by Elise Kova
“Jo,” Snow said, a simple greeting. Despite the distance that had been growing between them, the word settled warm and comforting around her heart. It was almost enough to make her ask him to say her name again, to ask him to invite her back to his room so she could lean on him for support while she worked through all the kinks of her plan.
“Good morning,” she replied to the room at large, though she kept her eyes mostly on Snow. The brief, simple exchange seemed to give permission to everyone else to speak, and small chatter picked up.
Samson’s cooking was beyond good, yet again. But Jo found it slightly bitter. She wondered if it was her palate, or if his magic was breaking down further. . . wondered if it was still somehow her fault. Either way, best not to linger on things she couldn’t (yet) control.
Conversation was flowing more easily than it had in the past, the haze of Nico’s death finally lifting. Even if tensions remained high due to the wish, everyone was making an effort. Eslar was quick to inquire about Jo’s progress over the course of the night. She explained what she’d managed to accomplish so far, to the general confusion of the room, and told them of her plans for the rest of the day.
“I still have a lot to do, but my head feels clearer now,” she said, putting her fork down on her empty plate. Even with her stomach in knots, she’d managed to clean it. “Especially after a nice break and good food with better company to lift the spirits.” She smiled at Samson for good measure and then added, “Shouldn’t be long now I don’t think.”
“That’s good to hear,” Eslar said, mostly to himself. If Jo thought she heard surprise in his voice, she was probably just imagining it. It was no good getting worked up over something she didn’t even know to be true, especially when it came to her team’s faith in her. She would not fail, and she liked to think they didn’t doubt that.
“Do you plan to go right back to it then?” Takako asked, and Jo nodded.
But before she could speak up, Pan snatched control of the conversation.
“You two were at it for a while last night,” she said slyly.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Jo was far too tired to indulge the woman and her games.
“Just surprised you managed to get any work done on the wish.”
Jo and Takako exchanged a look.
“Elaborate, Pan?” Eslar asked outright.
Pan’s whole face brightened at the opportunity to speak to someone other than Jo, eager to spill what she had clearly come to the table to talk about from the beginning.
“I just heard them talking and chattering all night is all,” she said dramatically, tossing her violet tresses over her spaghetti-strapped shoulders, massaging them for good measure. “They kept going on about mythology, or some such. I couldn’t make out all the details though.”
“What are you talking about?” Jo asked quietly, horror stealing the strength of her voice.
Pan’s cat eyes drifted back to her. “Josephina, the recreation room is right against mine. Of course I know what goes on in there.”
That made no sense. None. Jo could list the reasons with the taste of metallic panic on her tongue.
The recreation rooms seemed to exist in their own reality. They took every shape and size, and did just as the occupant wanted. They were like a miniature version of the Society, inside the Society. There was no way that in all of those variations, Pan shared a wall—and a poorly soundproofed one at that.
“You came to me about mythology,” Eslar said, turning to Jo. “What are you getting into?”
“I’m not getting into anything,” Jo insisted.
“Then how is it related to the wish?” Snow’s voice cut through the chatter and drew her eyes to him and him alone. Just one look, and she ached. He knew something was amiss. She could see his suspicion and it damn near killed her.
But if it killed her, she was instantly reborn from the frustration of all the secrets he kept and continued to keep from them.
“I don’t question any of your processes; I’d appreciate it if you don’t question mine.” Jo raised her mug to her lips, taking a long sip of coffee and making eye contact with no one.
“You can question my process all day long!” Pan said with a giggle. “So tell me what you were doing in there, since we all know it wasn’t the wish.”
Jo stood, mug in hand. “It was the wish. In fact, I’m almost ready to go out and hack the Bone Carver. I just need to finalize a bit of code and I’ll be off.”
“Really?” Jo wished Takako could have sounded a little less surprised.
“Yes, really.”
“Are you certain, Jo?” Eslar asked skeptically.
“Yes, I got this.”
“Then we’ll leave it to you. Let us know how your work takes.”
Jo barely heard Eslar’s final words; she was already almost out of the kitchen. She had almost made it halfway down the hall when she heard the footsteps and decided to make a brief game of it.
Who would it be? Not Snow, Snow wouldn’t ever scamper like that. Takako? Maybe. But she trusted the woman to have enough sense not to be seen together so soon. Eslar or Samson? No and no. And certainly not Pan.
“What is it, Wayne?” Jo turned, affirming her suspicions. The look of concern on Wayne’s face brought her up short. She was expecting to be chastised for “arousing suspicion,” but she was not expecting concern.
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” she muttered, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one else was on their way.
“Was Pan right?”
“Yeah,” Jo didn’t see the point of denial. “But I don’t know how.”
Wayne frowned. “There’s something off, here.” The man was at a loss, running a hand over his hair and then doing it immediately again. “Did you tell Takako—”
“Everything is going to be fine.” Jo grabbed his hands, trying to hastily reassure him and likely overcompensating by a wide margin in the process. “She’s on our side.”
