38. Vesper
VESPER
“Good morning, Vespera.”
I crack my eyelids and look around the room.
Locke is currently fast asleep on the floor where he must have rolled off the too small plush bed in the middle of the night.
He’d stolen one of the pillows and is currently hugging it so tight, it looks almost painful.
His expression is relaxed right now, making him look younger than he is.
His lips are slightly parted as he breathes, his black hair falling messily over his forehead.
“Are you still not speaking to me?”
I sigh and stand from the bed, stretching until my bones pop. The red outfit I’d been forced to change into is still just as soft as I remember, leaving me feeling far more comfortable than my winter gear. In that, Anders was right, even if he’s a lunatic about everything else.
“You act as if I’m the one who started this,” I murmur as I study my reflection in the small mirror. “You left me out on the Frostbit Sea, remember?”
“I explained my reasoning,” he answers.
I meet my eyes in the mirror, as if it’s Cipher’s I’m looking into. “Does that make it somehow better?”
He pauses. When his answer comes, it’s slow and hesitant. “I am here now.”
“Are you, though?” I ask, turning on the water and splashing some of it on my face.
I’ll never get used to the concept of warm water.
Dross had some plumbing, but it was always cold.
Being able to make hot water in a sink is some sort of magic I never want to give up. “You’re just a machine, after all.”
“I am much more than a machine, Vespera.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper, careful not to wake up Locke. He needs his sleep in case it takes us longer than twelve hours to get out of the Howling Wind Plains.
“Lying to yourself does not benefit you.”
Cipher and I have barely talked since the orca pod in the Frostbit Sea. I’d been cavalier with my feelings before then, assuming that because he’d helped us, found loopholes for us, that he cared. When it mattered most, when I was looking death in the eye, he’d left me.
I have enjoyed our banter, Vespera.
I try not to think about how much those words had stung.
I’d been certain I was about to die there in that water.
I’d known the odds were bad even without Cipher popping in with his statistics.
I didn’t expect the system overlord to hold my hand while I died, but I did expect him to at least be there with me. When he hadn’t been . . .
It had hurt me, I realize.
Cipher . . . had hurt me.
And it was my dumbass who had allowed myself to be hurt by him. I should shut this down now, make sure our communication from here on out is as needed to survive the Harrow only. That would be the smart thing to do.
Instead, I find myself looking up into my eyes again. Perhaps, one day, I’ll be able to look into his.
“Why do you speak to me?” I ask.
“It is my role to—”
“No,” I interrupt. “Why do you speak to me all the time and not Locke?”
“I do not particularly like Locke. You know that,” he answers.
“But you like me?” I push. “Why?”
Cipher pauses for a moment, as if computing. “Would you like a list or an emotional description?”
I tilt my head. “Is it true emotion?”
He takes another long moment before he answers. “It is as true as any human emotion.”
“Then let’s go with that,” I nod, still staring at myself in the mirror.
He sighs and for a second, I imagine him behind me.
If he were here, he’d walk up behind me, looming.
His hands would lift and wrap around my biceps, his body pressing against my back.
His warm breath would fan down over the top of my head as he took a second to savor the touch, a detail of a system that has long been robbed of a body.
Touch-starved. We’re all fucking touch-starved. Even me. Especially Locke and Cipher.
“I have waited a long time for someone like you to enter The Harrow,” Cipher finally admits softly.
“Now that you are finally here, I intend to keep you alive as much as I am able.” A quick pause.
“I apologize for leaving you in the Frostbit Sea. If I am being honest, I did not wish to witness your death. I was being selfish, and in my selfishness, I hurt your feelings.”
I swallow and decide to respond to the first half of his admission rather than the apology. “What’s so special about me?”
He hums, and I swear I can feel his phantom fingers on me. “You and I are painfully connected. There are reasons I cannot yet reveal, even if I wanted to.”
“So, you’re keeping secrets?” I grunt.
“There are things that require my silence, secrets that must be kept. Just as you have your own secrets to keep . . . Vespera Vox.”
I stiffen and have to brace myself against the sink. “How do you know that name?” I wheeze as my fingers tighten painfully on the porcelain.
He chuckles, the sound warm and affectionate in my ear. “As I said,” he continues, “I have waited for you for centuries.” He pauses, as if collecting his thoughts. “Tread carefully within this place.”
