Chapter Four
Declan
“So did you.”
The words shouldn’t have felt like a promise. They did anyway.
I stood on the porch with my coffee in my hand, trying to look less relieved than I was.
Avena remained at the edge of the trees, silver hair bright against the dark pines.
Snow dusted the tops of her silver boots like glitter.
Blue-white light moved beneath her skin, curling along her throat and disappearing beneath the collar of that strange silver bodysuit.
This time, she didn’t hide it.
“Good,” I said. “I was starting to think my subconscious had terrible follow-through.”
Her head tilted. “You still believe I’m part of your subconscious?”
“It’s the least alarming theory I have.”
“I find it alarming.”
“Only because you haven’t heard the others.”
The corner of her mouth lifted. That small change was enough to make me forget what I’d meant to ask her next. She crossed the snow toward me, leaving a clean line of footprints behind her. “How long have you been waiting?”
“That depends,” I said. “Do you want the answer according to the clock that refuses to move or the man who has no idea what day it is?”
Her almost-smile disappeared. “You don’t know?”
“Time’s a little unreliable around here.” I held up the mug. “Coffee isn’t. Come inside.”
Inside, she stopped beside the small kitchen table. I set the white mug between us, still half full, and she touched the handle with one finger.
“It remained here?”
“Warm the whole time.”
“That is not possible.”
“I’ve said that a lot since waking up in the snow.”
Her eyes lifted to mine. “You woke here?”
“More or less.”
“And when I disappeared?”
I shrugged. “I stayed here.”
She went very still. The light beneath her skin dimmed.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I woke somewhere else.”
I set my mug down. “You remember waking up?”
“Yes.” Her fingers closed around the mug like a lifeline. “I could still taste the coffee.”
That surprised me more than it should have. I looked at the cup, then at her. “You’re telling me my imaginary coffee followed you out of my imaginary cabin?”
“Apparently.”
“That’s rude. It never follows me anywhere.”
A quick sound escaped her. Not quite a laugh, but close.
I poured fresh coffee into her mug and reached for the cream and sugar. “Same amount?”
She nodded and watched me add both like it was an important science experiment. “You remember.”
“I remember most things that happen here. It’s everywhere else that gets complicated.”
Concern sharpened her face, but she didn’t ask. I appreciated that more than I could explain.
She took a cautious sip. “Still unpleasant.”
“Consistency is important.”
“Is that why you drink it?”
“No. I drink it because years of poor decisions have made quitting harder than continuing.”
I leaned against the counter. “So where is somewhere else?”
Her gaze dropped to the steam rising from her cup.
“You don’t have to answer,” I added.
She considered me for a moment. “A city.”
“That narrows it down.”
“It is a very orderly city.”
“That narrows it down less.”
“There’s never any snow.”
“Better.”
“And no coffee.”
“Now that sounds awful.”
I picked up my mug. “Orderly city with no snow and bad priorities. We’ll leave it there.”
Some of the tension left her shoulders. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I have questions about the glowing.”
Her hand rose toward her temple.
“Kidding,” I said. “Mostly.”
“You accept it without explanation?”
I looked around the cabin. “A clock that ticks without moving. Coffee that stays warm forever. A woman who walks through six inches of snow dressed for a very different season.” I shrugged. “You’re not the strangest thing here.”
“That is not especially reassuring.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
“Would you teach me the rest?” she asked.
“Without moving those pieces?”
“Of course.”
I held up a knight with a chewed face. “This one has seen combat.”
Avena examined it, looking worried. “With what?”
“A dog named Walter.”
She waited for more.
“Walter won.”
We sat across from each other at the kitchen table and arranged the pieces. She remembered every movement I’d explained during her first visit. Because my dream woman had a sharp mind. I wouldn’t have expected less.
“How do we determine who moves first?” she asked.
“White always goes first.”
“Then who receives white?”
“Rock, paper, scissors.”
Her hands stopped above the board. “Those words do not describe a selection method.”
“They do where I come from.”
I showed her the three shapes. She studied my fist, flat hand, and two extended fingers with the concentration of someone reviewing a dangerous piece of machinery.
“Scissors cut paper,” I explained. “Paper covers rock. Rock crushes scissors.”
“Covering an object does not defeat it.”
“It does if the object is a rock and the governing body is a group of bored children.”
“Children established these rules?”
“Probably. Adults would have ruined them.”
Doubt crossed her face, but she lifted her hand when I did. I suppressed my smile.
“On three. One, two, three.”
I threw scissors. She threw paper.
“Scissors,” I said. “I win.”
Her lilac eyes narrowed at my fingers. “Those are not scissors.”
“Symbolically, they are.”
“Then symbolically, my paper should be made from a material resistant to cutting.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“The system is poorly designed.”
“Face it, Avena. You lost. Everyone has an excuse when they lose.”
“Again.”
We played again. She chose rock and broke my scissors.
“Best two out of three,” I said.
She won the next round. And the next four.
I lowered my hand. “You’re reading me.”
“You press your thumb against your first finger before selecting rock.”
I stared at my hand. “That’s cheating.”
“Observation is not cheating.”
“It is when you use it against me.”
Her full lips quirked up on one side as she pulled the white pieces toward her. “An additional rule you invented after losing?”
“You’re learning fast.”
She frowned. “Why would you do that?”
“Felt right.”
