by VK Fox
“What are we doing?” Jane watched his glitter-manicured fingers twinkling in the bright overhead lights.
“Hot hands.” Zack’s face relaxed and the tension bled from his shoulders. Maybe Jane had passed his test. “You try to slap the backs of my hands before I jerk them out of the way. I can only move when you do though, so I can’t pull back whenever, only when you’re making a real attempt. If I retreat and you weren’t trying to hit me, you get a free slap.”
“Wait, what? So you have to move when I move but—” The resounding smack of Jane nailing the back of Zack’s hands echoed through the Grit Room. Zack dissolved into giggles as Jane let a smug grin curve her mouth. When Zack recovered, they switched positions: Jane’s hands on top, Zack’s on the bottom.
“We’ve got a live one.” Zack wiggled his eyebrows.
“What, you thought I’d let you win?”
“Well, I was a teensy bit predisposed to someone with the moniker ‘Saint Jane’ playing fair. There’s probably a wonderful tale about my starry-eyed trust that you just slapped down, but why go on about it now?” Zack jerked his fingers around and missed Jane by a subliminal margin.
Jane grinned again. “Yeah, yeah, pregnant woman’s not so slow, huh?”
Zack rolled his glam, rock-lined eyes and lazily replaced his hands. “So tell me about your mama.”
“What?” Jane fumbled the word as Zack hit the backs of her hands hard enough to smart.
“She seems like a milk-and-cookies mom.” Zack moved his hands to the top. “Would you say that’s a fair and complete assessment?”
Jane shrugged a shoulder, causing Zack to flinch. “Kind of, but you’re missing her most developed skill. Milk and cookies and judgment. Triple threat.”
“I can work with that. Sounds familiar—Meggy’s mama was the same way.” Zack laughed, shier and more reserved than his over-the-top giggles. “Do you think she’d do my laundry if I left it by the machine?”
Jane flexed her fingers, but Zack didn’t fall for the bait to jerk back. He grinned again and Jane continued. “It’s likely. Don’t tell her I said so.”
“Cool, sweet, cool.” Zack caught her eye with a snapshot glance. “So, what do you want?”
“How do you know I want anything?”
“By the way you mustered your courage and wrinkled your nose.”
“I did not.” Jane rolled her eyes. “You’re right, though. I was looking for you. Have you told Dahl about your… um… medical condition?”
Something wild flashed in Zack’s expression and he dropped his hands. “So you do know.”
“Yeah.” Jane didn’t know what else to say.
He stood and stalked to the kitchen, running a hand through his copper hair. “And you’re doing your duty like a good little citizen to alert everyone that they might be in danger. Kind of a shit move. Strike two, Saint Jane.”
“It’s not like that.” Jane chewed her lip. It wasn’t, was it? Was she being an ass about this—compromising Zack’s privacy out of fear? “I thought since we’re in a situation where there’s probably going to be things like gunfire and monsters and emergency surgery—”
“Thirsty?” Zack was fully in the kitchen now. “You look parched. I can get you a virgin screwdriver, or a virgin fuzzy navel. If you’re in the mood for something fancy I can probably pull together a virgin mimosa, but I can’t promise anything.”
Jane shook her head. “Um, are you offering me orange juice?”
“Well, if you want to be vulgar about it.”
“Okay.” Jane shifted in her seat. “That’s great, thanks.”
Zack plunked two cups of juice on the table, splashing over the rims. He swallowed the fistful of medication, and Jane was taken back to a moment in time when Dahl sat on the shore of a rocky creek with a similar morning ritual. Except Zack probably wasn’t taking Prozac and lithium.
He went utterly, eerily still before whispering. “I was thinking you could fix it.”
“I know.” It was always going to come to this. Every possible path of this conversation led here. Shit on a stick, it was so hard to tell people she couldn’t make it better. “I might be able to someday, but it’s a big maybe, and I can’t even try right now. Healing like that… look, it puts me under for months. I’m currently on the hook to give birth and save the world.” Zack’s expression was flicking between jaded denial and frantic hope, and it was like witnessing a possession all over again. “Time is the biggest factor. How long have you been living with… you know…” When this was over, Jane really needed to figure out the whole bedside manner thing. She knew how to be sympathetic. She could be nice. But she didn’t know how to talk to someone who made her chuckle and brought her orange juice about AIDS.
