by VK Fox
“How did dreaming go?”
Ian heaved an audible sigh, “Olive’s not sharing the details, which means I can’t do a full interpretation. I believe in a few days her memory will return, but I don’t know why. She is being very frustrating.”
Jane frowned. Her options were bagels and lox or a tuna melt. “Maybe she’s embarrassed about something? She is dating your son.”
Ian chuckled, “Embarrassed is not a word I would use with Olive Baum. I’m torn on reaching out to Owen and Alma, but Lovecraft said I should lay low, so that seems like the wisest choice. He has the most facts, and I can tell he cares for Dahl’s wellbeing. I’m annoyed but trying to be careful.”
Their waitress returned with her pen poised over her notepad as Ian rattled off enough food for a family of five. Jane ordered a tuna melt.
“So Dahl and Lovecraft are friends now?”
Ian beamed at the waitress as she departed. His expression was genuine and friendly, but not the same smile he gave Jane. Ian had a whole language in variations of facial happiness. He idly took Jane’s hand across the table. “Yes…”
“Yes and?”
Ian grinned at their joined hands, “Yes.”
Jane knit her eyebrows, waiting. Ian continued grinning and playing with her fingers. Jane cracked first, “Is there more?”
“Maybe.”
“Oh, come on! What do you have under your hat?”
“I wouldn’t want to talk about Dahl’s personal life.”
Jane squeezed his hand, “Ian, Ian, Ian. I’m your girlfriend! Your person! If you don’t get to talk about Dahl’s personal life to anyone else, you can tell me.”
“You’re also his pupil.”
“Well, yes.”
“That makes things harder.”
Jane put on her best confidential face, “I can be trusted to keep personal stuff and professional stuff separate.”
Ian rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. Jane continued to look like the safest person in the world to confide in. Ian messed with Jane’s dayglo jelly bracelets as his grin turned slightly guilty. “Okay, just between us?”
“Of course.”
“Not to be mentioned to Dahl?”
Jane made a motion of locking her lips and tossing the key over her shoulder.
“Dahl may have feelings for Lovecraft.”
Jane was sure her face did something interesting, because Ian chuckled brightly as he observed the effect of his words. She groped for the thread of the conversation.
“Does he have a thing for authority figures?” Shit, that was not a composed reaction. While Ian shook with quiet mirth Jane tried again, “Also, Lovecraft is a man, right? And Dahl’s dating Olive.” Jane chewed her lip. “Maybe start at the top.”
Ian nodded, “This is a hunch, but I’m usually right about these things. They spend a lot of time together. They could just be good friends, but Dahl talks about him much of the time they’re apart as well. I started to think something was there around Solstice, um, Christmas time. His voice changed when he spoke about Lovecraft. I’m not sure if you know what I mean.”
Jane nodded affirmation and Ian continued, “Then he requested a transfer to a different commanding officer. He’s changed the subject anytime I asked about it. If he could serve under Lovecraft when he disliked him, it seemed odd he would request to transfer now that they were getting along. Transfers are only granted for a few reasons. Romantic attachment is one of them.”
“But Olive?”
“I wouldn’t assume he has acted on this, but I think the feelings are there.”
“But men?”
“Not a new thing. He’s had crushes on boys before. Oh, of course—you’re Christian, so this may sound more unusual.” Ian paused, considering, “You have to remember things at home may differ—”
Jane cut in, waving a hand, “Thousands of years, hundreds of cultures. Right?”
Ian beamed at her, “Exactly.”
“But why the change of heart? He was pretty vocal about how much they didn’t get along before.”
Ian shrugged, “I don’t know. He may have been protesting too much. Also Lovecraft—Everest is his first name—has been through a lot since last autumn. He was in a long-term relationship, but his partner died. We don’t do marriage in Sana Baba, but that’s the best parallel I can offer. Shortly afterwards, Lovecraft and Dahl were assigned social visits. The order ended in December, but they’ve continued to spend almost all of their free time together. They’re both lonely. I could see them growing close.”