“It weakens your center.”
“Maybe I don’t like the center.”
“The center has no opinion about you.”
“That’s mutual.”
“You sacrificed it,” she said.
“Walter would have wanted it that way.”
I didn’t ask. She had stayed after I mentioned it. That was enough.
Avena considered her next move. “You seem pleased when your decisions are inefficient and illogical.”
“Only the harmless ones.”
“Why?”
I looked through the window at the untouched snow. “Come outside.”
“That does not answer the question.”
“I know.”
“Your discomfort is caused by my clothing?”
“Lack of clothing.”
“Insulation,” I corrected. “You know what I mean.”
“Rarely.”
Still, she put on the coat. It swallowed her. The sleeves covered half her hands, and the hem nearly reached her knees. She looked down at herself with grave suspicion.
“It looks very dignified, don’t worry,” I said.
“It smells like smoke.”
“That’s how you know it works.”
Avena frowned but didn’t comment further.
She watched. “What are you doing?”
“Making a snowball.”
“A ball of snow? For what purpose?”
I threw it at a pine. It burst against the trunk with a satisfying thunk.
“That purpose.”
She looked from the white mark on the bark to me. “You converted undisturbed snow into scattered snow.”
“Exactly.”
“Why?”
“Because sometimes things don’t need a why.”
I made another snowball and placed it in her covered hands. “Try it.”
“At the tree?”
“If you like.”
I looked down. “That was supposed to be practice.”
“It was.”
“You practiced on me.”
“You were the larger target.”
Her face remained perfectly composed. The bright sweep of light along her jaw gave her away.
“All right,” I said, bending for more snow. “That’s how you want to do this.”
“Do what?”
My snowball caught her on the shoulder. She froze.
“Avena…”
She packed the snow with terrifying care.
“Let’s remember I’m the one that makes you coffee. You wouldn’t want to do something you’ll regret.”
“Observation is not cheating,” I reminded her.
The next one hit the back of my neck as I ran for the porch.
“Aaarrrgh,” I yelled as the cold slid down my back inside the collar of my shirt.
I started laughing too.
When the laughter faded, Avena went still, startled by the silence it left behind.
“Was that the purpose?” she asked.
“Pretty much.”
“We accomplished nothing.”
“Not everything has to accomplish something.” I brushed snow from my collar. “Fun doesn’t have to earn its keep.”
“Did you have fun?” I asked.
“I believe so.”
“We’ll keep working on it until you’re sure.”
The cabin disappeared.
Rain hammered concrete. A generator coughed somewhere behind me. Four figures stood beneath a torn awning, uniforms soaked dark at the shoulders. Someone shoved a dented metal cup into my hand.
“Drink it, Captain. Link goes live in two.”
Static snapped inside my skull.
A woman turned toward me. Water ran from her hair into her eyes.
“Declan?”
Not her.
White light. A cable. Pressure building behind my eyes.
“Captain Shaw, stay with me.”
Pain.
“Declan.”
Avena stood in front of me. Not touching. Close enough that I could see faint rings of darker purple around her pupils.
“Look at me,” she said.
I tried. The rain kept falling somewhere behind her.
“You are in the cabin. There is snow outside. The fire is behind you.”
“Coffee,” I managed.
“Yes.”
“Still unpleasant?”
“Extremely.”
“Sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?”
“Habit, probably.” I reached for a towel and wiped the coffee from the counter. My hand wasn’t steady. “I remembered something.”
“The place with the white walls?”
“No. Before that, I think.”
She waited.
“Someone called me Captain.”
“You were a soldier?”
“Maybe.” The word tasted wrong. I knew it was true, but the rest sat behind a locked door. “There was rain. A communications link. A woman I should remember.”
“But you don’t.”
“Just pieces.”
“You didn’t try to fix it,” I said.
She looked at me. “I don’t know how.”
“Exactly.”
“That is generally considered a failure.”
“Not where I come from.”
Her gaze held mine. “Then what is it considered?”
“Being a friend.”
Blue-white light gathered beneath her skin in a pattern that I was beginning to recognize as pleasure.
Then the floor vibrated.
“Already?” I asked, trying to keep the distress out of my voice.
“I don’t know how long we’ve been here.”
“Long enough for you to cheat at three games and assault me with weather,” I snarked to hide the sudden drop in my gut.
“You initiated both activities.”
“That sounds like an excuse.”
“It is an accurate allocation of responsibility.”
Her outline flickered. Fear tightened my chest, but it wasn’t the blind panic of the first time. We knew what was happening now. That didn’t make it easier. It only gave me time to mourn her going.
“Will you come back?” I asked.
“Yes.”
No hesitation. No careful qualification. Just yes.
“Will you be here?” she asked.
The question caught me off guard. “Where else would I go?”
I lifted the coffee pot instead. “I’ll keep this warm.”
“Make it less unpleasant.”
“No promises.”
The light around her brightened. For a second I could see the kitchen through her, the table and the folding chessboard waiting beyond her shoulder.
“Declan.”
“I’m here.”
She disappeared.
The cabin settled around the space she had occupied. Fire returned to the hearth. The windows cleared. The coat I’d lent her hung beside Grandpa’s flannel, damp snow melting along one shoulder.
On the kitchen table, her white bishop held my king in check. I sat in the chair across from hers and left every piece exactly where it was.
This game, I planned to finish.