For a long moment, Wayne just stared at her in silence. Then, with a soft curse, he let his head fall and shoulders droop, running a shaking hand through his slicked back hair in obvious exasperation. “This feels like it’s going too far. And Pan—she’s a wild card in a way I wasn’t entirely expecting. . . I don’t know, Jo.”
“We’re in control of the situation,” Jo interjected fiercely. “Once I get more information, I’m going to confront Snow. He’ll listen to me and I’ll find out whatever he’s been hiding.”
Wayne just sighed. “I admire the confidence, doll, but we’re on the razor’s edge.” Then, after a brief pause, he added, “I don’t want another—”
Jo’s pulse skyrocketed in fear of a never-ending cycle of death. She reacted before she could even give it another iota of thought.
“There won’t be another Nico,” she said, ignoring the slight tremor in her voice and repeating herself more sternly. “I got this. I’m still working on the wish. Even if I can’t end the Society now, I’ll help with the wish to make sure we don’t lose anyone else.”
This time, when Wayne held her gaze in concerned attention, his eyes softened, sad.
“Promise me you won’t tell them,” she tried again. “We’re in too deep, now. . . Just promise me you’ll keep quiet about it, alright? At least for now? Give me a little more time?”
“Jo . . .” Wayne sighed, tone wrapping sadly around her name.
“Maybe my power can break us free,” she confessed in a hushed whisper, hoping no one heard but them. “But I don’t know how to wield it effectively yet. So, for now, just promise me we’ll stay the course? Trust in me?”
A long beat of heavy silence, and then Wayne straightened, returning his nickel to his pocket. For a second it was as if he was about to reach out to her, but in the end thought better of it. Instead, he just ran his hand through his hair again, not quite looking at her anymore.
“Fine, dollface. You have my word.”
Jo hastil
y put her coffee down on a nearby table and pulled him in for a fierce hug. Determining the matter finished, she headed back toward the recreation room, trying to put her mind on the wish once more.
But every attempt she made set her thoughts to wandering. Pan had been right—Pan had known. How?
“I’m so stupid,” Jo whispered, stopping in her tracks so suddenly that she nearly spilled coffee all over herself.
Pan had known back from the first wish what she’d been doing in the recreation room. What else in the Society did she know? Was there anywhere that was safe, or were they all just unwitting puppets in the hands of the master?
Chapter 14
You Again
She wished she wasn’t alone and yet, at the same time, was glad no one else was there to see her off.
Jo squared off against the Door. Had the lights always been so dim? Her eyes drifted upward, squinting to try to find exactly what the light source was for the room. When she looked at the single orb overhead (Magic? Electricity? Something else entirely?), it seemed blinding. But when her eyes fell back to the room itself, shadows clung to the corners, feeding off the red-blue dot the light had burned into her eyes.
She held out her hand, uncurling her fingers. She’d been clutching the USB stick so tightly, it had made indents into her palm. Really, it was a miracle she hadn’t broken the—
Don’t even think it.
Jo shoved it into her pocket, looking back to the door. Lessening the Severity of Exchange was a team effort. She was sure Eslar had other members of the Society moving in their own ways, doing what they could here and there, still casing the police station and diverting their attention from the Bone Carver. Snow would make the final jump to a new timeline, smoothing out the kinks that made the impossible, possible.
It wasn’t down to her to do everything. She couldn’t. So why did it feel like she had to?
Because what she was really working on was far more important. The sooner she finished playing her part for the wish, the sooner she could divert all of her attention to figuring out how to bring about an end to the Society. That was what really mattered, because that would be the only thing that could save them.
Taking a deep breath in through her nose, Jo imagined where she wanted to be. She pictured the Bone Carver’s house clear in her mind. His modest porch, the little welcome mat in front of his door, the matte pastel of the paint on the walls that led up the stairs to his room.
“Let’s get this over with, then,” Jo whispered, mostly to herself. Magic surged through her and her hand fell to the keypad. She stroked in a series of numbers—not even knowing what she hit—and felt the Door throw itself open.
The brisk winter air was almost enough to take her breath away as Jo stepped through the Door. It was actually enough to take her footing—causing her to stumble, nearly losing her balance as she stepped out what would’ve been the front door of the house across the street from the Bone Carver. Not exactly where she’d been intending.
Jo spun in place, as if she could levy some strongly placed words against the Door for such a delivery, but it was already gone. A cheerful wreath of pine boughs greeted her and anyone else who was to come up the stairs of the little picturesque New England home. A shiver ripped through her, bringing Jo’s hands up to grab her arms, rubbing up and down.
The cold bit right through her hoodie, almost mocking the thin fabric. She turned again, looking out into the street. Looking for help and answers that weren’t there.
Twisting her wrist, Jo checked her bio band, confirming what she already knew to be true—she was clocked out of time. Which meant there should be no possible way she felt the cold. She was supposed to be a specter, protected by the veil that stood between herself and reality.
Jo gritted her almost-chattering teeth. It didn’t really matter if she felt cold or not—her comfort didn’t affect her mission. And that was all that mattered right now.
Fumbling with the USB in her pocket, Jo made her way across the street. Just like with Wayne, she ascended the stairs to the porch and held out her hand in front of the Bone Carver’s front door. It took an agonizing moment, but eventually the Door appeared before her.