“Things have really gone down the toilet in the last six months. That’s when I hit stage three.”
Jane shook her head slightly. It would also be awesome if her magical healing powers came with any grasp of medical knowledge.
Zack caught the look and took a deep breath before continuing. “A stage three infection means AIDS. Someone can be HIV positive without having AIDS. With HIV stage one, medical care and antivirals mean a mostly normal life is still in the cards. If the infection progresses to stage three, though, prognosis is a lot worse. My immune system is damaged enough that I’m likely to get an opportunistic infection. I’ve been hospitalized twice already, and there’s a whole list of symptoms to be on the lookout for, from cancer to wasting disease. I’m on new antivirals, but it isn’t helping, and of course, medical care at the Sana Baba prison rig was subpar. At least for people who won’t sign on the dotted line.’’ Jane expected him to look away or slump in his seat, but instead he held her gaze with a fierce, unblinking stare. “I thought this would be over by now.” The corner of Zack’s mouth twitched. “Adam was going to help me bargain with one of the Travelers. When he died, Queenie and I carried on. What a fascinating development that she never mentioned you.”
Jane flinched. “She wanted you to help her with the original plan.”
“Allying with a Traveler mattered more to her than curing me. In fact, it mattered so much more that she wouldn’t risk losing my cooperation by taking my life off the line. She never even asked me if I would still be on her side if I was healthy. Just like you—repairing the barrier is more important. Always a bride’s maid, never a bride.” Zack finally dropped his searing gaze, taking a sip of his orange juice.
“It’s not the same at all. If I could do both I would. Don’t you dare group me in with Allison Card. I’m not holding this over your head, I’m asking for your help too.” Jane pressed ahead, forcing the hurt out of her voice. “Do you know how long ago you...”
“I contracted HIV nine years ago.” Zack’s tone became clinical and he pushed the sleeve of his t-shirt up, revealing a series of sloppy blue stars tattooed above his right elbow. The work was amateur: rough lines and uneven ink made it look like a prison tat nestled amid the collection of bright, professional art. “I had a friend who wanted to open a tattoo shop when he turned eighteen. I wasn’t old enough to get inked, so I thought: why not let him practice? I guess doing the ink was way more fun than sanitizing the needles.”
“I’m sorry. I really am. That sucks.”
Zack didn’t say anything, and Jane floundered in the silence. “How did you meet Adam? He was the one who introduced you to the whole wacky world of magic, right?”
Zack’s mouth quirked up. “I was linked before I met him, but he found me at a Narcotics Anonymous meeting when I was fourteen. I’d been hanging around the parking lot every week for a month, trying to make myself go in. Adam brought me coffee and we started talking.”
“And he told you you’re not crazy, just special?”
“Well,” Zack’s face went soft, and he looked young and far away. “He opened with ‘great smile.’“
Jane squirmed, trying to cover her discomfort. “Help us get through this, okay? Tell Dahl about what’s going on so wh
en the shit hits the fan everyone can stay as safe as possible. When it’s all over I’ll see what I can do to help.”
“Pinkie swear?”
Jane held out her little finger. “I’ll try.”
Outside, Fitz was building snow castles. Wrapped in a coat, hat, and soggy mittens, he mounded tiny buildings decorated with dead grass. Everest sat on a wood-and-cinder block bench a few feet away, flipping through a sketchbook and sipping a mug of steaming tea. Things had been awkward with Everest ever since he’d tried to shoot her and Ian a hot minute ago, but he’d been under magical influence and all. They were working past it. The scene was so warm and domestic it made Jane’s heart swell. She shuffled over to the bench and sank down beside him.
“Hey! Doing the dad thing?”
Everest nodded. “Dahl and Ian are putting a circle around Fitz’s bed to help with his nightmares. We needed some time outside anyway. He really loves the snow. I don’t know how long he was in snow-free Vegas and before that I have no idea where he was. Part of me wishes he will remember and tell us some day, and part of me hopes he will forget.”
