by Ann Lawrence
Kered.
The opening paragraph of the article stated that Townsend Creations, the company that had created the virtual reality game Tolemac Wars, was undergoing an internal upheaval that might result in the demise of the immensely popular game.
What would happen to Tolemac if Townsend Creations pulled the plug? Maggie thought, her pulse throbbing in her throat. Her head felt stuffed with cotton, her hands suddenly ice cold. She scanned the rest of the article to discover that the reclusive D. W. Townsend could not be reached for comment. Stock prices were plummeting. A sidebar article asked the question in a bold headline: will there be a TOLMAC WARS if!
Maggie slapped the magazine closed. She stared at the date. October. Not quite a year since she’d walked through the door of Virtual Heaven to choose an outfit for a November storm party.
All around her, Ocean City was inundated with another nor’easter. The waves snarled and snapped at the boardwalk, spewed their foam up through the boards. The wind, muffled by thermal glass, still whined about the gutters. The scent of damp and mold overwhelmed even that of the new carpeting.
Maggie turned slowly about. What was it Gwen had said so long ago? The poster artist, who also painted book covers for Hearts on Fire Publishing, used live models. That meant the Tolemac warrior might exist…somewhere.
She didn’t want some poster model. She wanted only Kered.
She thrust the thought away even as her feet took her to the game booth and the large poster next to it. The magazine fell from her fingers as she approached his poster with slow, dragging footsteps.
With a complete loss of composure, she slammed her fists into the poster, pounding out her frustration and pain. Energy surged up her arms, through her shoulders, and burst like a gunshot in her head. She staggered back. An ozone scent filled the air.
She gazed in wonder at her hands, then up at the poster. It, too, showed no hint of what had just happened to her. With less anger, she spread her shaking hands. Her fingers touched the poster’s glossy surface.
“Just paper,” she whispered. With the lightest of touches, she skimmed her fingers over his face. Nothing. Over his well-muscled torso. No spark. No jolt. But when her hands reached the jeweled knife strapped to his thigh, the knife strapped to hers flashed red hot. She screamed and fell back. Frantically, she clawed the knife from its sheath. It glowed like molten metal. She dropped it to the carpet. It lay there, blade gleaming, in the faint light from the boardwalk.
Maggie paced a wide circle around the knife, her eyes glued to Kered’s face. Nothing changed. Her world tipped and she sank to the stool Gwen kept behind the counter. Her thigh burned.
As she kneaded the sore spot on her leg, she worried her lip between her teeth. A connection still existed. But could she go back? Could she find him again?
She rose and touched a mere fingertip to the flat, glossy knife. A tremor swept through her. Grief and something else, something vague and disquieting, filled her being. Reluctantly, she dropped her hand.
A terrible thought again intruded on her grief. What if Townsend Creations stopped making the game? Did that mean the path to Kered’s world would cease to exist? Did it mean he would cease to exist?
She looked over her shoulder at the rain-swept sky. What did it take to get to Tolemac? A fluke of lightning at the right time? As if in answer, there was a luminescent flicker over the horizon.
“What should I do?” she whispered to Kered, who stood as he had when she’d first seen him and as he had at the last—impervious to all around him, powerful and silent.
She hung her head and slipped down to her knees. Maybe he needed her here. Maybe he needed her to keep the game going. The Shadow Woman still merged with the trees behind him, a wraith, ready to defend his back.
Maggie looked to where her shop had once stood. Her life, here in Ocean City, had changed drastically in the time she’d been gone. What must everyone think had happened to her? What did Kered think had happened to her?
How long she sat looking up at Kered she could not later say, but her legs had gone to sleep, and her back ached when she finally stood and entered the game booth.
She stepped up to the controls just as she had that first time—unsure, yet lured by a man’s smile.
“I need you,” she said to the empty screen.
The keys blurred. She dashed at her tears with the back of her hands before bringing her fists down on the keyboard with a resounding crash.
The whir and hum filled the game booth. Maggie gripped the railing to anchor herself. Anguish clawed at her resolve.