I blink. “But it’s a safehouse,” I point out. “I can’t be harmed, right?”
“A safehouse ensures a player can exist within without being physically or maliciously harmed, yes. You cannot be cut, or killed, or stabbed. The magic of the safehouse would prevent that by sending whatever creature is attempting to harm you to a random place far away or various other fatal processes. However . . . there are a variety of ways to circumnavigate such perimeters if one has the knowledge and the intelligence to do so.”
The breath whooshes out of my lips. “So, you’re saying the malice here isn’t just imagined?”
“I am saying . . . tread carefully,” Cipher says slowly, as if testing what he can truly say. “Soon, I will not be beholden to as many constraints and I can better explain. I apologize that I must be so vague.”
“No,” I murmur. “Your warning is sufficient. Thank you.”
I glance over my shoulder at Locke’s sleeping form. His chest still rises and falls slow and evenly, as if he’s still sleeping. But there’s one key detail he missed. His lips are no longer parted.
“I know you’re awake,” I say, this time louder. “How long is the question.”
He cracks one eye open and grins up at me. “Not long. You and the system’s romance filtered into my dreams where I swear you were this close to fucking a machine.” He holds his thumb and pointer finger up with barely any distance between them. “Sadly, I woke before it got good.”
I roll my eyes. “Cipher warned us about the dangers of this safehouse.”
“By us, I’m sure you mean you,” he says, sitting up. “I thought we couldn’t be killed in a safehouse?”
“Killed, no,” I nod. “But apparently, there are potential loopholes that can be exploited if a person knows how.”
“Fantastic,” Locke grunts. “So, you’re saying we could potentially be fucked over by the overly cheerful fucker outside?”
The knock on the door makes both of us jump and Svetlana rise from the tiny pile of material she’d made a warm nest from. She goes from sleeping to swinging her little razor hands in less than a second.
“I’ll cut your head off!” she shouts, before she realizes where we are and settles back down. “Ah, yes. I am still in this frozen hellscape. Wonderful.”
“This cheerful fucker is letting you know that Santa came!” Anders says from outside. “It’s time for presents.”
Locke and I share a look. How long has he been listening? And why is he so fucking cheerful all the time?
Except for when he’s talking about Steve, of course.
“We’ll be right out,” I say loud enough for him to hear. Then I lower my voice for Locke. “I say we get out of this place as fast as possible.”
“Not before presents!” Anders calls.
“Fuck,” Locke says, shaking his head. “Does he have superhuman hearing or something?”
Anders’ giggle echoes through the door before it starts to fade as if he’s finally walking away.
“What the fuck,” I mouth to Locke. He shrugs.
But the both of us dutifully freshen up so we can see what new fresh bullshit the Christmas-obsessed fiend outside is planning.
When we step out of the room, we’re met with music I don’t recognize. It’s cheerful and upbeat. The sound of bells echoes in the main area until the sounds fill the room. There are even sound effects through the song.
“Up on the housetop, reindeer paws,
Out jumps good old Santa Claus
Down through the chimney with lots of toys
All for the little ones, Christmas joys.
Ho, ho, ho, who wouldn’t go?
Ho, ho, ho, who wouldn’t go?
Up on the housetop, click, click, click,
Down through the chimney with old Saint Nick.”
My brows shoot up. We have music on Dross. Humanity as a whole enjoy singing and playing instruments, but we only have half-concocted, poorly built instruments with materials we have. Drums are a favorite. This music though? I’ve never heard anything even close to this.
“Merry Christmas!” Anders announces as we walk into the room. “Come! Come! Santa delivered presents last night and there are a few with your names on it.”
I glance at the tree where new shiny packages have been added. “There are?”
Anders’ grin widens. “You must have been on the nice list. I’ll admit, I was a little worried for your Bone Breaker here, but it seems he has made the nice list as well.”
“And what of me?” Svetlana asks, standing taller on my shoulder. “Did Santa bring me a gift?”
Anders looks at the presents and frowns. “Oh . . . uh . . . yes! Right here!” he says, procuring a small gift from who knows where. He certainly didn’t pick it up from the ground. “This one has your name on it, Svetlana.”
She seems to notice the same details as I do, but when she settles on my shoulder, she simply nods and says, “As it should.”