayne. You know an hour and three days is plenty of time.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Do you or don’t you?” She stopped him by grabbing his wrist and they both hovered in the Four-Way.

  “I do.”

  A smile cracked through her anger. At the very least, he seemed to believe in her. “Thank you.”

  “You’re wel—”

  “Now, tell Eslar.” She didn’t want him accepting her thanks; she wanted action.

  “What?” He seemed startled by her sudden demand.

  “Tell Eslar about my magic, what I can do. Tell him what you saw and tell him I can do this. Snow is. . . how did you put it? A bastard?”

  “I don’t think I ever said that.”

  “You’re right, I just did.” Jo grinned conspiratorially. Even if Snow was right in reprimanding her, that didn’t make it feel good, and anger made Jo petty—even if her anger was mostly inward facing. “Talk to Eslar, tell him, make him let me help.”

  Wayne’s brow furrowed and he squinted slightly. Jo braced herself for an outright refusal. He shook his head and her heart sank with his eyes as they turned to the floor. But like a phoenix, they rose again. “Okay, dollface, cheer up. I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thank you!” Jo threw her arms around his neck. “I can never pay you back for all of this, but thank you.”

  He gave her a friendly squeeze and then pulled away, starting toward the rooms. “No promises though.”

  “I know,” Jo assured him. But she wasn’t worried. Once Eslar knew of her magic, there wasn’t any way he’d still choose to go it alone. “Thanks again.”

  “You got it.” Wayne gave her a tired looking grin, and a little wink. “We’re teammates after all. I’d do anything for this team.” He disappeared into his room, leaving Jo standing before her door.

  She hoped he was being sincere. . . because for the second time since she’d arrived in the Society, her redemption rested squarely on Wayne’s shoulders.

  Chapter 22

  Almost Like Permission

  JO’S HEART SKIPPED a half beat when she opened the door to her room.

  Unlike the disjointed recreation of her old bedroom, what lay spread out before now was an almost flawless depiction of her and Wayne’s hotel room in Paris. The plush bed, the too-loud carpet pattern, the painting hanging on the wall above an ornate side table—though it wasn’t the gaudy meta one. It was the rendering of Texas Nico had given her. Even the balcony had followed, a portion of her room now overlooking a perpetual Paris nighttime, an illusion that both calmed and irritated her.

  Despite the agitation at herself and the situation as a whole, Jo still felt her furrowed brow softening at that view.

  Taking a moment to walk the length of the room, feeling the carpet dip softly beneath her shoes, Jo thought about Paris. Even if it had made a mess (one Jo was still certain she could clean up, if they let her) she couldn’t find herself regretting it. She’d helped Yuusuke, again. Something about that fact, about making sure her wish hadn’t gone to waste, was relieving. Even if he went off to get himself killed again in the future—Jo swallowed anger at the mere thought—that’d be his choice, and she could live with it.

  Jo leaned against the wall by the window, wondering if she saw reality, or just a glorified hologram on a long-timed feedback loop.

  That wasn’t all she’d found in Paris. She’d secured an unlikely, but very welcome ally. Wayne had given her some scrap of confidence in her magic and the freedom to believe in it. And he’d given her a brief distraction afterward, icing on the cake that she’d desperately needed.

  Jo’s cheeks heated despite herself at the memory. It’d been far too long since she’d been with someone. At least a year. Perhaps it’d be that long until she’d go to Wayne again for some relief? Her dating pool had suddenly become very shallow. Jo turned back into the room and away from the thought.

  Snow’s face flashed before her eyes and she waved a hand through the air, as if shooing the image. It lingered persistently, his disappointed and somewhat angry look seared into her retinas.

  With a flop, Jo threw herself into the bed, half expecting the sheets to remain immovable beneath her as they had in Paris when she was pulled out of time. Thankfully, however, they crumpled and fluffed against the attack, cradling her in a nest of feather pillows and a cloud-like comforter. Once she knew she could, she settled herself in, burying her feet beneath the soft linens and propping her head beneath her hands.

  Their infuriating leader floated up to the forefront of her thoughts again.

  “Damn it, Snow.” Jo shook her head. “Stop looking at me like that.” Disappointment was so much worse than anger. She had to do it—surely, he saw that?

  A firm knock on her door jarred her thoughts. Jo bolted upright, practically sprinting to answer it. Wayne had really come through for her, yet again, and now Eslar was—

  Whatever Eslar was doing, it was not standing at her door.

  “Hey there,” Jo said to the awkwardly hovering Takako, trying to hide her disappointment.

