The Art of Saving the World

by Corinne Duyvis

  The Power bored its eyes into mine. My eyes were normally brown; the Power’s eyes were similar, but a hazy glow obscured the color, turning even the pupils a cool gray. “We want you to be a hero. This means: To be proactive, but not eager. Heroic, but not foolish. Clever, but not arrogant. Brave, but not brash. Kind, but not meek. Independent, but not selfish. Practical, but not boring. Rebellious, but not irresponsible. Among other things.”

  “Is that all?” I threw up my hands. “Couldn’t you have told me that sooner?”

  “Couldn’t you have investigated the rift in your backyard sooner?” It sounded downright snarky. “Neven might’ve had a chance to mold you properly. As it is, you’ve failed. I’d apologize for taking up your time, but you’ve wasted an awful lot of mine, so let’s call it even. Enjoy your apocalypse.”

  “Wait!” Rainbow said. The Power’s glow had started to fade, but now it welled back up. “That’s it? You’re leaving the rift open and abandoning us here? How are we supposed to go home?”

  “I genuinely do not care.”

  Tara stepped forward. “You can turn back time?”

  “Only by a minute,” Neven said.

  “So you can open portals,” she said, eyeing the Power like she expected it to correct her, “send girls and dragons and trolls from other dimensions and turn back time, but you can’t close the rift or send them home? That makes no sense!”

  “It could easily send them home,” Neven said, “but it won’t. It could even close the rift, in a fashion.”

  The Power shot her a dirty look. “This is outside your job description.”

  “My job is to help Hazel avert an apocalypse.” Neven stared at the Power without blinking.

  I raised a hand. “Hold up. I thought the Powers couldn’t fix this. Wasn’t that why they needed me to succeed so badly? Wasn’t I supposed to be their last hope?”

  “The Powers That Be cannot close the rift itself,” Neven said. “They can close off the dimension, though. It’d be akin to boarding up a kicked-down door. The door remains broken, yet nothing can go in or out. Any connection with the Powers That Be or other worlds becomes impossible.”

  “Permanently.” The look the Power shot Neven went from dirty to murderous. “It’s quite drastic.”

  “The equivalent of encasing a house in seven tons of concrete to fix a drafty window,” Neven agreed. “Doesn’t mean it’s not effective.”

  “Does mean it’s not an option.”

  “Do it,” I pleaded. “Bring the others home, and do it. I’m the one who failed. Don’t punish them for that. Or an entire world.”

  “You must earn your happy endings,” the Power said. “Rewarding you with a happy ending despite your disastrous failure would be unfair to heroes who worked for it. Besides, your failure is bad enough—if I shut off access to an entire dimension, I’d lose my job. Don’t worry: The rift will sort itself out in a few decades. The fabric of nature is fairly resilient.”

  Chills ran down my spine. I stared at my mirror image, cold and bright and entirely inhuman.

  It smiled a thin, fake smile.

  Decades?

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  “Now.” The Power’s smile faded. “Though I appreciate your feedback, I’ll stick with my original plan—”

  “Wait!” I said.

  It stepped back. “—and simply cut my losses.”

  “What if we didn’t fail?” I hated how desperate I sounded. “If it’s about us beating the trolls properly, we could still win, right? There’s some trolls left. If we strengthen them—maybe by waking up Alpha—we could have a do-over. If the coma worked, there could be other options we overlooked. We could find the solution ourselves this time. I could do all the work. Please!”

  Irritably, the Power crossed its arms. “Reviving a subdued threat is hardly heroic.”

  A car went past the clinic, its engine a sharp hum in the silence of the night. It felt as though the world had shrunk to a bubble: Four identical girls, a confused local, a dragon, and a near-omnipotent extradimensional entity, deciding the fate of the world.

  A world that, for now, still existed around us.

  That didn’t know how badly I’d failed it.

  “Excuse me.” So far, Neven had eyed the Power as a guard dog might: tense, her eyes never leaving her target. Now she stretched her legs, letting that tension seep away, and sat down with her wings folded behind her. “You’re upset over your hero’s failure.”

