by Drake Dalton
Once the ice was broken, Julie was an amazing talker. We continued down the street, chatting about nothing and everything: what I thought about something she'd seen in the paper or heard on the television or found on the internet. It was all fair game. She gaily chatted away, keeping me engaged in polite conversation and holding my arm at a casual distance without looking my way, but her eyes began to hop across a street that was more conspicuously barren with each passing block and a blue sky that remained far too empty for any modern city.
She clearly didn't want to believe the abduction theory, but I began to wonder if taking my arm and chatting with me was simply her way of keeping the only person that she could see from disappearing while she confirmed that my ludicrous story couldn't possibly be real.
We came to a dogleg and angled right.
The street ended at an avenue that paralleled the shore.
Back on Earth, we'd have seen a modern seaport.
Here, we found tidal mudflats.
Even Julie noticed the difference.
She'd been expecting to see piers and warehouses beyond a four-lane avenue, with a couple of bonus lanes up the middle for mass transit. She'd been prepared to hear the sounds of engines and horns, along with a few trolley bells. She'd been thinking to smell dead fish and diesel, and perhaps a drifting cloud of exhaust or two.
The new reality was far different.
A narrow two-lane road curved along a bulwark that stood between the raised sidewalk and a rocky shore, with the mud of a low tide just beyond. Green railings and antique streetlights marked the far side, while hungry seagulls hovered motionless in a salty breeze deflected upward by that crumbling concrete wall. Far beyond the whitecaps dancing in the bay, an orange and green shoreline lit the far horizon. But strangest of all was the shape of the near shore.
The Earth's Embarcadero was wide and straight because man made it so. San Francisco was built on fill, but this city was not. Its winding shoreline contained jutting shoulders and smaller bays. The road snaking along that shoreline mirrored those natural curves.
"Kansas, huh?" Julie asked, still holding my arm.
"Beg your pardon?"
"No tourist traps here. Nothing higher than three-story buildings back there. You said we're not in Kansas, anymore. I'm starting to believe you, but it's not an alien world, either." She pointed to the tall suspension bridge to our right that headed from the shore to Treasure Island and then to Oakland on the far side of the bay. "That's the Bay Bridge, even if this isn't San Francisco. Did your friend's college buddy have any theories besides alien abductions?"
"The way I heard it, that depended on how much beer he drank," I replied with a quick grin. "He also talked about alternate dimensions and parallel worlds, but only when he switched to drinking the hard stuff.
"Parallel worlds." She nodded, taking her gaze off the bridge long enough to sweep it past the shops on the city side of the winding street. The closest buildings were a darkened pub and a quiet restaurant with a handful of empty tables on a patio out front. Next came several run-down apartments that crowded the sidewalk—their squat, cramped features redefining the meaning of luxury seaside living. Beyond that, there may have been another pub or a convenience store, but with the distance it was hard to tell. Every building, however, appeared equally empty. "Yeah," she said, "I'll buy that. It sounds more likely than a different planet."
"Wait, you're buying that stuff?" I asked. "Are you some kind of closet sci-fi geek?"
"It makes sense, doesn't it?" she countered. "This is almost San Francisco, but not quite. Ours might have looked similar if they hadn't gone crazy in the Barbary Coast days, or if they'd been a little more reasonable about building skyscrapers in the mud after the fire, but that begs a question. If they were smart enough to do things right in this world, why aren't they still here? There's no sign of a disaster or anything like that, so what made them leave?"
"What, indeed?" I asked.
This time it was my turn to mutter the question that we obviously both shared.
Faced with the reality that she wasn't simply turned around—and that she was going to be later to her meeting than she'd planned—Julie wasted no time in dealing with the situation and taking over as the leader of our little group. My first impression was correct. She'd thrived in a tough industry. She couldn't do that if she couldn't think for herself and adapt.
"Since you were unconscious when I found you, I presume you have a similar memory loss to mine," she said. It was a statement, not a question, so I didn't reply. "I'm guessing that something happened to us to knock us out and bring us here. If we can figure out what that was, we might be able to figure out how to reverse it and get back home. What was the last thing you remember before waking up here?"
"I don't know," I lied. "It's still a little fuzzy."
If she wanted to be the leader, that was fine with me.
It would be easier to guide her thoughts from the rear.
In truth, getting home was not the problem. Travel between the worlds was easy. One only had to step on a perfectly calm patch of water that was lit by the moon and the universe did the rest, which was why so many people went missing each year. Steering to the right world was the real trick, but between my studies with Merlin and the centuries spent after the Crusades freezing my ass off on mountaintops with the monks, I'd learned a thing or two. The bigger problem—and the one that she'd quite literally forgotten—was that I'd interfered with a mystic bounty hunter that was hot on her trail.
It would be back.
This time, it might bring friends.
"Well, if you remember anything, let me know. In the meantime, we might be here for a while. We should prepare." She looked down at her outfit, particularly the skirt and heels. "I don't know about you, but I'm not exactly dressed for the occasion. Let's see if we can't find a shop or two that might have something we can use."