They burn witches, he’d said. Had he sent her away to protect her? Had he sent her away because the question he’d posed to Nilrem—How may we be together?—had no answer in a slave society? Or had other factors conspired against them?
“It takes a while to warm up.”
Maggie shrieked and whirled around. Gwen stood in the arched entrance to the game booth, her hair sticking up like a rooster tail, an old chenille robe knotted over her sweatpants.
They fell into each other’s arms, sobbing and gasping out unintelligible words of joy and disbelief.
Gwen shoved Maggie out to arm’s length and chastised her as one would a lost child, dearly loved. “Where have you been? Everyone has been worried sick about you! How could you do this to us?”
Maggie hugged Gwen close to forestall an answer. “I’m sorry. So sorry.” She glanced over Gwen’s shoulder, like an addict who knew her fix might appear at any moment. The screen remained blank.
“Look at me!” Gwen shook Maggie, then reached around her and tapped a few keys. The hum of machinery fell silent.
Biting her tongue, Maggie allowed Gwen to drag her into the shop and force her down onto the stool. “Please, Gwen, don’t ask me to explain.” Maggie folded her hands tightly in her lap.
“I’m sorry, but you have to,” Gwen said softly. She briefly touched Maggie’s shoulder. “For the past year, everyone thought you were dead—or almost everyone.” Gwen squealed and hugged Maggie tightly once more. “Oh, God. You owe me an explanation. You owe your mom and dad an explanation—”
Gwen stopped short. She reached down and picked up the dagger Maggie had thrown to the floor. Light glinted off the blade. Gwen’s gaze swept over Maggie, and she seemed to see her for the first time. “This costume, this knife—” Gwen shifted her gaze to the Tolemac Wars poster. “I don’t get it. Halloween’s not for two weeks.”
Maggie bit her lip and tasted blood. There was nothing she could say that would not sound insane.
“You’re involved in that damned game convention in Atlantic City, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you’ve become a game groupie!”
“Game groupie?” Maggie tried to keep her voice neutral.
Gwen slapped the dagger into Maggie’s lap. “Take your stupid prop.” She stomped to the doors, came back, and stood before Maggie with her hands on her hips. “You damn well better explain yourself because with what I’m thinking—” She stuttered to a halt.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking. Why don’t you tell me?” Maggie was amazed at the calm sound of her voice.
“No. You tell me. Start with the night of the fire.”
“What fire?” Maggie found her gaze drifting to the place where her shop ought to be.
“You know what fire I mean.” Gwen jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward the missing jewelry shop. “Lightning hit your shop, remember? My shop filled with smoke in a flash. I passed out trying to save your butt, so you’d better explain. Where in hell have you been?” Gwen’s voice rose to a shout.
Maggie leaped off her stool and embraced her friend’s rigid body. “Forgive me, Gwen. Forgive me. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I was gone. Just gone.”
Gwen tore herself out of Maggie’s arms and gripped her shoulders. “Gone? Where? The rescue squad looked everywhere for you! We thought you’d collapsed somewhere from smoke inhalation, had staggered the wrong way, fell in the ocean, drowned,
for God’s sake!”
Maggie had nothing to say. She imagined the anguish of her friend and parents. She’d thought of her mom and dad often in Tolemac, but had put those thoughts aside.
The irony that she’d been practicing the fourth level of awareness control without even realizing it made her smile. She had put thoughts of home aside until it was time to deal with them.
It was not yet time. There were other priorities.
Maggie met her friend’s eyes. “If I tell you what happened to me, do you promise not to tell anyone?” They’d shared much in their friendship. Successes, heartaches, bereavements, secrets.
Gwen sighed as if someone had let the air out of her. She dashed tears from her eyes. “Tell me anything, Maggie. Just explain where you’ve been.”
Maggie stepped past her friend. She lifted her hem and sheathed the now-cold dagger as she stared up at the poster, locked her eyes on the hypnotic lure of Kered’s gaze, steadying herself for what she was going to say. She did not wish to confront the disbelief in Gwen’s eyes. “I guess if my store’s gone, my house is gone, too, isn’t it?” she stalled.
