by Lev AC Rosen
“But if it’s not your mom, you’re looking for messages that aren’t there,” Nat says. She bites slowly into her pancake and chews it as if trying not to make noise. “But I did have an idea,” she says. “You might not like it.”
Nick finishes the pancake and stares at his fingers, which shine with oil. “What is it?” he asks.
“We google her.” Suddenly the sound in the restaurant becomes louder—the click of silverware, the murmur of conversations, the footsteps of servers walking the aisles. One of them places a plate of food down in front of them. “Thanks,” Nat says. The new food smells like chili peppers and peanuts. “Reunne, I mean,” she says to Nick.
“We can’t look her up online,” Nick says. “We’ll ruin the game if we see any of the story.”
“Yeah,” Nat says, taking some of the new food. “But I figured out a way around that. I’ll find the Wiki for the game, and I’ll go to that, and just type in Reunne. I won’t look at anything else. If there’s a whole page for her, I’ll look at it.”
“And that’ll probably mean she’s an NPC,” Nick says. “If there’s a whole page for her. And she’s not Ms. Knight. And she’s not my mom.”
“Not necessarily. If she only plays on the Character server, people who have encountered her might think she’s an NPC. Anyone can add to a Wiki.” Nick nods. “But her page will tell us if she’s only encountered on the main quest, or if she’s been seen elsewhere or anything. It might tell us she’s an NPC…but maybe not. It depends how much info there is.”
Nick wants a reason to tell her no, but he can’t think of any. So he just nods again, feeling his lips press themselves tightly together.
“Oh, quick, look at your book—my mom is watching,” Nat says, her face suddenly contorting into a mask of seriousness, eyes narrowed, one eyebrow raised. Nick stares down at his book. “Okay,” Nat says after a moment. She turns to her bag and takes out her phone. “I’m looking her up now. You okay?”
“Yeah.” He watches Nat type on her phone’s screen, each artificial click noise sounding like loud footsteps. He closes his eyes and pictures Reunne’s face, the lines around her eyes, the hollows of her cheeks.
“This isn’t helpful,” Nat says finally.
“What?” Nick opens his eyes.
“It’s just a stub. ‘Reunne is a gray elf warrior.’ That’s it.” Nick exhales deeply, the air rushing out of him so fast he feels a cool breeze on his face.
“So she must be a person,” Nick says. “If she were an NPC, people would say so, right?”
“I…” Nat shakes her head and slips the phone back into her bag. “I don’t know. It doesn’t mean anything, really. Except that she’s a mystery. Which we already knew.”
“More to us than to other people,” Nick says.
“Yeah,” Nat says. “So we’re still stuck. Although…” She types a few more things into her phone, then smiles brightly. “Elkana has a stub, too,” she says, excited. “Elkana is a troll. Well, that’s not very informative.”
“So Reunne could be a person,” Nick says. Nat types some more into her phone.
“Severkin doesn’t come up, though,” she says, frowning. She looks up at him. “Sorry. Want me to add one?”
“That’s okay,” Nick says. “I barely interact with anyone but you and Mom, anyway.” He pauses, realizing what he’s just said and how silly it sounds. “Reunne, I mean,” he says quickly, and takes a bite of his food. Thankfully, Nat pretends not to notice.
“I guess we have to find out more about Reunne, then,” she says. “And Ms. Knight.”
“And I need to find out more about my mom.” Nick irons out the pages of his textbook with his palm.
“How? The questionnaire is turned in.”
“I’ll figure something out.” He stares at Nat.
She looks down at her textbook. “But how are we going to find out about Ms. Knight?” she asks. “Think she’d tell us about her character?”
“If it is her,” Nick says, “and she doesn’t want us to know…then, no. But…there is someone else I can ask.”
“Who?”
“Her girlfriend, Jess. She works at the home my mom’s at. I ran into them in the parking lot. That’s how she knows….I’ll need to come up with an excuse for asking, though. Like I want to make sure I’m not playing with my teacher or something…”
“That should work,” Nat says, nodding. “And we can keep trying to figure out what Reunne is trying to tell you in the game. If she is your mom.”
“Yeah,” Nick says, flipping a page in his textbook.