The waitress and busboy arrived with plates of salad, three bowls of veggie chili, corn chips, baked potatoes, and fruit. Jane’s tuna melt was deposited precariously among the other dishes. Ian nudged some cantaloupe at her as well.
Jane ate a cantaloupe cube, chewing slowly. “So, I’m kind of attached to the idea of marriage.”
“I had assumed based on your background and religious beliefs.”
“You got it.” Jane paused, “And where do you fall on the topic of religion?”
“Casually pagan.”
Jane blinked a few times. In the cozy restaurant atmosphere nearing the end of the 20th century the words sounded odd. Ian was stealing glances between his food and her face. His spoon stirred the chili absently. His cheeks colored.
Jane squeezed his hand, “Hey, what’s wrong?” When he didn’t immediately respond she ducked her head, trying to interrupt his restless focus with eye contact. “I don’t know much about paganism. Is that a problem?”
Ian met her eye, his voice small for such a big man, “You tell me.”
“I don’t think so. I’m a little surprised, but it makes sense. I mean, after all, you are a god-man, right? It seems like belief in old religions must run pretty deep.”
Ian’s shoulders sagged like he’d been holding months of tension and it had all evaporated at once. His face settled into familiar cheer as he took a bite of chili. He squeezed Jane’s hand, opting to continue to eat one-handed. Jane chewed her tuna. He’d been worried. What a funny thing to focus on, given the more immediate concerns of secrecy and treason.
Jane grinned at him, “So, practically speaking, how would this work?”
“How would what work?”
Jane furrowed her brow meaningfully, “This. Us. How would it work?”
Ian paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth. His eyes tracked left for a second. Jane prompted, “I mean with Sana Baba. How could we be together, like together together, with your oath and the security concerns being what they are?”
Ian lowered his spoon slowly, “You’re thinking about what I said?”
“Wasn’t that the plan?”
“I thought it would take longer.”
Jane recalled how blunt Sister Mary had been about potential fatality the following day. “Is it okay if it doesn’t?”
“Yes!” From Ian’s huge lungs the word carried enough volume to silence every other conversation in the restaurant. Jane’s face burned, but her heart galloped along, wild and reckless. Red cheeks and public attention didn’t matter in the midst of crazy, giddy excitement. Ian jumped up and swept her into a kiss so dramatic and public little pockets of applause erupted before the press of his mouth and his body obliterated Jane’s powers of observation. When he set her down again, she wobbled back into her chair. The other restaurant patrons were turning back to their food and conversations, smiles lingering for a few seconds.
Jane couldn’t stop grinning. God, he looked so happy. Ian wiped his eyes briefly, struggling to compose himself before continuing with less volume, “Yes. Yes, of course. To answer your question, we have a couple of options. The most careful is keeping things quiet until I retire. Once I do, there will be fewer eyes on me, although I will still have to register our relationship. I know you don’t want to be on record with Sana Baba. I haven’t figured out a way to make that happen, but this would be the next best thing. There is another option, but it’s a little riskier.”
“Go on.”
“While we were apart, I did a lot of reading about Saint Barbara. Have you had any feelings of being hidden? Maybe a feeling like you were safe or sheltered?”
Jane shivered, “Yeah. I have this idea sometimes about being in a cave and no one can find me. When I dream about it’s like there’s another layer on top of what I’m seeing, as if I was wearing 3D glasses. I don’t know if that makes sense, but I get these images of a cave entrance and two shepherds, like biblical style with robes and walking sticks. In St. Barbara’s story, one of them was stone, though, and mine are both people.”
“Do you remember how I told you a constant magical effect got switched on last autumn? I can tell because you glow faintly - like bioluminescence.”
Jane nodded.
“Well, I’ve been thinking about it, and when we were in Chicago we never had any trouble with the police. The Sisters of Perpetual Help were searching for you and they couldn’t find you. Sister Mary even had a good photo, but she didn’t know who you were. My report about the quick recovery after the Battle of Longwood Gardens was easily accepted without any questions that would have led Sana Baba to figure out why I healed so fast. Now you’re in town and Owen London wasn’t able to track you. Olive couldn’t see your light. Do you see where I’m going with this?”