“No,” Gwen said. “Your Gran wouldn’t believe you were dead. She’s been paying the mortgage since the fire.”
“Good for her,” Maggie said to the poster. “Good for her.”
“Yeah. Your Gran swore she felt your spirit in your house. Your folks went nuts about it. You know how they are. They couldn’t say you were dead, couldn’t quite accept you were gone, but they felt it was just plain foolishness to be paying the mortgage for a ghost. Your Gran couldn’t handle the shop rent on top of the house, and your parents couldn’t either, so I took over your space. It was nothing but a burned-out shell anyway.”
Maggie did not flinch at the angry sarcasm in Gwen’s voice. Grief had always made Gwen angry. Eyes locked on Kered’s, Maggie took a chance. “Do you believe in other worlds?’’
“Yeah, Captain Kirk convinced me years ago.”
“Unfair,” Maggie said, turning and facing her friend. “You asked me to explain. So shut up and listen.” And Maggie needed to test how Gwen would cope with her resurrection. After all, if she wanted Gwen to turn on the game again, make it work so she could return to Tolemac, Gwen must believe.
“Sorry. Go on.” Gwen’s voice was low and soft, barely audible.
Maggie tried again. “I’ve been in Tolemac. Trapped there, actually. Somehow, this equipment in here,” she patted the wall of the game booth, “can send you into the game.”
Silence fell between them. The soft murmur of thunder sounded very far off and weak. Maggie felt a quiver of urgency—the storm was moving away. A glance at the window showed her that the wind and rain had subsided.
She raised a hand in the Girl Scout salute. “I swear. Look at me. I’m the Shadow Woman.”
She read the disbelief on Gwen’s face. She also read wary speculation. When Gwen nodded and murmured, “Sure,” Maggie knew that she’d gambled and lost. Whatever Gwen would say, it would be an attempt to “handle” the situation until some authority could step in—or some doctor.
A thought made Maggie’s stomach clench. Maybe I am mad. Maybe I hit my head in the fire and have been wandering in madness for almost a year. “Could you turn on the game? I can prove it to you! Just turn it on.”
Gwen nodded slowly. “Uh. Sure. But—”
Maggie took an urgent step forward. Gwen backed up, hands raised as if to ward off a blow. Maggie froze. She forced herself to turn away and pick up the game magazine and idly flip through it as if playing the game was not particularly important. She resisted the urge to drag Gwen to the game booth and twist her arm until she turned on the game. “But what, Gwen?”
“Well,” Gwen flicked out a hand in the direction of the game booth, “it takes forever to warm up.”
Maggie noted how Gwen’s eyes no longer met hers. Unfortunately, Maggie did not know enough about virtual reality games to know how long they took to start. “How long?” she asked.
“Uh, oh, maybe, that is, a couple hours. It’s been off for a few days, you know.” Gwen bit her lip, still not meeting Maggie’s eyes.
How could Maggie accuse her friend of lying? She had to accept whatever Gwen said. And why was Gwen lying? Another, equally painful, thought flitted through Maggie’s mind. Gwen was humoring her the way one humored an unreasonable child.
Gwen cleared her throat and shoved her hands into the baggy pockets of her robe. “I’m only open on weekends now. The game’s off during the week. That’s why I came down here. I was just going to bed when I heard the game come on. I thought maybe my weekend clerk had come over to play. He does that sometimes.” Gwen’s laughter sounded strained. “I was going to chew him out for scaring me. What a shock, seeing you at the controls.”
Maggie’s shoulders sagged. Gwen might turn on the game, but Maggie wasn’t going to get to play. She could tell. Gwen was stalling, trying to decide how to lace the straightjacket.
“You’re sure dressed to play the game,” Gwen continued.
“Yes, I am,” Maggie said softly, stroking her fingers over the glossy surface of the magazine cover.
“I know what…I’ll start the game, and while it’s warming up, we can go over to your house and get you something else to wear. Then we can call your folks.” Gwen’s eyes gleamed with tears. “They’ll want to know. Especially your Gran. She’s waited so long.”