  “I apologize for bothering you so
late.”

  “Is it?” Jo looked out the window of her room; the Paris skyline was still lit up. Jo shrugged. “Not like time really matters to me—us, anyway.”

  “It doesn’t,” Takako confirmed in her uniquely mechanical way. Jo found her tone incredibly reassuring in its own right. “But it’s nearly past midnight.”

  “Oh.” Jo wasn’t sure what else to say so she simply waited. Takako fidgeted awkwardly, hands clasped behind her back. “Is there. . . something else?” Jo asked hopefully, still thinking of Eslar.

  Takako brought her hands from around her back, rejoining them to cradle something that was very, very familiar. Every detail was exactly as Jo remembered. Unlike Nico’s painting, this had a preciseness to it that was undeniable. It wasn’t blurred colors that evoked vague, sensory notions of home.

  It was a literal piece of home, in the shape of a ceramic mug.

  “Is it the right one?” she asked, and Jo wondered if she heard a bit of nerves in Takako’s voice.

  “Yes,” she whispered, finally accepting the token.

  The visage of the most iconic mouse in the world was inked underneath a scratched veneer of clear glaze. It was white on the outside, red on the inside. The handle looked like half an ear.

  Jo cradled the mug, identical to the one her mother had gotten her at Disney all those years ago, and had one question. “How?”

  “You spoke about the mug, in the kitchen, when Nico broke his. . . not that long ago.” Takako buried her hands in her pockets, as if assuring that Jo couldn’t hand it back to her.

  “I know I did, but—”

  “Samson’s a really good crafter. He can make almost anything. I asked him after you spoke about it; it seemed like something that could cheer you up.” It was an explanation, but only part.

  “Okay, but how did you know?”

  Takako shrugged.

  “Did you go to my house?” There was only one way he could’ve found the exact details of the mug.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Members of the Society don’t leave unless they’re on a wish.” Takako turned, starting for the door across the hall that had her name written in both English and Hiragana.

  “Wait—”

  The other woman paused, arching her eyebrows. She’d said that it was “to cheer her up,” but Jo had other suspicions. It felt almost like permission. Permission to bend the rules sometimes, if it meant helping themselves.

  “Are you mad at me?” Jo dared a whisper.

  “For what?”

  “For what I did and how it affected the wish?”

  Takako chewed over her answer for an agonizing amount of time. “You have made things very difficult.”

  Jo’s heart sank. The woman certainly didn’t mince words

  “But I think we can overcome this.” Takako smiled tiredly. “I wouldn’t worry too much.”

  The door closed before Jo had a chance to ask anything else.

  Jo leaned on her own door frame, still clutching the mug. She’d make this right. She had to.

  Chapter 23

  Redemption Flavored Coffee

  JO PAUSED AT the entrance to the common area the next morning, hovering awkwardly. Most of the group was already there. Wayne sat at the bar, a newspaper—proof of magic, because such things hadn’t existed for decades—folded over his knee. Takako stood not far from him, scooping rice from a cooker into a variety of small bowls.

  “That looks good.” Jo eased herself by Takako and braved a smile. To her relief, it was returned, and whatever lines Jo had crossed by helping Yuusuke were already on the way to being set right once more.

  “You’ll get to enjoy it soon.” Nico’s voice piped up suddenly from the far end of the kitchen, the human embodiment of the bright and cloudless sky that stretched over them this morning. “It’s Takako’s turn to make breakfast for the group.”

  It would seem that all traces of yesterday’s disappointment that Jo had watched mar his kind face were gone—for now, anyway. Jo swallowed hard, remembering his painting, his confidence in her, telling about his wish and his Julia. Over time, she’d prove to him (and everyone) that their kindness wasn’t misplaced. But for now, she was content watching him practically skip toward the espresso machine.

  “Does everyone take turns cooking?” she asked.

  “Samson does most of the cooking actually. We just offer him some respite occasionally,” Nico clarified.

  “Okay, cool,” Jo nodded. “Because I can literally burn boiled water, so you might not want me near a stove.”

  “Luckily, boiling water is the only thing that matters, because with it you can make coffee.” Nico measured out beans into the grinder with the precision of a chemist.

  “Can I get in on that?” Jo perked up at the already rich smell of a dark roast that filled the air. That, mixed with the clean scent of rice and whatever meat Takako had working in the oven, left Jo’s mouth watering. She wasn’t actually hungry (which was supposedly normal now), but boy was she ready to eat away her stress.

  “Only if I can get in on that, too.” Wayne poked his head up. On catching her eye, he gave a small wink and said, “I meant the coffee, dollface.”

