by VK Fox
Life was short. Ian had nearly died last year and that wasn’t unusual for a field agent. Shit, she’d nearly died a couple times too. People in generations past married without much runway leading to the event. Sometimes without even meeting each other first. Were they happy? Did they love each other? Probably sometimes and sometimes not, like modern relationships. She and Ian weren’t likely to have their lives take a turn for the normal, so holding to normal standards might be a mistake.
But it would be stupid to not acknowledge the red flags. They’d spent half a year apart because Ian’s life was interwoven with an organization Jane wanted no part of. How was that supposed to work? What could their life together look like if they had to keep their relationship a secret? Jane wiggled her nose and wound the loose thread around her finger, pulling until it snapped.
Ian’s voice brought her back, “Do we have work to do tonight, pretty lady?”
“Mmmm?”
“I was dreaming about you in a red desert.”
“Like the Nevada desert? That’s pretty on the nose for a prophetic dream.”
Ian shook his head. “No. Somewhere not real, not of this world. When I saw that it made me worry, so I came to find you. And then I, um, got sidetracked when I got here. Is there anything I should know?”
Jane resolutely dragged herself back to the here and now. “Yeah, I should get you up to speed. No immediate crises, so I’m going to make coffee first. Do you want some?” She stood and flipped on the lights, filling a cup with water from the sink and pouring it into the tabletop coffee maker. Coffee smells permeated the little room as Jane turned back to Ian, “So when did you—” Her question faltered as she caught his gaze.
Ian’s eyes roamed over her, his jaw clenched, “Jane, what did you eat for dinner?”
“Uhh, margarita?”
“Lunch?”
“They had pretzels and soda on the plane.”
“Breakfast and snacks?”
“Coffee.”
“Would you say this is a typical day as far as meals go?”
“No, no, of course not, I was traveling today. I normally eat more.”
Ian stared at her flatly.
“I know I’ve lost weight, but not because of my diet. I was asleep for a really long time after…” She didn’t want to say. The you’re in trouble vibe was coming through loud and clear, and any additional information could only make things worse. Jane dropped her eyes so she didn’t have to see his expression.
Ian shifted, and a few heartbeats later he was holding her again. His voice warmed, “I’m sorry, I’ve made you feel bad. That wasn’t my intention.” He paused and relaxed, “Please tell me about your life since October. I’m worried about you.”
Jane met his eyes and managed a small smile, “I traveled internationally all by myself. You would have been proud of me, the way I handled the airport and everything.”
Ian beamed back, “I am proud of you. Where did you go?”
“Only to Canada, so everyone spoke English, took American money, and I didn’t need a passport, but still…”
“Don’t short-change yourself.” Ian squeezed her hand. “What did you do in Canada?”
“I met Emilee.” Jane watched his expression as the pieces clicked into place, his brows knitting together.
“Dahl’s foster mother? How is she?”
“That Multiple Sclerosis bullshit is all cleared up.”
Jane wished she could have recorded Ian’s expression, it fluctuated so rapidly between awe and happiness and shock. Almost as good as Emilee’s face when she’d stood and walked again. Worth it. Jane would do it again in a second. Ian cleared his throat, “You cured a ten-year-old case of MS?”
“Yeah.”
“What about the damage to her body?”
“Handled.”
“She’s completely better?”
“She told me she used to love hiking. She spent last month breaking in a new pair of boots.” Jane was grinning.
“And you were blind for how long afterward?”
“I’m not sure because I had to sleep. The blindness didn’t last as long as the exhaustion.”
Ian frowned, “Ok, so both blindness and exhaustion, how long did it last?”
“Um, like, six months.”
Ian’s tone was oddly hollow, “You’ve been asleep for six months?”
Jane nodded and kissed his cheek. “Well I could wake up a little to eat and go to the bathroom. I don’t remember much about it, but Emilee took care of me.”
Ian sat unfocused, his lips moving slightly. Jane let him think and went to pour coffee. After a few minutes he paced over, still muttering to himself, and gently pinched the skin on the back of her shoulder blade, her upper arm, and her thigh.
“Hey!” Jane wrinkled her nose, “Please ask before scoring my body condition.”
“Sorry.” Ian was absently staring into the middle distance. He refocused and took Jane’s hand, laying it against his chest. “Can you sense my FAS?”
Jane focused, wrapping her mind around Ian’s life force, looking for the effects of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. She found old, old damage where his mind was malformed, stunted in places from too much alcohol. Grasping the answer took less concentration than it had last fall, and the issue was obviously much more readily. “Yes, I can.”
Ian took a shaky breath, “I don’t want you to act right now, but can you tell if it would be possible to cure it?”
The words were a punch in the gut. How had she never investigated Ian’s medical condition? Never talked to him about it? What about Dahl, who was living with nerve damage in his hands? He was having to work through the pain of continuing as a sword fighter and bearing the marks of what he saw as deeply shameful self-harm scars. It hadn’t even occurred to Jane to offer to help.
Ian was saying something, but his voice seemed far away: the room was bright— overexposed—and gravity didn’t seem to be following its normal route. Ian was holding her.