Maggie nodded and followed Gwen into the game booth. She watched intently as Gwen touched a few keys and the equipment hummed to life. Maggie stood by passively. She’d do anything to get the game turned on. And the storm was moving off even as they spoke. Her time was limited.
“Let’s go,” Gwen said. “The game won’t warm up any faster with us watching it.”
Gwen unlocked the rear door of the shop and stood waiting while Maggie kneaded and twisted the magazine in her hands. Should she go? Should she insist they stay?
Cold, tidal-scented air swirled through the shop.
Impulsively, Maggie dashed back into the game booth. She snatched up the game gun and tucked it into her belt. It was another link to Kered—however tenuous.
They both ignored the light rain that still fell. How incongruous a pair they made, Maggie thought, Gwen in her robe and sneakers and Maggie in her long, flowing gown, as they walked the short block to Maggie’s house. It stood dark and small between two tall duplexes—summer rental properties whose windows were as blank looking as Maggie’s.
Gwen fished the key from under an empty flowerpot. The air inside the house was stale and cold, colder than the stormy atmosphere outside.
Maggie rubbed her arms and from long habit, turned the thermostat up, hearing the familiar click of the gas heater as it responded. It was as if she’d just opened the door and come home from work. She sank into a well-worn maple rocker.
Gwen paced. “Maybe we should call your folks now. It’s only eleven here. It’s not that late out in New Mexico, is it? Three hours earlier? Or is it two?”
Maggie looked up at the battery-powered clock. Its hands had stopped at half-past six. Probably months ago. “Two.” She picked up the phone on the small table by her side. At least she knew what she would not say to her mom and dad. She would not mention Tolemac, that was for sure.
The phone was dead. She raised an eyebrow in Gwen’s direction. “Nothing.”
“Oh. I guess your Gran didn’t keep the phone going. Look. I’ll just zip back to my place and make that call for you.”
And tell my parents to bring a straightjacket with them when they come.
Maggie nodded and remained where she was, slowly rocking, hugging her magazine. Gwen pointed a finger at her and smiled. It was a smile one offered to small children right before telling a lie. “Now don’t go anywhere! Sit right there and wait for me. I’ll just be a moment. I’ll check and see if the game’s warmed up for you.”
Gwen backed out of the door. Maggie counted to ten, then shot from the chair and flew up
the narrow staircase to her bedroom. She skidded to a halt before her closet, flung open the door, and yanked down a duffel bag. In moments, she had stuffed it with whatever came to hand.
Maggie ripped her gown over her head and shoved it into the bag along with the game gun. She placed Kered’s dagger and the magazine on top of the gown. Hunting in a drawer, she grabbed a set of underwear, wasting a moment moaning over the feel of fresh, clean clothing. Next, she jerked on black jeans and a black silk shirt. Her fingers fumbled over the familiar task of lacing up an old pair of paddock boots.
Her good leather shoulder bag was just where she always draped it, over the linen closet doorknob at the top of the stairs. She hooked it off on the way down, taking the stairs two at a time.
In the kitchen, Maggie thanked God for her Gran, who’d left things just as they’d been. She reached into a coffee can and extracted the plastic bag of bills she’d stashed there so long ago, too lazy to make a deposit of store receipts more than once a week.
Finally, with her purse over one shoulder and her duffel bag over the other, she hesitated. Would she be better off waiting for Gwen’s return and trying again to explain?
A murmur of voices, one Gwen’s, one male, came to her from outside. Maggie eased the back door open. She slipped into the night just as footsteps sounded on the front porch.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Maggie spent most of the next day in a Spartan room at the Seaview Motel just outside Ocean City. The taxi driver she’d flagged down at the Chatterbox Restaurant on Ocean City’s main street hadn’t cared if Maggie was a runaway from a virtual reality game. The driver had only cared about getting paid.
Likewise, the motel clerk had yawned through Maggie’s explanations about car trouble and flooding as he’d slapped her key on the counter. In truth, no one seemed to care who she was or what she was doing.
Almost involuntarily, she picked up the phone and punched in her grandmother’s familiar number. Her heart throbbed uncomfortably in her throat. But before her Gran could answer, she dropped the receiver back into its cradle.