A tingle spread over Jane’s skin, from her fingers to the tips of her ears. She was watching Ian with wide eyes as he twinkled back at her. Jane found her voice, “You think I’ve hidden myself by magic. Like Saint Barbara hiding in her cave. People who I don’t want to find me or know about me can’t.”
“That’s right.”
“You think I could go on record with Sana Baba and they wouldn’t know who I was.”
“Yeah. There’s only one page of paperwork and an interview. Once they think you’re a civilian there’s no oversight unless you’re on campus. I would be wrong to say I was sure. I don’t know how to test it, but all the clues point this way. You would have a better sense than I do if you could search inside yourself and figure out what you might have set in motion.”
Jane closed her eyes. More practice meditating would be helpful. Dahl wasn’t a poor teacher, but her lack of ease was glaring. The pieces seemed to fit, though. Jane conjured the image of her cave, her two secret keepers, the feeling of safety and protection. A grin spread across her lips: she’d had this in her all along. This was why St. Barbara appeared in her dreams - she was using the power from her nonstop. She could be with Ian and still avoid the crazy side of Sana Baba. If the truth about her ever did come out, maybe Ian could just claim he didn’t know either. Ignorance was preferable to treason. Jane’s eyes flew open, and she checked her watch. “So does Social Architecture have regular hours or what? I know the chapels around here never close.”
Ian’s intense, shaky voice was incongruous for his words, “It’s Human Relations for registering, and yes, they close at three on Mondays. We have a few minutes. Eat your tuna.”
Chapter Twelve
Last January - Four Months Ago
Saturday evening, Dahl rang the bell around six. Everest peered at the front door camera screen, hoping it would give him additional information. What was he doing here? Did he forget something from last week? He was smoking with his left hand. Dahl then, not Mordred. Everest opened the door.
Dahl smiled uncomfortably and shifted foot to foot. “Hey. Looking forward to your first week back?”
“Card and Angelou are on break, and Asimov hasn’t completed his transfer paperwork yet, so I only have one team in the field.”
“Should make for an easy week, then.”
“I still have to have the closing meeting with you and Sendak. What can I do for you?”
“I, ah, wanted to see if you were hungry.”
What was Dahl’s angle here? Everest responded carefully, “Well, my nutritionist says I should eat more.”
Dahl’s shoulders relaxed and his grin became natural instead of forced, “Good!” He rubbed out his cigarette in the front porch ashtray and stepped inside. Dahl appeared instantly at home and wandered over to his familiar place by the glass shelves, retrieving the diet Coke can absently, turning it in his hands. “Did you want to go out or order in?” Everest walked over to reclaim the can from Dahl’s hands, like he always did. Dahl’s fingers didn’t instantly release this time. “I’m going to figure this out.”
Everest frowned, “That’s unlikely.”
Dahl cocked a half smile, “Challenge accepted.” He held it firm.
“Let’s hear it.”
Dahl caught his eye, “It’s imprinted with a single event.”
“What’s your reasoning?”
“It’s a used disposable item in good condition. So it wasn’t sitting by the side of the road collecting memories, and I doubt you would have opened it and drunk the soda after you added it to your collection. So the impression happened after the can was opened and before it was thrown away.”
“I’m impressed.” One of Everest’s agents, Owen London, was linked to Sherlock Holmes. Everest was used to seeing deductions like this, but the display was always enjoyable. Dahl couldn’t be as good as London, but it was a nice diversion.
Dahl rolled his eyes, “Please, I’m warming up.”
“Well then, continue.”
“It’s obviously a modern event, Coke and all, so it didn’t belong to Mansa Musa or any such shit.”
“Obviously.”
“It’s a physical event, but not socially taboo.”