She set off up the street, fully expecting me to follow. I fell in line behind her, enjoying the view while trying not to go overboard about it. She really was quite pretty—
"By the way," she said over her shoulder, "if we do find something for me to change into, no peeking."
"Peeking! We're the only two people on the planet and you're worried about peeking?"
"Yes, well, at this point that is mere conjecture. Should we discover additional evidence in support of your theory, we can always revisit the subject at a later date—but you'll need to make yourself a damned sight more useful between now and then for me to even consider the proposal. In the meantime, Mister Masters, you heard me. No peeking."
The Ice Queen returned.
"Yeah, all right. Fine," I muttered. "And the name's Dave, by the way. Call me Dave."
We could do chivalry and the Old Ways, if she liked.
The modern ways were much more fun.
#
Julie Nybolt, my redheaded Ice Queen, was one lucky girl. Clothing shops should have been closer to the business district, rather than sitting near the beach, but the convenience store she'd found had a little of everything—including years of dust covering anything that was left on the shelves. After enough pawing through all that dirt—and dusting off the things she liked—she found one royal blue jogging outfit that fit her pretty well, a pair of sneakers that weren't too tight, and two undersized baseball bats that claimed to be perfect for hours of beachside fun.
"For the dogs," she'd said, testing their heft.
She had a fairly competent fighting stance.
I might have been curious to see more of her style, but I was banished to the front of the store with orders to find food—which was limited to instant noodles. The dogs had ripped into everything else and left a mess of shredded wrappers on the floor. The fact that the store hadn't been looted before the dogs found it was troubling... almost as troubling as the fact that my cold little Ice Queen made sure that I could see her in the store's security mirrors when she changed.
It bothered me that I looked.
&nbs
p; I tried to explain to myself that I hadn't seen much and that my eyes were only pulled in that direction because of the movement and contrasting colors—deep red hair, skin like milk, black straps biting that skin, and royal blue with white stripes flaring at the cuffs—but my protest fell on deaf ears, especially since the vision of those delicate fingers slowly zipping her top and then casually adjusting the spectacular superstructure residing within that jacket refused to fade.
No peeking.
Such an easy request.
I was a man of my word, as I'd told her while we walked, so why should such a simple oath cause me such problems?
After the store, we returned to the apartments to find a place to hold up for the night. I wanted something where a small campfire wouldn't shine through the windows. The hallway on the second story of the first building we scouted was perfect—a slate floor for the fire, sturdy doors at either end to keep the critters out, and enough padding from the mattresses and blankets that we found in the apartments to make it cozy. A lampshade and some bent coat hangers, along with a few minutes of bashing at the ceiling with her baseball bats took care of the smoke, although the upstairs neighbors might have complained if there'd been anyone at home. Then, we settled down for the night, but not without objections.
"It's too early to sleep," she argued.
She sat on the other side of the fire eating a cup of beef flavored noodles. We'd scavenged some kitchenware and set a fireplace grate across the rocks that I'd hauled inside for the fire. With a makeshift burner for the noodle pot and the tea kettle, I thought we'd done pretty well for an improvised camp, but her nose still hadn't left the air.
At least she wasn't freaking out.
Sadly, that left plenty of time for remembering.
With her hair in loose curls past her shoulders and the sweat jacket zipped casually, she looked a damned sight more comfortable than she'd been in that confining business suit, but with comfort came lifestyle demands. I'd hoped that we might become friends. With the exception of a short time after the dog attack, however, she couldn't forget who she was... or who I wasn't.
She was a dimensionally perfect queen.
I had never even walked a bronze beach.
I was simply not worth her time, even as the last man on the planet.
"The sun's too low," I told her, stretching out on the mattress that I'd propped crosswise in the hall, then folding my hands on my chest as I got comfortable. The mattress might have been lumpy and the pillow in the corner at the wall was a little flat, but it beat the living hell out of sleeping in the dirt.
"I like to be cautious when I'm dealing with the unknown," I added. "We have no idea how long it takes night to fall around here. We don't know how much twilight we have, either. We'll watch the sky for now. We can always be more reckless tomorrow."
"I thought I was in charge," she complained.
"Yes."
"Yes what? Yes, I'm in charge, or yes, I only thought I was?"
"Yes."
"You're a real dick, do you know that?"
"Dave. I'm a real Dave," I said, closing my eyes. "Wake me a couple hours after full dark. I need to look at the moon to figure out how to get out of this mess."
"The moon? Why? Is there something that you're not telling me?"
"Just the crazy bits, dear heart. Just the crazy bits. Good night."
Her earlier offer to take the first watch was a stroke of luck. I was going to ask her anyway, since rookies could never stay awake in the wee hours of the morning, but it was better coming from her. There was just one problem. She didn't know what to do with that mouth when it wasn't busy talking.
"Crazy or not, I'd like to hear it," she said.
"You're not letting me sleep."
"Then tell me what you meant."
"I didn't mean anything. It was just a joke, okay?"
"Mister Masters, I've questioned hundreds of people in my profession. I can spot a liar before I even sit at the table. They all have that smug, 'I'm so smart' expression."
"That lets me out. I'm not smart. I didn't even go to college. Now, good night."
She quieted after that, which was good.
