“What if someone wishes me back?” She just couldn’t leave something be. She had to try to pick it apart.
Snow seemed to legitimately think about the idea for a moment. “No one knows who you are to wish you back. Josephina Espinosa was never born. She never ‘adjusted’ the local ATM at age eleven to dispense at will for her friends. She never argued with her mother about what college to attend, knowing she’d never go because she was already embroiled in organized crime. She never kissed her best friend only to have him—”
“Stop.” Her toes were suddenly the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen. “I get it.” Something about having her life boiled down in Snow’s warm voice and icy manner made it all the harder to bear. It was hard to believe what was happening, but Jo couldn’t deny the evidence right in front of her eyes. “So, if all that never happened, if that Jo never existed. . . What do I do now?”
“You help the Society grant wishes with your magic.”
“I thought you had the whole wish granting business on lock?” Jo shoved her hands in her pockets as she finally gave in and let him lead again. Moving was an outlet to the frustrations she was barely keeping contained at the idea of being unwillingly selected for a team—not to mention a team that existed outside time.
“I can only grant wishes once the world is close enough to seeing the wish happen naturally. Otherwise, I risk tearing the very fabric of reality.” Snow paused, clearly reflecting on the convolution of the statement. “Think of it this way: If the world is at state A, and a wisher wants to see it at state C, I need the Society to help move the world to a B state before a wish can be granted.”
“So,” Jo started, trying to logic through what he was saying in a framework she understood. “If someone hates the prime minister and wants to see them assassinated, they make a wish.”
Snow nodded, allowing her to continue.
“State A would be the world where the prime minister is alive and well.”
“And will keep living,” he added. “State C would be a world where the prime minister is dead.”
“But the B state. . .”
“In your example, those in the Society would assist with maneuvering the prime minister into a perilous situation, perhaps.”
Jo thought about it a long moment. “Not just kill him?”
“I am the Wish Granter. Any changes made outside of reducing that margin by any member of the Society other than myself can risk serious implications for the overall success of the wish.”
“Gotta keep yourself useful?” She grinned smugly. “Everyone else is doing all the heavy lifting. . . Jumping from A to C is too hard for you, so you make it so that you’re the only one who can flip the final switch?”
“That jump is dangerously easy,” Snow corrected ominously.
Jo was distracted from any follow-up.
The narrow, office-lined hallways of the Ranger compound opened up into a large meeting space. Men and women sat at round tables, eating, working, talking—all oblivious to the specters in their midst. Snow and Jo walked the length of the room to the wall of glass that overlooked a much more familiar sight.
Picturesque hills rising into purple mountains could stay in their postcard-land of the Society of Wishes. This was the world she knew.
Dallas swept out before her underneath the towered headquarters of the Rangers. The gray sky loomed over a metropolis of straight-lined, industrial buildings. Every tower competed for light by trying to smother the next in its shadow. Other official government buildings bore large flags with two horizontal bands of red and white and one vertical band of blue with a single white star and five blue stars inside—an adjustment made to the original Texan flag back in the days of pre-WIII USA. Highways stacked over highways, congested by a meaningless rat race that Jo had long avoided.
She’d always placed herself outside the norms of conventional society. Why should it be any harder to place herself outside of reality itself?
“Is this real?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“It is, for now.”
“Until someone makes another wish?”
“Possibly.”
“How many?” Jo’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “How many wishes have there been that have changed the world itself?”
“Too many to count.”
So, nothing was real. Nothing had ever been real. It was all luck of the draw crafted by a handful of people who were playing at power by making wishes using an ancient ritual they didn’t even understand. At least, she hadn’t understood it. Not really. Not at all.
Jo remembered what Wayne had said: “Reality is what we make it.” This was supposed to be her new reality now. An odd existence outside time and space, where she was magic and nothing beyond the Society was permanent.