Everest was getting nervous. He inadvertently tightened his fingers. Dahl grinned like a wolf, “Yes, right there. Every time I handle it you startle, the exact same way you do when anyone touches you. But you keep it on display and, let’s face it, you’re a pretty socially conservative guy, so it’s not like you to keep something with a risqué impression in the living room.” Dahl took a minute to smirk at Everest’s growing unease. “I assume you keep those objects in your bedroom.”
Everest licked his lips, “Alright. You’re better at this than I gave you credit for.”
Dahl’s face softened, “It has nothing to do with Adam.”
Most people no longer said Adam’s name—like if they didn’t talk about it Everest wouldn’t remember that the man who had been his whole life was dead and conversation could continue without awkwardness. The effect was incredibly isolating. Dahl was speaking again, “...don’t look sad when we talk about it. That’s all I’ve pieced together for now.”
“Why did you come by?” Everest was getting shaky.
“You’re the fucking empath.”
Everest’s eyebrows knit together, “Stockholm syndrome?”
Dahl bowed his head slightly, and his shoulders trembled. For a horrible moment Everest didn’t know if he was laughing or crying. He tried to reclaim the Coke can and failed again. Dahl’s quiet chuckle boiled over into a peal of genuine mirth. After a few minutes he wiped his eyes with the back of one hand.
“I’ll file a complaint with Judy accusing S.A. of adding to my mental health challenges. Listen,” Dahl shook off the last of his amusement with a grin. Then he just went silent. Everest waited for him to continue. Had he changed his mind about something? It didn’t have the frustrated, desperate feel the conversation did when Mordred was involved, so the pause must have another meaning. Dahl finally released the Coke can and stood for a few seconds, tensing slightly. He let out a shaky breath and strode over to the kitchen phone, grabbing the phone book from the shelf.
“Pizza? Chinese?”
“Sure.”
“Oooookay.” Dahl flipped through the yellow pages and dialed. Everest considered carefully how rude it would be to use his second sight. He almost never did with Dahl. It’d started because they were usually playing strategy games, and Dahl had accused him emphatically of cheating if he’d opened his second eye. After a while of abstaining, he found he liked it. The side effect of anxiety was a lot to handle in a social setting, especiall
y with someone who already made him nervous, and being natural was more enjoyable. Dahl was an interesting companion, and letting their interactions take an undirected course made the time relaxing. It also helped keep Mordred’s concerns in check: Mordred hated the idea that Everest could see what he couldn’t. Future sight was the reason he was still valuable enough to continue breathing, and he couldn’t afford to have it become more of a concern than an asset. Dahl was pulling a bottle of beer out of the refrigerator and saying something again, “...inappropriate.” He concluded, his stormy eyes focused on Everest across the room.
“What?”
“Are you serious? You didn’t hear me?”
Everest folded his hands, “I’m sorry, I was thinking about something else.”
“What were you thinking about?”
“Using my second sight.”
“Right now? Why?”
“Because my normal senses are failing me.”
“Like your hearing? Well, your call, but I’m sure there will be spoilers. You’ll be deprived of the thrill of whether the food will be late or not. I’ll have to pick some kind of wild, unexpected topic to stumble along so I can maintain serendipity, but the whole time wonder if I’m repeating a predetermined script. None of the games we play tonight will count towards the leaderboards.”
“There are leaderboards?”
“You mean you’re not keeping track of the almost 300 games we’ve put in?” Dahl glanced at the ceiling for a minute, “I’ve won 247 of them, as I’m sure you’ll recall.”
Everest smoothed a strand of loose hair back into his braid, “Why are you here?”
“You’re really going to make me repeat myself?” Dahl put his drink on the counter and edged over, taking Everest’s hand. Everest barely overrode his startled reaction. “I was out of line. I came over to apologize. I don’t know what happens when—” Dahl shook his head and tried again, “There are things I can’t remember, but I know you better than to imply… what I did. I’m sorry. But I am worried.” Dahl held his hand and his gaze for a few seconds longer. He turned abruptly and strode to the game shelf, “Well, then. Go? Senet? Risk?”