  “Perceptive.”

  “I have a suggestion: Allow Hazel to try again. The trolls were a means to an end, after all. It wasn’t about them. It was about saving the world. She still could.”

  “You want me to introduce a simpler threat? One even she could handle?”

  “Oh, I think the past thirty or so hours have been very educational for her. Right, Hazel?” Neven obliquely thumped her tail against my uninjured shin. I nodded fervently. The other Hazels followed, our heads bobbing as one.

  “So educational!” I said.

  “See?” Neven went on. “You don’t need to introduce an easier threat, or any new threat at all. A threat already exists. One that’s become very personal. I know how much you all love personal stakes. Certainly, if Hazel succeeds, she’d prove her heroism?”

  The Power pursed its lips. “You believe Hazel can close the rift. Seems unlikely.”

  My head snapped to face Neven. Even the Powers That Be couldn’t close the rift, and Neven thought I could? Using what, duct tape? I bit my tongue. After centuries of working for the Powers That Be, Neven must know how they operated.

  And the Power actually seemed to be paying attention.

  “She might surprise you,” Neven said. “If you’re correct and the rift didn’t respond because she wasn’t heroic enough, she can prove herself anew. If she was heroic enough, but the rift didn’t respond because its connection to Hazel’s heroism had become too tenuous, she’d still have solved the problem at the source. Either way, the rift closes. Either way, your Chosen One succeeds at saving the world. Either way, you come out looking better than now.”

  “Hm.” The Power cocked its head. Long, tangled locks spilled across its shoulders.

  Incongruously, I realized I almost looked pretty that way: silent, confident, powerful. Nothing like the fiddling girl I knew from the mirror.

  Neven’s voice dripped with appeasement. “Of course, you could walk away, after which Hazel might close the rift on her own. But if you stick around, you could take credit.” Her wings shifted behind her. Airily, she said, “And if our Chosen Hazels do indeed save the day—albeit belatedly—we only ask that you send the other girls home safely.”

  “If they want to,” I interrupted. After hearing of Alpha’s world, I’d understand if she chose to stay.

  “If they want to,” Neven amended. “The entire embarrassing rift misstep would be resolved, your unlikely heroine would have succeeded against overwhelming odds and weathered a dark night of the soul, and all you would have to explain back home is how wonderfully you turned this situation around.”

  The Power considered Neven’s words. A spark of hope twitched within me.

  Finally, it asked, “And you believe she could?”

  Neven lifted her chin. Something unspoken passed between them.

  The Power looked at me with utter disinterest. I hadn’t known my face could even make expressions like that. It made me want to scramble back, all my courage gone. “Worth a try,” it said. “Good luck. You won’t have my helpful nudges this time; I’m going hands-off. And Neven, you’re promising me a hero. I don’t want to see anything like that death-by-troll embarrassment, understood?”

  Neven had stayed cool so far. At those words, though, her eyes narrowed. “We’ll do what we can.”

  “Yes! Definitely!” I said. “Ah, just to be sure, what are the rules this time? I don’t want to get it wrong again.”

  The Power sighed loudly. “Close the rift. By yourself. Neven can’t give you the
answers. Get help if you insist, but at least try to be heroic about the actual rift-closing part, would you?”

  “Got it.” I knew better, but said the next words anyway: “Do you have pointers for how I might—?”

  “For crying out loud.” The Power blinked out of existence.

  “All right,” I said weakly. “Maybe not.”

  The six of us stared at the empty grass where the Power had stood. Without the Power’s glow, the night slipped back into dimness.

  I felt strangely empty. Scraped dry. I’d saved the day and lost the day and bargained for another chance and—What was I supposed to be doing now?

  What the hell had just happened?

  “Glowy Hazel sucks,” Rainbow muttered.

  “Glowy Ha—?” Neven started, then interrupted herself. “Ah.”

  Red gave her a funny look. “Didn’t you see the glow?”