“If we finish the main quest, then that’ll tell us if she’s an NPC, won’t it? Like if she dies at the end…” Nat pauses. Nick feels a sudden cold shudder rock him. “Sorry,” Nat continues. “But if…in the quest, she does something, or if at the end she says something like ‘Nice adventuring with you. If you need my help again, you can find me in my home,’ and then you can go there to get her to join you. NPCs always do stuff like that when their quest is over.”
“So we just need to finish the main quest,” Nick says. “I never do the main quest first.”
“Me neither.”
“Well, thanks for doing it now,” Nick says. “It’ll be worth it. If it is my mom, then there’ll be a clue—like we use the artifacts we’re collecting to do something, and that’s a symbol for what she’s trying to tell us. How to get her out of the home, probably.”
Nat is silent for a long while, staring at her book. Nick thinks maybe her mom is watching again. She nods, then puts a hand on her textbook. “We should probably do some actual work, then. Otherwise we won’t have time to play tonight.”
They begin going over chapters of history, algebraic formulas, and literature that they know is classic but feels like more of the history reading. Nick tries not to think about Reunne. He tries not to think about Ms. Knight or his mother, but they all seem to stare back at him from the words and numbers on the pages: his mother’s closing eye in the shape of an a, Ms. Knight wielding her chalk like a spear in a K, Reunne turning away from him to fight an oncoming wolf like a 7. The game plays on in his mind, even when he’s not near the console.
“Do you get this?” Nick asks, referring to the algebra in front of him.
Nat looks up at his page, then raises an eyebrow. “ ’Cause I’m Asian, I’m good at math?” she asks.
Nick thinks she’s kidding, but just in case, he says: “No, no, I just mean—” But she stops him with a laugh.
“I think you have to move the x to the other side of the equation,” she says, pointing at the page. Their fingers are close, his pinky angled like an arrow flying from the bow of his curved hand. Nick can feel her staring at him, so he looks up, and he can feel her hand getting even closer, the heat of it like a fireball. It’s amazing how much heat comes from just her pinky finger. Enough that the back of his neck starts to sweat. But then her eyes flicker and she pulls her hand back, staring up past Nick. Nick turns to see his father, hands in his pockets and a grin on his face that makes him like like a gremlin who’s just stolen a giant bag of gold.
“Hi, Dad,” Nick says.
“Hi,” Dad says, still grinning. “You must be Nat?” he asks, turning his eyes on Nat. “Short for…Natalie?”
“Yeah,” Nat says, standing and extending her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Reeves.”
“Very nice to meet you, too,” Nick’s dad says, pronouncing the word “very” in a way that makes Nick’s face feel hot.
“I guess I gotta go,” Nick says, starting to pack up his things before his father says something else.
“Wait,” Nat says. “My mom wants to meet you, Mr. Reeves.”
“I’d like to meet her, too, if my son is going to be studying in her restaurant.”
“I texted you,” Nick says, putting the last of his stuff away. “Besides, I get real food here.”
Nick shrugs his backpack on and turns toward the door. Jenny is already coming down the aisle towa
rd them. Nick needs to make this fast: They’ll meet, he’ll get permission to go to the GamesCon, and then they’ll flee. If it starts going long, he’ll have to find a way to cut it short.
“Hello there,” Jenny says, extending her hand to Nick’s dad. They shake. “I’m Jenny, Nat’s mom.” She smiles at Dad, her face glowing. Without turning her face from him, she says, “Nick, what do you think you’re doing? You’re not going anywhere. Sit down—all of you. More food is coming. Natalie’s father won’t be back from the city until late, but we can eat and chat without him.”
Nick opens his mouth but can’t think of anything to stop this from happening. He looks anxiously at Dad, hoping he’ll want to leave. Maybe he really wants to cook tonight.
“That sounds wonderful,” Dad says as he sits. Nick looks helplessly at Nat, who shrugs, a giggle clearly dancing under her lips. With a sigh, Nick takes off his backpack and sits down, his bag a heavy weight at his feet.