“Do you have an idea of what’s going on with him? I mean, is he just an average kid now?”
“More or less.” Everest shrugged. “There’s nothing physically or mentally unusual about him. He has a lot of trauma, but he’s young and his mind is definitely that of a child. I think he will heal. My hope is that in fifteen years or so he will be able to live an independent, fulfilling life, and his trauma will be a distant past. How many things do you remember from when you were four years old?”
Jane laughed. “I think I remember we had a dog, but only for a couple months. It bit my dad and he took it back to the pound. That’s the story, anyway. It’s hard to say how much I remember and how much I just heard about it later. Oh,” Jane glanced at the pages of the sketchbook Everest had open. “Is this Dahl’s?”
“No.” Everest smiled at the page. “This one belongs to Fitz. He and Dahl have both been working on drawing hands more gracefully.” He gently angled the sketch for Jane to take a closer look.
“Wow. Not bad for a four-year-old.” Jane studied the weird little girl and tried not to focus on the goosebumps under her sleeves. What was wrong with her hands? And eyes? And what was she holding?
“Can I take your mug?” Jane’s mom trudged from the Davis family block over their way as a few tiny flakes began to fall.
Everest gave her a congenial smile. “No need, I’m not quite finished yet.”
“Well, I can wait.” She shifted onto the end of the bench and Jane slid onto the white, fluffy ground with an idea of adding a few petite snowmen to Fitz’s village. She picked up his discarded shovel and began scooping as Fitz watched her with careful eyes.
“Is Fitz your first?” Jane’s mom had settled into her casual interrogation voice. Everest had been at the Saint Barbara’s day bonfire, so it was weird this hadn’t happened then, but Jane’s mom had barely spoken to anyone and left early. Maybe she and Everest had missed each other.
“Yes, Fitz is my first child. A bit of a surprise, but we’re very happy.”
“A surprise?” Jane’s mom laughed over the words. “How do you have a surprise adoption?”
“We, ah, found each other at the right time.” Everest gave her another temperate smile and refocused on the sketchbook.
Lizzie Davis was not so easily put off. “Did you have to go through a home check and a background investigation and all that?”
Everest closed the sketchbook and brushed a few snowflakes from the cover. “No.”
“So how do you know you’ll be equipped to care for him? Ready to handle his needs? If you don’t have any other children, then how—”
“Fitz is a special case. I’m sure we’re able to learn what’s needed to provide him with a safe and loving environment.”
Fitz turned to Everest and made a gesture with his hands. Everest signed back “One minute.” Dahl had taught Jane to do that one and then get him or Everest if Fitz asked for anything because, evidently, Jane was too helpless to assist a four-year-old. Jane stacked her second snowball with too much force and it crumbled.
“What’s he asking for?” Jane glanced up.
“He’d like a turn with the shovel, but it’s good for him to wait a minute. Learning patience has been particularly hard.”
Jane felt like a jerk not giving it to him, but Everest seemed to want to wait, so she scooped more snow, offering the pile to Fitz. He glared at her.
“Is he deaf?” Jane’s mom latched onto the new development with a fresh wave of disbelief.
“No, but he’s non-verbal. Signing has made things so much less frustrating for him. It’s been an excellent tool.”
“So he can’t speak? Aren’t you worried?”
“Sometimes.” Everest swallowed the last of his tea and presented the mug graciously.
“Shovel!” Fitz signed, more fiercely,
Everest responded again with. “One minute.” Fitz scowled and kicked the snow.
“Well, Blue’s a sweet girl. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Jane’s mom took the cup and stood when Everest made the tactical error of interrupting her exit.
“Blue is a wonderful person, but I’m afraid I don’t completely follow.”
“Your wife?” Jane’s mom breathed a wispy laugh into the swirling air. “You run a business together, right?”