  I balled my hands, summoning the pain to help pay attention.

  “When the Powers materialize in these worlds, everyone sees an appearance that’s tailored to them individually. You all saw the same thing?”

  “I did. But you didn’t? Did you see a glowy Neven instead?” Red asked.

  “I saw my mom, for what that’s worth,” Tara said.

  Rainbow looked struck.

  “How are we ever gonna do this?” Four cringed as though she instantly regretted the question.

  Rainbow looked at the sky, hands linked behind her neck. She buried her fingers in tangled yellow-orange-green locks.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Red repeated quietly.

  “As the Power said, I can’t tell you how to close the rift.” Neven’s eyes looked soft. “Don’t take its words personally. In any other situation, your actions likely would’ve been enough to close the rift. This is just . . . poor luck.”

  The nighttime chill brushed against my skin. I tugged my sleeves down at the same time as I wanted to unzip my coat and let the wind in. “Will the Power keep its word?”

  “The Powers That Be don’t like to lose. I gave them a way out. We can’t trust them to help; we can trust them to save their own asses.”

  “How long do we have?”

  “Until the rift destroys your world. Or until this Power loses its patience. Could be an hour. Could be a month.”

  Tara looked around the group. “So . . . What are you going to do?”

  I had a decision to make. I could overthink it, I could debate it, I could run through the alternatives and spend the night agonizing—

  But the truth was, there was only one thing to do.

  I breathed in deep. “I’m going home.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  “You’re giving up?” Rainbow said.

  Four stepped back. “But . . .”

  She and Red wore matching uncertain frowns. “Are you sure?” Red asked.

  I ran a hand through my hair, getting my fingers stuck in the tangled ends. I needed a hairbrush. And a shower. Now that I’d said the word—home— I longed for those comforts more than ever. I craved my room so badly it hurt. My bedsheets. My comfy chair. My window nook.

  I’d been gone for well over a day. How did people ever stay away from the familiar for so long? Making decisions, determining where to go and what to do, constantly taking in new places and seeing new faces . . . This was exhausting.

  “I’m not giving up. I’m getting help.” I turned toward the clinic. An ambulance stood in the driveway. That must’ve been the engine I’d heard earlier.

  “Ohh.” It seemed to dawn on Red. “You think the MGA can help.”

  “If anyone can, it’s them. Let’s face it: Where else would we even start? Anyone have other ideas?” Silence was the only answer. “Yeah. Me neither. The MGA has sixteen years of research data on the rift, and all the equipment, expertise, and government clearance you could ask for.” I snorted. “The only two things they lack are me, and a burning urge to share information. Maybe they’ll compromise.”

  “You know them better than me,” Rainbow said, “but these are the people who tossed me in a cell, chased us with helicopters, and trapped us with a net, which ended with a nine-story fall, so, you know. I don’t love this idea.”

  “Whoa,” Tara said.

  “I don’t expect any of you to come with,” I said. “But you’re right. I do know them. And right now, we want the same thing.”

  Torrance climbed out of the ambulance near the clinic. The streetlights reflected off her round glasses and turned her platinum-blond hair white.

  “Look, I gotta . . .” I gestured vaguely toward the ambulance and took off. An annoying limp slowed me down, but I reached the clinic right as Torrance opened the front door.

  “Hazel! How’s your leg?”

  “So-so. What’s with the ambulance?”

  “I requested it from a private clinic two towns over, to transport Ha—Alpha—to the West Asherton facilities.”

  The very place Alpha had escaped from, and the last place she wanted to return to.

  I must’ve flinched, because Torrance added, “I know. But we need to monitor her health and keep her comatose until this is all wrapped up. It’s safest for her, and for everyone else. If there’s still a link between her and the remaining trolls and they try to follow her, better they come to us. But listen, I just got an update on—”

  “I’m coming back in,” I said.

  “—the rift, and—” Her eyes lit up. “You are? Oh, thank God. I was about to try to convince you.”

  “What did you hear about the rift?”

  “It’s, um.”

  “Bad?” I prompted.