• • •
It doesn’t go as awfully as Nick had imagined. Yes, there are quick knife slashes of embarrassment from his father, but they seem to tear at his clothes rather than his skin. Sure, he’s naked and trying to retain some dignity, but at least it doesn’t hurt. And Nat gets just as bad from her mother as Nick gets from Dad. Sometimes servers rush out and whisper something in Jenny’s ear and then she has to go to the kitchen for a few minutes. Those are the worst times, when Nick’s dad stares at Nat, and then at Nick, and then back at Nat, letting the silence fill with suggestions. But the food is really good, spicy and flavorful and not burned, and best of all, Dad gives permission for Nick to go to the GamesCon.
“That sounds great, actually,” Dad says after Jenny mentions it. The meal is over, and small glasses of steaming, woody tea have been put in front of them. “Nick is always playing that thing, and I don’t understand it. I think it would be good for him to see people talking about what goes into making it, all that stuff. I don’t really get it…but I know it’s a whole world: mythologies, characters. Interactive books, my wife calls it. She says the series has strong mythological and anthropological roots, too. She plays with Nick.”
For a moment—less than a moment, really, just the time it takes to begin to inhale—Nick thinks Dad knows. Thinks Dad knows about Reunne being Mom and has just confirmed it. But then he realizes that’s not what Dad meant at all.
“Played,” Nick corrects him. Or secretly plays without their seeing each other because you couldn’t convince her to stay at home. Jenny looks over at him, then up at Nick’s dad expectantly, but when no explanation is forthcoming, smiles politely. She takes a sip of her tea. “Ah…will I need to get Nick’s mother’s permission as well?” she asks, staring at her teacup.
“No, no. I’ll talk it over with Sophie,” Nick’s dad says. He pauses and looks down at the table. “We’re not divorced. She has early-onset Alzheimer’s and is at Sunrise House.”
“Oh,” Jenny says, immediately pressing her hand into Lamont’s arm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”
“That’s all right,” Dad says. “You’re actually the first person I’ve told who didn’t know…us.” He looks over at Nick, and his face is bad graphics—the shimmer in his eyes too bright—old-looking, a last-gen game. Nick looks down at his tea. The graphics there are more sophisticated, the swirl of steam over the tea delicate, like silk, pixels barely visible. He feels Nat’s hand on his knee, but just for a flicker. A quick healing spell, and then it’s gone. “It’s good for me to be able to say it,” Nick’s dad finishes.
“Well, I’m very sorry to hear about it. And who knows? Maybe they’ll cure it in the next few years—and then she can come home.”
“Who knows?” Nick’s dad says, raising his tea to his lips, the steam momentarily covering his face like a veil.
They crack open fortune cookies, and Nat helps Nick pronounce his “Chinese word” before pointing out that fortune cookies are an American thing and aren’t served in China.
“Customers expect them,” Jenny says, taking a bite of hers. “Besides, they don’t taste too bad, and mine says I always bring others happiness.”
“At least you don’t get those awful cryptic ones anymore,” Nat says, then turns to Nick. “They were from another company. They said crap like ‘He who does this thing is happy’ or whatever. Stereotype of the oriental mystic kinda stuff. Such BS.”
“Language, Natalie,” Jenny says.
“I just said two letters,” Nat says. “Am I not allowed to say letters?” She grins at Nick, and Nick grins back.
“Thank you, Jenny,” Nick’s dad says. “It was an amazing meal.” He starts getting out his wallet, but Jenny waves her hands for him to put it away.
“My treat,” she says. “And I’m glad you enjoyed it. You and Nick are welcome here anytime.”
“I’m sure Nick will take advantage of that, with the way I cook.”
“I hope I’ll see more of you, Nick,” Jenny says, and suddenly gives him a large hug. She’s soft, and smells like all the food they just ate mingling with the woodiness of the tea. He hugs her back.
“Thanks,” Nick says. He turns to Nat, but he can feel both Jenny and Dad watching him expectantly, so he just lifts his hand in a wave. She smiles and waves back.
“See you later,” she says. “Got to catch Helena.”
“Yeah,” Nick says. “See you in a bit.”
Nick and Dad walk through the aisles between the tables and outside, where the smells from the restaurant fall away in a sudden wave, leaving only the disappointing smells of the parking lot, exhaust and burned tires. The sun isn’t down yet, still low on the horizon, but it feels chilly already.