Her mother came to mind. Jo gripped her sweatshirt over her stomach, trying to quell the uneasiness there. Could her mother blink out of existence with one wish gone awry? If Snow was to be believed, her mother didn’t even know who she was. So, she shouldn’t feel sad about losing her.
She wouldn’t feel sad, Jo insisted to herself; she was stronger than that. “I’m ready to go back now.”
“Back?”
“To the mansion.” Jo swallowed hard and wiped her cheeks, making sure no more rogue tears had continued their bold escape. “Home.”
Chapter 6
Because Magic
THE REST OF the walk through the compound was done in silence.
Snow led Jo back to the supply closet where she’d started her futile attempt at escape. She contemplated telling Snow it was locked, but before she had the chance, he reached for the handle and wrapped his hand around it. The moment those elegant fingers made contact with metal, the door shifted, like a veil giving way. One second it was the wooden door of the supply closet; the next it was the solid steel door of the briefing room.
It was almost too quick to see, like watching a hologram glitch out of existence: blink and you miss it. But as if the little bit of magic was commonplace for him—which Jo had no doubt it was—Snow merely pulled the door open without a word and ushered her inside.
“How did you get it to turn back?” Jo asked, clearing her throat a bit when she heard how hoarse and exhausted she still sounded. “When I tried before, nothing happened.”
“Intention,” Snow answered as he closed the door behind him. “The door to return never left. You simply believed it had.” Still not looking at her, Snow headed back through the briefing room.
Jo hovered a moment, unsure if she should follow. But she wasn’t about to try the Door again, not until she had a little more information on it. With nowhere else to go, she remained in tow behind him.
“Next time I’m out there, what do I do? Do I just clap my hands or click my heels and believe?” Jo sniffed, latching on to the concept with her usual vigor; a sense of purpose would help, surely. Learning as much as she could about the Door was a good place to start. Perhaps the next time she went through it, she’d find a way home. Or perhaps it’d just make everything feel a little less overwhelming.
Again, that soft chuckle of Snow’s graced her ears, her heart fluttering a bit at the sound. “If that offers the assistance you require,” he said. “But as long as your intent is to return, the door will always be there to grant you access.”
Jo nodded, even if the explanation lacked some of the more logistical requirements she was familiar with. Part of her reality now came with “magic” as an explanation, and that was something the more logical side of her mental framework was simply going to have to get used to.
About halfway back to the Four-Way, an unfamiliar woman stepped out from where she had been leaning against the wall, blocking their path. She looked to be Jo’s height, Japanese, and about as attractive as every single person Jo had met so far. She had short black hair, combed to one side, and the sort of sturdy muscularity that reminded Jo of a swimmer.
The woman turned in the direction of the Four-Way and cupped
a hand around her mouth.
“Snow has her!” she called out, presumably to Wayne or Nico. There was a small flash of guilt at the thought that Nico might have gone looking for her, even going so far as to recruit other members of the Society in his search. But she’d needed to try to escape, needed to find out on her own, even if knowing was less than ideal. “Ignorance is bliss” just wasn’t how she did things.
“Takako,” Snow said, grabbing the woman’s attention. Takako turned to face them both, locking eyes with Jo only for a moment before offering Snow her full focus.
“Snow,” she said, face stoic.
All of a sudden, there was a hand at the small of Jo’s back, her shoulders tensing at the abrupt contact. She glanced up at Snow in surprise, but he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he just gave her a slight push in Takako’s direction, his hand falling away in the same motion.
“Accompany her back to the others?” It was formed as a question, but even Jo could tell it was more of an order. Takako nodded, seemingly used to the unequal balance of power. This time, when she locked eyes with Jo, she offered her a small, barely-there smile. It might have been worn purely for Jo’s benefit, and it didn’t last long, but Jo was grateful for it nonetheless.