“Jane!” She snapped back to the hotel room. She was laying in the bed, “Ok, you need some care before we continue with anything else.” Ian’s face was set in hard lines, and he kept blinking back tears. “I’ll be back in five minutes with Gatorade and something for you to eat. Then we are going to make a plan to handle what’s going on. I’ve just started at least a month of vacation, so I’m here to be with you and help you. We’ll figure this out.” He kissed her forehead and was out the door.
Chapter Four
Half an hour later, Jane was finishing a plate of salmon complimented by a blue vintage of Gatorade. Ian had returned with dinner, hydration, nutritional shakes, protein bars, and a clipboard. Leaning over the small hotel room desk, he was diligently charting meal plans in careful, precise handwriting while occasionally casting dark glances at the bed. Jane asked about his feelings towards Olive, and he responded only by saying she wasn’t his favorite person right now.
“What about the other agents I ran into? Owen London and some invisible chick?”
“The woman’s name is Alma Palahniuk. It’s a team used for cleaning up messes. They may be trying to find Olive, but there are a few facts here that make me worry. Olive wandered off once in a while when she was still a field agent. Sometimes she would forget who she was or what was happening, and she would get frightened and violent. But she’s been an officer for years now, so there is no reason for her to burn so much power she blanks. Even back in the day, her memory usually came back within a couple hours: it clears like other phantom conditions. The fact she told you she can’t go back is a detail I want to know more about.” Ian paused, “I know something is going on under the table at home, and I know Dahl is tangled in it. Everest Lovecraft, our ex- commanding officer, is helping keep him safe, but I’m light on the details. Now this happens, and I wonder if these things are connected. It’s ticklish, though. The last time I spoke with Lovecraft, he hinted I could do harm by asking the wrong questions. It leaves me without a clear way forward.
”
Jane frowned in Olive’s direction, taking another bite of fish and capers. She could feel a tingle in her hands and blood flowing to her cheeks. The food made a huge, immediate difference. “You don’t know any other details?”
“Only that Lovecraft asked me to stop poking around. Dahl was assigned to spend a good deal of time with him for social health reasons when we got home. I’m not sure if that order is part of whatever is going on, but it’s good to know he’s helping. Dahl may not have thought much of him in the past, but he seems to have come around. Lovecraft is a clever commander who cares for his agents. He has our well-being at heart.”
“Assigned to spend time with him for social health? Is this like the management group you told me about?” Jane dredged her memory for the intrusive title, “like Social Architecture?”
Ian glanced up from writing, “Exactly. Social Architecture is the department that manages the community. They wanted Dahl and Lovecraft to spend time together outside of work and attempt to become friends.”
Jane tried to prevent her jaw drop, “Are you kidding?”
Ian’s brows drew together, “Is something wrong?”
“Dahl hates Lovecraft. Why doesn’t he get to pick his own friends?”
Ian shrugged, “He does, but S.A. gets a vote too. It’s good that they’re looking out for him - for both of them. And I did add that it worked, right? They seem to be getting along very well.”
Jane rubbed her forehead, “What other departments are there?”
“Well,” Ian’s gaze tracked up and left, “Nutrition, Therapy, Acquisition, Education, Basic Training, and a variety of specialized departments: Style, Human Relations—”
“Style? I’m sorry, did you say style?”
“Um, yes.” Ian combed a hand through his hair. “Not for everyone, though. Mostly the agents on our diplomatic team.” He paused briefly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t have a stylist.”
Jane stared over her plate, fork hanging mid mouthful. Ian was describing a level of intrusion which conjured blissful images of a log cabin in the wilderness with a woodstove and a gun safe. She thanked God she was still off the radar. Ian was absently clicking the end of his pen and regarding her with big, worried eyes. Jane pulled the conversation down a side road while she digested. “So, Owen London’s another agent. Who’s he linked to?”
“Sherlock Holmes.”
“Are you shitting me?” Jane glanced up to make sure the manual lock on the door was engaged.
“It’s ok, Jane. If he’s not here yet, he’s not coming. The guy’s good, but he’s not perfect. He probably learned some things about you, but it looks like he didn’t figure out where you’re staying.”
Jane pushed a caper around her plate, “Do you think he knows I have magic?”
“I’m not sure. His power isn’t always on, so he may not have even used his deduction on you.” Ian paused, meeting her gaze, “I’m sorry for how he treated you. Are you ok?”
“Yeah, just freaked me out is all.”
“Do you want me to do something terrible to him?”
Jane laughed, “Like hobble him?”
“I was going to put his name in for correctional sensitivity training, but your idea sounds good, too.”
Jane smiled and let the silence turn comfortable for a few minutes, making an effort to eat as much as possible. The dinner was mouthwatering, if ambitiously portioned. Ian was deep in thought over his clipboard. He loved her. Those weren’t the words he’d used, but they amounted to the same thing. Jane stood and crossed the room, sliding onto his lap and laid her cheek against his massive chest, listening to his heart. He paused from writing to give her a quick squeeze.
A few minutes later he presented her with the completed chart. “I don’t have a heavy background in nutrition, but I think you should aim to gain forty to fifty pounds. I mapped out a—”
“Are you kidding?”