  “Unfortunately, yes. My colleagues detected a pattern. They’re making progress on identifying where the rift will reopen next. It’s going to expand further. Worse than before. Much worse.” Torrance moistened her lips. “That’s why we really need you for further studying. Let me call in your decision.”

  “I want to visit my dad before we do anything else,” I said.

  “I’ll ask Director Facet.” She peered past me. I turned to see the other Hazels and Tara approaching from the field.

  “So,” Rainbow said, chin raised. “How much room does that ambulance have for tagalongs?”

  The faces behind her were nervous and smiling. I couldn’t help but smile, too. I would’ve done this alone. I really would have.

  But I was impossibly glad that I didn’t have to.

  “We’ll make it work,” Torrance said. “I know this is a difficult decision. I’ll do what I can to protect you and make sure you’re treated well. Let me help bring Alpha out to the ambulance. We’ll talk more after.”

  She smiled in relief, then disappeared inside.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Tara asked. “I feel like I crashed your party. And then that party had, like, cops and parents showing up, and apparently those cops are omnipotent bureaucratic bastards happy to see the world destroyed if it means less paperwork? Also? It’s starting to hit me that I was standing next to an actual dragon, like, two seconds ago. A dragon. I love dragons! This is so cool.”

  She looked at Neven across the field with starry-eyed adoration.

  Rainbow leaned into me and whispered, “She’s itching to draw Neven.”

  I hid a grin. “Thanks, Tara, but the MGA probably wouldn’t even let you onto the lawn.”

  “And you heard what the Power said,” Red added. “We need to do this ourselves.”

  “Makes sense.” Tara scratched her head. “Maybe I’ll see you sometime? You can come back for Dickens Day in Wellsboro.”

  “Maybe,” I said, distracted. “Sorry. I need to talk to Neven.” I made my way back across the field. A cold gust whirled past me, and I hunched, increasing my stride despite the ache in my leg.

  Neven met me halfway.

  “The others are joining me in West Asherton,” I said.

  “I’m aware.” Neven stretched, catlike. “If you want me with you, then I’m with you. But to be fr
ank, I don’t think I can be much help if I’m locked up, and if I fly anywhere near Philadelphia, that’ll happen within a matter of minutes. Those helicopters were everywhere.” Her upper lip curled in disgust. “I never used to have to deal with helicopters. This dimension is terrible.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” I hesitated. “I don’t want to leave you. I just really think we need the MGA’s help.”

  She bumped my shoulder with her nose. “You’re doing good.”

  I smiled wanly.

  “Be smart. Be brave.”

  I tried not to let my fear seep into my voice. “I’ll have to be, to close an interdimensional rift without equipment, magic, knowledge, or skills.” I had so many questions, but I knew Neven wouldn’t—couldn’t—answer them.

  “You’re the Chosen One. That’s not entirely meaningless.” Neven drew her head back. Her wings spread. “Good luck.”

  I watched her leave. A familiar panic bloomed in my chest. Shit, can’t turn back now, you probably forgot something and it’s going to mess up everything, you can’t do this alone—

  But I was used to that panic.

  I was used to hiding it, too.

  I turned back toward the others.

  Time to go home.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  There was a way to close the rift.

  That much I knew, or neither Neven nor the Power would be wasting their time on us.

  There is a way, I repeated to myself, a mantra as we drove across the hills of midnight rural Pennsylvania. There is a way.

  We simply needed to find it in time.

  An hour into the drive, we stopped at a gas station to refuel.

  Mr. Ávila was driving the ambulance, with Alpha safe in the back and Red watching her. Rainbow, Four, and I were in Torrance’s SUV, which she parked in the lot next to the gas station convenience store. I stretched. I hadn’t quite napped—how did people ever sleep in cars?—but my head felt fuzzy nonetheless.

  The driver’s-side door slammed shut behind Torrance. She walked toward the ambulance, raising a hand to get Mr. Ávila’s attention. “I’ll fill her up,” she called. “You check on the girl.”