“We’ll do this just like last time,” she commanded firmly, clearly picturing walking through the front door and ending up on the other side.
The numbers on the pin pad sharpened into focus—albeit a slightly hazy focus—but focus nonetheless. Jo took a deep breath and willed her fingers to move. Her hands were trembling, from cold or from nerves, and utterly protested her commands.
Jo watched her fingers as though they weren’t even connected to her body. It seemed like someone else’s hands, someone else’s nerves. There was something in her pulling the ropes holding her together hair-thin, and the longer she was in reality, the weaker it all became.
The first number depressed. Then the second. And then the third. Jo felt her magic interacting with the Door, coaxing it to take her where she wanted to go—not just where it wanted to show her or thought she meant. Her aura of magic stretched beyond her, wrapping around the paint-flaked posts of the porch and seeping through the house’s front windows. The Door was an immovable force, a sort of dark matter that she couldn’t see through or interact with on a magical level. But she had to. She would.
As if on magical tip-toes, Jo pushed forward, just a little more, fighting for the last numbers.
“Come on. . . ” she pleaded, feeling like she was mentally pounding her fist against a wall of bulletproof glass. Each reach deep into her magic was another desperate strike, until—
One of the taught reins on her magic snapped, the glass shattering beneath her fists. The world tipped, feeling suddenly off balance. It was as if she’d pushed too far and broken an illusion she hadn’t even realized was there. A typhoon was suddenly raging within her, trying to rip her to shreds. It felt impossible to contain, despite how Jo furiously reeled it in. She could have sworn she saw rippling tendrils of pure energy coming off of her in waves.
In a frantic attempt to regain control of the quickly spiraling situation, Jo pushed a button on the pin pad—any button. It may have been all the buttons. In her mad dash for the handle of the Door she may have slapped her palm across the pad. Sparks crackled, not unlike they had with the monitor, wrapping around her hand, arcing to the Door.
She stepped through hastily and felt the unnerving sensation of being ripped across reality a second time.
Breathless, the Door deposited Jo into a bar. Judging from the thick Southern lilts, it was somewhere in the United Federation of North America—yet another corner of the continent she’d never dreamt of stepping foot in. Men and women danced, others congregated around the bar; the crowd was densest around monitors projecting the match of two ride-on robots in a ring somewhere.
Mission.
Jo turned, daring to hold out her hand. The Door appeared—not with a slow fade into existence as it had all times before. But with a sort of crackle, like ice breaking off a wall.
She pressed some numbers into the pin pad, hoping for more instinct than magic. While there was no more magic lightning netting her fingers, the Door didn’t exactly do her any favors. It groaned on its hinges as it opened, ringing in her ears and pulling her through almost violently. All at once, it left Jo dizzy and disoriented in yet another new place.
A familiar scent tickled her nose, adding to the odd juxtaposition of familiar and foreign. The aroma of spices intermingled with the crisp chill of the wind, the earthy scent of poblano peppers about to be made into chile rellenos. It overwhelmed her senses into hyperfocus, easing Jo into her surroundings as the delicious smell wafted past.
The market was bustling, upbeat music filtering from a radio above one of the booths. The words were unfamiliar, a tongue her mother had been fluent in but had never truly passed down to Jo, but she almost recognized the tune. And that, somehow, allowed her to finally recognize where she was.
Though she hadn’t been to visi
t since her abuela’s funeral, it felt as though she was with Jo now, holding her hand in a warm and wrinkled grip as she led her down streets filled with colorful houses and even more colorful people. This was the Juarez Jo had explored with childlike awe; this was the city with beautiful music and delicious food that only abuela knew how to replicate once they were all back home in The Lone Star Republic. This was Chihuahua, and it felt so much like home in that moment that Jo thought she might cry.
Jo’s eyes fluttered closed, breathing in the scents and sounds so familiar and unfamiliar all once. It felt like pastel de tres leches on her birthday, or her grandmother’s soft voice singing A La Nanita Nana every Christmas Eve. It was like a far-away dream, one that Jo would wake from the moment she opened her eyes. Her family, her mortal family. Somewhere, across time, she’d had another family.
Her hand flew up to her face, covering half of it. With one eye, she saw the present. The energy of the market filled with vibrant pieces of art and towering piles of fruits and vegetables, the colorful dresses that her mother used to make her wear when she was little before Jo began demanding to wear jeans.
She could hear the music, switched now to a heavily brass instrumental tune, and felt as though the quick-tongued conversation of those around her only added to the melody. The aroma of food she hadn’t eaten in years, the sound of her mother’s native tongue, all things to remind her of a home she’d once loved more than anything.
Yet, with the other eye obscured by her palm, it was like she could almost make out shapes in the darkness behind her lid. Other people she’d loved. Individuals who, while not family in the conventional mortal sense, were family nonetheless.
Jo spun, dropping her hand and trying to cast away those haunting shadows. Holding out a hand, she willed the Door to appear. With a flicker, it solidified into existence.
