Stenrik
The power fails again. I know this because Rianne has been obsessively checking the time every few minutes since we discovered her partial translucency.
“Less than three hours until midnight,” she mutters, then the lights die.
“The partial bond is destabilizing the electrical system,” I explain, though we have covered this already.
“How?”
“Magic and modern infrastructure rarely coexist peacefully.”
Keith glides over with several shadow converts in tow. They’re all wearing name tags now, though how they procured them remains a mystery. Carl follows, holding a sign that says “KEITH’S ASSISTANT MANAGER.”
We all stare at Carl’s sign.
“Assistant manager?” Rianne asks.
“Carl has been promoted,” Carl says proudly. “Carl shows leadership potential.”
“In what organization?”
“The Shadow Integration Initiative,” Keith explains. “Keith is CEO.”
“You formed a company?”
“Keith formed a nonprofit. Better tax benefits.”
Rianne laughs, but it’s strained. When she holds her hand up to Keith’s laptop light, we can all see it—she’s definitely translucent. Not much, but enough to notice.
“We should practice more,” she says. “Make sure we can hold the connection steady. No matter what.”
“Agreed. The anchor must be unshakeable.”
We move to the children’s section, which has become our default practice space. The tiny furniture makes the height difference between us even more absurd.
She climbs onto a chair to even out our height difference, but the wobbling makes synchronization impossible. After the third near-tumble, I simply lift her off and set her on the ground.
“Hey!”
“You were going to fall.”
“I was managing!”
“You were listing twenty degrees to the left.”
“Maybe that’s my natural state!”
“Your natural state is chaos, but not usually angular.”
She stares at me. “Did you just make another joke?”
“I made an observation.”
“A funny observation. That’s a joke.”
“If you say so.”
“You’re smiling!”
“I am not.” But I am, slightly. Her indignation is oddly endearing.
“Your face is doing the thing!”
“What thing?”
“The almost-human thing!”
From the basement, the stone shouts: “JUST KISS ALREADY! THE STONE HAS BEEN READING THE ROMANCE SECTION FROM THE RETURNS CART! THE STONE KNOWS WHERE THIS IS GOING!”
“Stones don’t have opinions about kissing!” Rianne shouts back.
“THIS ONE DOES! THE STONE HAS OPINIONS ABOUT EVERYTHING! THE STONE IS CURRENTLY READING A VERY STEAMY EVE NEWTON CHAPTER!”
“We should ignore the stone,” I say.
“Agreed.”
But now we’re standing very close, and she’s still holding my shoulder from when I lifted her, and there’s something in the air between us that has nothing to do with magic.
“Stenrik?”
“Yes?”
“What happens after? If we succeed?”
“The transformation stops, presumably.”
“No, I mean... after. Do we just... go back to normal?”
“Nothing about this has been normal.”
“You know what I mean.”
I do. She’s asking if we’ll remain connected. If this forced proximity means anything beyond duty.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Oh.”
“Do you want to? Remain connected?”
She considers, and I find myself holding my breath despite not needing to. I notice her hand is slightly more translucent than an hour ago—I can see the faint outline of bones through her skin.
“I don’t know either. You’re very tall and formal and you make terrible jokes—”
“They’re not jokes.”
“—and you haven’t eaten in four days apparently—”
“Now five.”
“That’s worse! But also...” She pauses. “You make me feel safe. Which is weird because you’re literally made of winter and could probably kill me with a thought.”
“I would never.”
“I know. That’s what makes it weird. I trust that. I trust you with my physical safety completely. It’s everything else that’s scary.”
“Everything else?”
“Feelings. Connection. Trusting someone to hold on when things get hard.”
“The ceremony.”
“Not just the ceremony. After. What if I can’t hold on? What if I’m not strong enough?”
“You are.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. You’ve held on through everything so far.”
“That’s different. That was just surviving. This is...” She trails off.
“Choosing to hold on,” I finish. “Rather than having no choice.”
“Even for immortal ice beings?”
“Especially for immortal ice beings. We have more time to lose people when we let go.”
I look at her translucent hand again—the change is accelerating. But she doesn’t seem distressed. If anything, she seems more at ease than she has since this started.
“Rianne, the translucency—”
“I know. I can feel it. Or... not feel it? It’s like I’m becoming less dense. Less solid. But not in a bad way.”
“You’re remarkably calm about this.”
“What’s the alternative? Panic? We already know the ceremony is our only option.”
From the conference room, where Keith has apparently resumed his presentations for the gathered shadows, Keith calls out: “SLIDE SIXTY-FIVE! ADAPTATION AS A STRENGTH!”
“Keith has opinions,” Rianne mutters.
“Keith has PowerPoints for all occasions.”
“We should make him Minister of Shadow Integration when this is over.”
“Bold of you to assume there will be an after.”
“Pessimist.”
“Realist.”
“Same thing sometimes,” she repeats, then looks at her increasingly transparent hand. “Though you might have a point.”
The lights flicker back on. In the sudden brightness, Rianne’s translucency is even more apparent—she’s like a person made of frosted glass, still solid but catching the light strangely.
“It’s accelerating,” I observe. “An hour ago, this was barely visible.”
“I know. I can feel it. Like I’m... lighter. Less here.” She flexes her fingers, watching the light pass through them. “Is that bad?”
“I don’t know.”
“Helpful.”
“We’re all going to become something else, aren’t we?” she asks quietly.
“It appears so.”
“Unless we complete the ceremony.”
“Unless we complete the ceremony,” I agree.
She takes my hand, and I can feel how cool she is now—almost matching my temperature. The barrier between us—between human warmth and Vetrfolk cold—is thinning along with everything else.
“Is this helping or hurting?” she asks. “For the ceremony, I mean. If I’m becoming more like you...”
“I don’t know. The Chronicle didn’t specify.”
“Of course it didn’t.”
“Then we better mean it tonight.”
“Yes.”
“Really mean it. Not for the town. Not to stop transformation. For us.”
“For us,” I agree, and realize I mean it completely.
Not much time now. Soon we’ll find out if meaning it is enough.