When Takako turned to lead her away, Snow stepped ahead. For a second, Jo considered saying something, possibly thanking him for explaining things, or for not leaving her panicked and stranded, but in the end she decided against it. Instead, she simply watched him walk away, eyes following the steady stride, the length of his frame, until he turned the corner of the stairs to the right of the Four-Way and vanished from sight.
It was like dealing with a ghost, watching him float in and out of her life in the same breath, haunting her memory with the sound of soft laughter and unexpected kindness only to be cut short by the edge of something rough.
“Jo?” Takako’s voice wrenched her back and she could feel her face heating. Takako was already a couple of steps ahead of her, staring at her with an eyebrow raised in confusion. “Are you coming?”
“Yeah, sorry.” Jo swallowed down the embarrassment of being caught staring and hurried to catch up. The other woman didn’t seem like the conversationalist type, but Jo struck one away, not quite ready to be alone with her thoughts. “So, your name’s Takako?”
Another nod, her face remaining passive, not quite cold but definitely far from open.
“Takako Kanazawa.”
“Cool,” Jo said eventually, when it looked like that was all she was going to get. A thought filtered in past all of the chaos her walk with Snow had kicked up, and Jo rolled with it. “So, um. What year are you from?” Snow had mentioned everyone joining the Society at different times throughout the thousand-ish years of its existence, but as far as she’d seen, outside of Wayne, everyone she’d met so far looked to be dressed in the sort of retro-grunge, industrial, uninspired fashions of the 2050s.
When Jo glanced over at Takako, her eyes looked distant. Maybe that had been an intrusive question? Before she could dwell on it for too long, however, Takako said, “I was born in 1998.”
Despite expecting an unbelievable answer, Jo couldn’t help the rush of surprise. Takako appeared close to her age, maybe a little older, but technically she was old enough to be Jo’s mother. In an attempt to regain composure, Jo picked up the pace a bit, stepping past her.
“Wow. Looking good for fifty-nine.” As she glanced over her shoulder with a smirk, she was met with a look of surprised amusement. Jo considered that a win; little victories were going to help her get through this.
The moment the two of them walked into the kitchen and lounge area, she was met with the sound of billiards being played and murmured conversations being had—conversations that stopped as soon as the room became aware of her presence. As Jo scanned the small gathering of people—all men save her and Takako—she caught sight of Wayne at the pool table and Nico having a conversation with someone by the stove. The other two faces were unfamiliar.
The man playing pool with Wayne had long, black hair and unusually defined features. Even from a distance, she could see a striking green tint to his eyes, the color all but popping against his russet skin. The way he looked at her was almost calculating, like he was looking not just at her but into her, seeing something beyond just her physical presence. It reminded Jo of the way Snow observed the world around him, but with a much more clinical, emotionless nature.
The other man, currently leaning against the kitchen counter next to Nico, had a mess of curly hair in a color similar to burnt sienna, one side of it shaved in strips between tight braids. The shade of it seemed to brighten beneath the natural light flooding the kitchen, popping against his bark-brown skin and seemingly highlighting his sharp and almost elongated features. He too had a sort of supernatural quality. Nearly identical to her own humanness, and yet, different.
He was slouching a bit, not quite keeping eye contact with Jo for more than a few seconds at a time, choosing instead to focus more intently on whatever his hands were fiddling with. Jo quickly looked away, realizing she’d been staring. Luckily, the awkward silence of her arrival was broken relatively quickly, Nico rushing over with a relieved exclamation.
“Jo! I’m so glad Snow found you!” When he was in front of her, he reached out without preamble and took her hands in his, smiling brightly. His hands were soft, fingers stained in places with a variety of different colored inks. “When I brought some food to your room and you weren’t there, I worried we’d been too forthcoming and frightened you off. Thank you for coming back.”
It’s not like I had much of a choice, she wanted to say, but for some reason, she found it difficult to be cruel to the man. His disposition radiated warmth and kindness like its own mini-springtime. And, if Snow was to be believed, he was as much of a prisoner here as she was. So instead, she just carefully pulled her hands out of his grip, took a step back, and said, “Yeah. Sorry about that, I just. . . I needed some time. You know, to process.”