“Um, no. Is that okay?”
“It’s a lot. Like a lot, a lot.”
“It seems right for your height with extra built-in so if you go out for a while and lose some, you don’t become underweight.” Ian’s voice was matter-of-fact. “I mapped out a schedule for meals and snacks. You may have trouble remembering, so I set my watch with alarms to go off at the right times. Now this is going to take some work, and there’s something really important you need to remember while we’re doing this...”
Jane was glancing over the list, “There’s a lot of fish on here.”
“Yes, I feel bad about that, but fish is a very healthy protein and it can’t be helped. Jane?”
“I’m noticing there aren’t a lot of milkshakes.”
“Milkshakes are fine too. This list is the important, nutrient-dense items.”
Jane scowled at a chart to slowly wean off cigarettes.
“Jane?”
“Mmm.” Like she needed nicotine withdrawal on top of all the other stress in her life.
“You shouldn’t heal anyone.” Was he being serious right now? Forty pounds was a stupidly high percentage of her body weight. “You shouldn’t assess injury or illness using your magic. You shouldn’t cure disease. I don’t know about your other powers, but right now you shouldn’t risk those either. You’re on the edge.” Jane was half listening and startled slightly when Ian repositioned her, two fingers on the side of her face, turning her and gazing deeply into her eyes. “Jane, you’re on the edge. You will die if you continue like this. Not might. Not could. You will die unless you make these changes, and the changes will take time. You must stop using your powers right now, no matter how bad the situation is.” His eyes were frighteningly serious. She nodded, and Ian wrapped his arms around her.
“Why doesn’t it go away like the other side effects? Why isn’t it phantom starvation?”
“I don’t know, but it may have to do with your being linked to saints. They weren’t fictional people like Enkidu or Sherlock Holmes. They were real people in this reality, and they may have had real powers. The side effects may be more real for you as well. I did a lot of reading on St. Barbara after you figured out she was one of the saints you were linked to. In many of the stories about her, she was starved as part of her torture. Now I don’t know if this side effect is linked to your healing or if there is something else going on, because St. Barbara never healed anyone. But you also have multiple links, so maybe some of these effects are crossing over? I wish I could give you a more certain answer, but I don’t have much to go on. I know Sana Baba doesn’t link agents multiple times because it causes issues, but I don’t know what those issues are. I’m trying to figure this out as we go.”
“It’s a shame Owen’s such an ass. I would like to hear Sherlock Holmes have a crack at this.”
“If you decide you want to go to Sana Baba, you will have more help figuring this out.”
“Assuming they don’t kill me because they decide I pose a threat to reality as we know it.”
Ian held her tighter, “Yes, but that’s very unlikely. It’s probably fine: you’ve been linked for a while and the multiverse hasn’t collapsed. Healing is an incredible power. Every year we lose agents to injuries.” Ian shook his head sadly, “We are in Vegas right now for a linking ceremony to replace an agent who died of injuries in the line of duty last autumn.”
Jane narrowed her eyes, “You said you weren’t working.”
“I’m not. I wanted to come. I’m on vacation for a month right now.”
“Ian, could you quit if you wanted to?”
“Well, I’m scheduled for retirement in five years.”
“Really?” Retirement at thirty-five was shocking, but 20 years in was the term for some military careers. “It’s beside the point, though. Could you quit?”
Ian shifted his weight slightly, “No. I took a vow when I was linked.”
“You were fifteen, right?”
“Yes.”
“And Dahl? He was even younger.”
“Yes, he
was fourteen. Some links take better at certain ages.” Ian turned one of his blue lapis earrings, his eyes glued on Jane.
“Did you want him to try for the King Arthur link? Did you know that link was risky?”
Ian was silent for a few moments, “Well, I knew he would try. He wanted to.”
“But did you want him to? Did you think it would be good for him?”
More silence. Jane continued, “You raised him since he was, what, eight? You’re his dad. You knew what was best for him because you love him and he’s your son. Could you have said ‘No’ on his behalf?”
Ian’s voice was gruff, “No. I could not have said no.”
“And last year when he was struggling.” Jane could tell she was hurting him, but this needed to be out in the open. “When he tried to kill himself. Could you have left your mission and gone home?”
“I filed a medical appeal on his behalf.”
“But it wasn’t your decision. Again.”
More silence. Ian turned his face so she could only see him in profile.
“Here’s what I think. This organization, Sana Baba, takes babies and raises them, telling them stories about magic and wealth and adventure. Then, when they are at their most impulsive, risk-tolerant age they ask them if they want to be superheroes. Everyone around them is part of the system, and the organization is legally their guardian, so there is no one with the sense or authority to say ‘No’. They get linked, make the jump to gun-slinging, power-wielding, well-funded badasses, and in no time they’ve killed people, saved the world, and done a whole bunch of other stuff that could never make sense to anyone outside of your little group, and you are completely, totally stuck. Your family choices—and even who your friends are—gets fed through the think machine of one boardroom or another keeping everything neatly in line with the company interests.” Jane took a deep breath, “I’m not ever going to be a part of that.”