  “Obviously, dirty old man.” Jo rolled her eyes. She was torn between wanting to play along, wanting to keep the quiet peace that the morning already held, and wanting to shake him until he rattled off all the details of speaking with Eslar.

  Wayne gasped, over-dramatic and clearly not as offended as he pretended to be despite how he raised his free hand to his forehead. “I’m a right lounge lizard, I’ll have you know!”

  “A hundred and fifty-year-old lounge lizard. . . Whatever that means.” Jo shook her head and crossed over to Nico, coffee mug already outstretched. “Please?” Coffee would soothe her restless nerves.

  As Nico poured, Jo caught a glimpse of a different expression. Her grip went slack and she had to focus on holding her mug. The casual atmosphere was a front for them all, a sort of self-preservation that they were indulging in while worry gnawed at their insides.

  “Careful it’s—” Nico tried to warn.

  Jo took a large swig of coffee, well knowing it was still scalding hot. It burned all the way down, searing her foggy mind to clarity. “I needed that.”

  “It’s nice to finally have someone here who shares my love for a good cup.” That smile was back, the one she’d been foolish enough to believe was genuine. “Such a fantastic invention. I couldn’t have been happier the first time I saw a coffee shop open in Florence.”

  “When was that? The coffee shop?” Jo played along while the back of her mind was already at work, spinning through her options.

  Nico thought a moment. “The first was in Venice. . . then after that. . . it must’ve been mid- to late 1600s.”

  “Such a rich history for such a rich drink.” She forced a smile as well. Fake smiles all around.

  Samson walked in bleary-eyed, just in time for Takako’s breakfast of choice to be served. It was white rice, broiled fish, and miso soup.

  “I hope it’s to your taste,” Takako said to her. “It’s what I used to make.” There was an unspoken “before I was at the Society” that lingered after the sentiment. “It’s just something simple and quick.” There were no anecdotes about her home or how she learned to make it, and Jo didn’t pry.

  “It’s delicious. Reminds me of what my friend would make for me. . . when he was feeling particularly kind.”

  Takako gave her another small smile and Jo wondered if the woman knew she was speaking of Yuusuke. Either way, the expression was the truest thing Jo had seen all morning. It seemed that Takako was the only one of them that seemed to wear sincere emotions no matter what, good or bad.

  Jo turned to Samson. “So, you cook?”

  He startled so violently that his spoon nearly fell from his hands. The orange-haired man passed it back and forth awkwardly. “I do.”

  “Can you teach me, sometime?”

  “Very
well,” he said, voice so soft she could barely hear it.

  Silence stepped in to fill the void of their conversation. It soured the sweetness of peace that the offering of food had been seasoned with, and wore at Jo’s patience for pleasantries. She knew the easy fronts were “for the sake of the team,” but they wore on her. It may have been easier if they’d screamed at her for a bit.

  “Where’s Snow?” she asked delicately. She’d ease herself into this topic and find what she was looking for.

  “Snow?” Nico cocked a head in thought. “Snow doesn’t really. . .”

  “Snow would have you believe he has more important things to attend to.” Wayne rolled his eyes. “Who knows, though. When he requires our assistance, he will seek us out, but for the most part, he leaves us be.”

  It didn’t seem too unusual for a leader (especially one like Snow) to be “too good” for eating with the peons. But after a few hundred years of solitude, she would’ve thought that attitude might have given way. Whatever Snow’s reason, Jo ignored it for now. Asking about Snow was a diversion to get to her real target.

  “What about Eslar?”

  Everyone seemed to still at once.

  “Working with Snow on the wish, I think,” Samson squeaked out.

  Jo looked to Wayne. He diverted his eyes. No luck there, one way or another.

  “It was delicious, Takako, thank you.” Jo stood, both hands on the table. “Nico, may I help myself to another cup?”

  “Oh, of course. . .”

  “Thanks.” She’d need the caffeine-induced focus.

  “Where are you off to, doll?”

  “Recreation room.” If she lied it’d look suspicious. “Want to see how Yuusuke did.” That was believable, and the mere mention of how she’d botched their Severity of Exchange successfully silenced them.

  Jo took another sip of coffee—careful to only burn her insides and not her whole face as she walked.

  She wasn’t about to be beaten down and give up. She was going to make this right, for herself and for her team. If they could all put on brave fronts for her, she could pay back the favor with action. It didn’t matter if she had Eslar’s help, or Snow’s blessing. She was the Shewolf, and she was used to working alone.