She continued to stare, however, which was not.
"Good night, I said."
"I haven't made a peep."
"I can feel your eyes."
"Oh? Can't sleep when you're aroused?" she asked, her voice growing low and husky.
"Not supposed to get aroused. Supposed to get some sleep. Why not take your toys down the hall and practice with them?"
"I'd feel terrible working out so close to you while you're all hot and bothered."
"I'll manage," I snorted.
In retrospect, it may have been the wrong thing to say.
I'd been sure that the Ice Queen was simply revving my engines for a cheap laugh. She'd done so well during the day that I forgot how new she was to the game. I hadn't considered that she'd been doing well only because she'd been on the move. Now that we'd stopped, her racing mind needed reassurance. Responding to her playful banter may have helped in that regard, but telling her to buzz off did not. For a gal like her, being spurned was far from reassuring.
"Yesss, I just bet you will," she said.
My eyes opened at the suddenly frosty tone.
"I'll bet that you've learned to manage by yourself just fine," she added.
Her face was as stiff and cold as her voice.
She stood, turning her back to retrieve her clubs.
"Look, um... I'm sorry," I told her. "I do need to get some sleep, but I can stay awake for a few more minutes. Would you like me to watch you practice for a bit? Maybe give you a few pointers along the way?"
I'd never given it much thought when I was as young as she—too many righteous thoughts cluttered my head—but centuries of experience later in life taught me to never underestimate the importance of an apology, whether I thought I owed one or not.
Sadly, the apology came too late.
"What do you know about fighting?" she snapped. "You wouldn't even touch a ball bat back at that shop. You said you were a complete klutz, remember?"
"I said I always feel like a klutz at stick fighting," I gently reminded her. "That doesn't mean I don't know how it's done. I'm more of an edged weapons specialist, myself."
"Really?" she drawled skeptically. "Like swords?"
"Well... yeah. Like swords."
She laughed, but cold and bitter.
"Lucky for you that store was fresh out of claymores," she told me as she headed for the other end of the hall. "Sometimes, we're forced to take the things that we can get, even if they're disappointing."
The way she glared as she stomped past left no doubt that she no longer spoke of weapons.
But then, I caught a break—ill-fated, or not.
A disturbance appeared at the end of the hall ahead of her. A dimensional zephyr pushed through the door—pale and insubstantial—then solidified as it materialized once fully inside.
"Back! Get back!" I cried, hopping to my feet.
They'd found us quicker than I'd hoped.
Cursing my luck, I prepared for the worst.
#
"Back, Julie! Get back here!"
She froze for only a moment, but that moment felt like eternity as the mystic cyclone that filled the hallway spotted its target and surged ahead—tilting its maw forward to prepare to slurp up another victim.
Turning, she bolted as I kicked open the front door of the apartment next to me. Dropping to the floor within that frame as the door swung free, I set my back to one side and my feet to the other, pushing hard to wedge myself in place. Waving her over, I motioned her to hurry.
She practically flew into my arms, then hugged me tight and burrowed into my shoulder. The zephyr was on us in an instant, a howling vortex that whistled around us—pulling our hair, snagging our clothes, stinging our skin with its slickly chilling touch. Her face burrowed deeper as I held tight, biting down on an urge to
gag from the zephyr's slick touch while riding out the storm and the decreasing energy that continued to blast through the hallway.
Then, as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone.
Energy depleted, the twister vanished without a trace.
I yawned repeatedly, blinking and clearing the ringing silence from my ears. I might have wished that I'd had time to come up with a better plan to shield us from the attack, but the hasty one worked. Zephyrs only had so much energy. I'd jumped into the earlier vortex to split that limited energy between two targets and deny it the ability to deliver its package all the way to its destination. This time, I'd anchored us down and simply waited it out.
But where were the others?
I was sure there'd be more.
Closing my eyes, I stretched my senses beyond the walls, listening with more than my ears—feeling for any energy pockets that didn't belong. I wasn't the best at the mystic arts, but I'd learned some tricks after the Crusades while spending those centuries sitting in the snow on isolated mountaintops with the monks; but like those mountaintops, I found nothing around us. The city was dark, quiet. Something glowed faintly to the west, and there was a steady warmth beneath the waves of the bay to the north and the east, but nothing in the city itself.
I didn't completely understand.
Except for the ball of bundled energy that I still held in my arms, I was alone.
That shouldn't have been the case.
Why hadn't the unknown wizard sent more?
"What was that cloud?" Julie asked, her voice shaking, scared.
"It's called a dimensional zephyr," I told her honestly, stroking her hair and then cradling the back of her head. "This isn't the first time you've run into one. The more you encounter them, the more you see, the less you forget. Next time, it'll be even more substantial. Your brain learns how to watch them."
The sound of my voice rumbling deep in my chest calmed her, but—
"Next time!" she demanded. "It's coming back? What does it want?"
"Us," I said simply, continuing to talk. Cranking up the chivalry, I ignored the soft weight and the intoxicating warmth that still held me tight. This time, I would stay true to my duty and recognize her needs. I would give her the reassurance that I'd denied her before, trusting that she would let me know when she felt the need to break free.