In the car, his father turns to him and Nick leans his head back on the headrest, willing himself not to look at his father.
“You didn’t mention Nat was a girl,” Dad says.
“Didn’t think it mattered,” Nick says. His father makes a sound that clearly starts as a laugh but that he tries to hide in a cough.
“Well, she seems very nice,” Dad says. “She’s Chinese American?”
“Her dad is Jewish,” Nick says. “Half-white, like me.”
“Ah,” Dad says. “Well, she seems very nice. And I liked her mom, too.”
“She can cook,” Nick says, folding his arms.
“Yeah, but I bet she couldn’t teach a class on the African American Experience in the Early Nineteen Hundreds, like I did today.”
“Probably not,” Nick says, chuckling despite himself. Dad starts to laugh, and it doesn’t make much sense, but Nick laughs, too. They drive the rest of the way in relative silence, one of them occasionally laughing again and setting the other one off.
Inside the house, Nick is about to run upstairs to play the game but first turns to Dad.
“Thanks,” he says. “For letting me go to the GamesCon.”
“Of course,” Dad says, picking the mail up from the floor. “But promise to take photos. I hear there are weird costumes at those things.”
“Okay, Dad.”
Nick watches his father wander into the kitchen, staring at the mail. He turns the light on in the kitchen, and his silhouette is curved over the mail, his shoulders broad like a shield. Nick runs upstairs to play the game.
SEVERKIN STARES at the tunnel Helena fled through.
“I can get us up,” Reunne says. “Just give me a moment.”
“You all right?” Severkin asks.
“Fine,” Reunne says. “Just preparing.” She takes a deep breath. “Now I’m ready. Elkana?”
Elkana rises from her meditative pose. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Very well,” Reunne says, and suddenly charges the wall, spear forward like the tusk of a boar. She rams into the wall with enough force to dislodge some stone, leaving a tiny alcove. Then she withdraws the spear and rams it into the wall again a little higher up, then again, just above that. She’s creating a ladder, Severkin realizes. Reunne steps back and continues to hurl her spear a
t the wall with an accuracy not quite as precise as Severkin’s but impressive nonetheless. She retrieves it by climbing the already present handholds and pulling the spear out as she jumps down. Within minutes, she’s created a ladder of handholds.
“Let’s go,” she says.
They climb up the wall and follow the tunnel at the top. It slopes downward and is lit only when Elkana uses fire magic on the nearby torches, and they flicker into unsteady life. The path flattens out, and looking around, Severkin realizes they must be beneath the graveyard at the foot of the mountain. There are tombs and coffins lining the walls; skeletons some ambitious graverobber has picked clean lie slumped against the wall.
“Can I ask you something?” Severkin asks Reunne. She shakes her head and puts her finger to her lips.
“This doesn’t feel right,” Elkana whispers. There’s a creak of old hinges opening and one of the torches on the wall goes out in a whisper of cold air. “Necromancy,” Elkana says just as one of the skeletons reaches out and grabs Severkin around the ankle.
Severkin kicks it away, but then another skeleton, held together by and smelling of dried mud, rises and attacks them. Severkin punches it once, and it scatters like rolled dice and doesn’t get back up. But it’s a small victory, as more corpses, in varying states of decay, start to crawl out of their coffins and pull themselves up. Many of them are clutching weapons they were buried with. Severkin takes out his blades, Reunne takes a defensive stance with her spear, and Elkana’s hands burn with fire. As the undead surround them, they attack. Severkin cuts through the leather of dried flesh with his blades and Elkana burns it, while Reunne stabs and leaps over the corpses, her spear finding the rotting holes in their backs.
They take out the first wave easily, but as they move deeper through the caves, the onslaught continues. And the labyrinthine nature of the tunnels doesn’t help, either—dead ends become traps as the walls spawn undead to attack them. Severkin starts keeping track of where they’ve been by whether or not the corpses are out of their coffins or not—which isn’t always an accurate method. They fight for what seems like hours but must stop a few times for Elkana to meditate and for Reunne and Severkin to catch their breaths.