Oh shit. Jane’s fight-or-flight mental coin flip happened as Everest was still looking confused. It landed firmly on fight. One thing all Sana Baba agents had in common, besides piles of cash and a propensity for morning meetings, was their child-like naivete regarding mainstream American culture. When Ian told Jane that Dahl was in love with a man, it took him a charming amount of time to realize that was anything of note because in ancient Mesopotamia, or whatever, it wouldn’t have been. Everest had likely read fictional accounts of the kinds of conversations where people ranted about his personal life, but had he ever been on the receiving end of one? In front of his son? While he was tired and probably thought of himself as outnumbered?
Jane found her voice. “Everest and Blue work together, but they’re not married. Everest and Dahl are partners.”
Her mother’s voice was prim and crisp. “I didn’t think they had partners since they weren’t agents anymore. I know Dahl and Ian used to be partners as well—”
“No, no, not like professional agent partners.” Jane was going red. Why was this so hard? “Like family partners. Like boyfriends.” Had she just said boyfriends? Ugh. That wasn’t right. They were both so scary and imposing. Not boyfriend-ish. Jane risked a glance at Everest and found he was studying her, jaw open. Jane gripped the plastic shovel hard enough to bite her palms while her mother’s face went colorless and her lips pressed thin.
Everest toed the silence. “Thank you, Jane, but it’s really my—”
“You’re gay? That’s why you had to adopt under the table?” Jane’s mom rounded on her. “You and Ian knew about this?”
Everest interjected, “That’s a complete non-sequitur. We—”
“Really?” Jane’s mom was towering over him. “Do you have any idea how damaging this situation is for Fitz? For the people around you? Did you ever even think about right and wrong, or do you just make decisions based on what feels good at the moment?”
Carefully, slowly Everest closed his mouth and let a mask of calm settle into place. Jane didn’t know what to say as the atmosphere became suffocating.
It took everyone by surprise when Fitz lost it. A feral snarl erupted from his small frame and he launched himself across the snow, snatching at the shovel and attempting to wrench it from Jane’s hands. Jane’s stress grip was still in full force though, and the toy failed to come back under his command. So he went for her eyes. Everest was there, pulling Fitz off by the wrists so he couldn’t mete out punishment for the injustice of sharing.
“Shit!” Jane gasped as she scrambled ponderously to her feet. Her
cheek stung where his mitten Velcro had rubbed the skin raw. Fitz was kicking and had reverted to Blair Witch Project level, screams pouring from his tiny lungs.
“What’s wrong with him?” Jane and her mom directed the judgment at Fitz in stereo. Jane’s eyes went wide: had she just said that? Had the exact same words as her mother come out of her mouth? Jane’s mom was still talking, civil wrath projected at Fitz’s overwhelmed form. “You need to apologize.”
Everest stepped back, face glacial, holding the little boy like he could put him back together. “He will not apologize: he’s doing the best he can, and I’m not going to ask him to put you at ease. I hope you’re not hurt, Jane?”
“I’m fine, thanks.” Jane mouthed her humble pie. “Forget I said anything, it was stupid. You and Dahl are really doing a great job with him. I’m sure I’ll be asking for parenting advice down the road.”
Everest’s expression softened a few degrees, unguarded for a heartbeat before his composure snapped back in place. Jane linked her arm through her mother’s and hurried her to the Grit Room without another word.
Ian was in the kitchen, thank you God, and the shower was running and occupied. The room smelled like Axe body wash and spiced cider. Jane’s mom had her lips drawn so tight she might spit diamonds, and Jane shucked off her snow boots and hung her coat.
“Jane, seriously? What will Anna and Kristen think?” Jane looked at her mother’s face, her forehead creased, features pinched.
“I don’t know, but I plan to show them how to be kind to people, okay? I mean, shit, Mom, do you know why we’re here?”
“There’s no need for foul language, Libby. We are here because we are all supporting you in your insane choices. Have you taken a minute to appreciate that? Because it is a pretty magnificent amount of effort—”
“No, I mean why we’re here today. At this moment.” Don’t think about all the trouble you’ve caused them, don’t feel guilty. “It’s because Ian and Everest—the man you were just inexcusably rude to—have been collaborating for weeks to interpret the future and keep me and the babies safe.” Tears burned behind Jane’s eyes and pricked her throat. Ian was there, wrapping an arm around her.