“Of course.” Nico nodded, seemingly untroubled by the space she’d added between them. “Do you feel better?”
“Not really,” Jo sighed, because why bother lying? “I get that I put myself in this position, so I take responsibility for it, but I think it’s gonna take some serious getting used to.” She had magic, though. That was something she could see herself eventually wanting to get used to, when she wasn’t so tired.
“It will begin to feel more commonplace in time, do not doubt that,” the man with the long black hair interjected, approaching her with a fluidity to his step that seemed almost dance-like, graceful in a way simply walking shouldn’t be. Once he was close enough, he held out a hand. The dark green of his fingernails was prominent even against his dark skin, though not nearly as unexpected as the slightly pointed shape to his ears that she hadn’t made out from a distance. Jo tried to bite back her surprise, grabbing his hand in a firm handshake.
“My name is Eslar Greentouch,” he said, releasing her hand. His voice was sweet and song-like, pleasant to listen to, if not almost familiar. “And yes, to get it out of the way, I come from a time when elves” —he paused, something indescribable passing across his face— “still existed.”
The cogs turned much slower than she would have liked, but eventually the underlying meaning clicked into place. “A wish?” Jo asked, seeking a connection to what Snow had mentioned about a long-ago Age of Magic. But being confronted with evidence of a time so different from her own—a time where even elves existed—was surreal.
Eslar nodded, face guarded. Despite the multitude of questions jostling for space in her already crowded mind, Jo didn’t probe further. She didn’t really want people asking her yet about Yuusuke and would extend the same courtesy about their wishes.
“Looks like you and Takako have already gotten acquainted,” Wayne chimed in. Jo glanced over her shoulder to where Takako had been standing, but at some point, despite being right behind her, she’d walked over to one of t
he couches without Jo noticing.
“Which means you’ve met everyone but Samson.” Nico gestured back to where the orange-haired man still stood, all but staring holes into his shoes. Samson’s hands continued to fidget, though now the unknown item that bore the brunt of his tinkering seemed impossibly bigger.
“Samson, say hello,” Nico encouraged.
“Hello,” he said, barely giving her a glance.
“Samson’s our craftsman, and a fine one at that,” Nico continued, as though Samson’s mannerisms were expected. “And then there’s Pan. She’s. . . rarely around, but you’ll meet her eventually.”
“Hey, Samson,” Jo called over, if only just to show she’d been actively listening. Samson startled a bit at being addressed. He raised a hand in a quick wave but nothing more, so she turned her attention back to Nico, not wanting the guy to literally melt from the discomfort that seemed to be heating to a boil on his face. “What did you mean ‘craftsman’?”
“Everyone’s gotta have a job, doll.” Wayne sauntered over. To her immense satisfaction, Jo wasn’t the only one to roll her eyes at him in response. Takako seemed to have perfected the art.
“So, what’s my job, then?” Jo asked, frowning. “All I’m good at is hacking, and if I can’t interact with anything in the real world anymore, how am I supposed to do that?” The group exchanged a look; the feeling that she was missing something prickled beneath Jo’s skin.
“I’m more than certain you are good at something far greater than that,” Eslar jumped in, thwarting her self-doubt deftly. “And given time, you will be able to interact and use your magic, full-force.”
“Time,” Jo repeated, deadpan. “Like what? I need to practice?”
“No, no.” Nico shook his head, smiling like a teacher would for a kid too impatient to listen and learn. “Well, yes, you should practice at some point. But our friend meant physical time.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out an over-sized, silver pocket watch, unlike anything Jo had ever seen. When he pressed the top, it popped open to reveal three simple clock faces, one with only a second hand, one seeming to tell the current time, and one perpetually frozen at what appeared to be 1:17.