“A ‘good shot’ might miss. A ‘perfect’ shot, however. . .” For the first time since meeting the woman, Jo swore she saw pride in her usually reserved expression. Takako’s posture radiated something Jo could almost call smug satisfaction.
“Right,” Jo nodded. Takako was their sharpshooter. Jo was their hacker, even if being their hacker had been meaningless so far.
Hacking.
The idea brought Jo right back to Yuusuke. But instead of anger, a new thought filled her, one of possibility. The recreation rooms could become whatever was most appealing to members of the Society, whatever they wanted. . . What Jo wanted right now, more than anything, was to make sure her sacrifice meant something.
“Okay then.” Jo nodded, grabbing her headset and placing the muffs back over her ears and allowing that notion to simmer in the back of her mind. She grabbed one of the loaded guns and aimed as best she could, trying to seem relaxed, like she wasn’t now buzzing with nervous energy. Before unlocking the safety, however, she glanced over at Takako, grinning. She hadn’t felt this good since before the Society. “What do I do first?”
Chapter 11
Broken Mug
“I WAS GETTING almost as good as you towards the end there,” Jo boasted boldly. Her index finger pulled away from the slick, condensing glass of her drink, ice bobbing as she took a sip of what tasted delightfully reminiscent of RAGE ENERGY.
“I’d better be careful, or you’ll take my job from me.” Takako chuckled that soft and breathy sound Jo had come to associate as uniquely hers.
“Everyone will want me to be the sharpshooter, you can hack.” Jo grinned. They both knew she was being utterly ridiculous, but after the last couple of days, it felt good to be.
She’d unloaded countless bullets into paper targets. When she’d grown tired of those, Takako pushed a button on a panel and flesh-colored dummies had sprung from the ground. The Law of Especially Large Numbers was responsible for the shots Jo managed to land; if she fired a hundred shots, one was bound to make contact—but Jo made it out to be a source of pride anyway, for the sake of irony if nothing else.
Takako had played along then, encouraging her and keeping the seemingly never-ending stream of bullets ready in a rotation of guns. And she played along now as they lounged by the pool in the late afternoon sun.
“I’d make an awful hacker.”
“I’m sure you’d be fine. And at least you’d be useful to the wish. Snow would let you help, I’m sure. . .” Jo swirled her drink before taking a long, embittered sip.
“You don’t always want to be useful to the wish.” As if on instinct, Takako turned her gaze back, as if she could peer all the way through the walls and halls, to the briefing room. “Sometimes, it’s better not to be.”
“Why?” Jo questioned the somber and reflective tone as much as she did the sentiment. It was so similar to Wayne’s, possibly the only similarity between the two.
“A lot of pressure when you’re involved; you have to make a lot happen in a small period of time.” The mention of time reminded Jo of Wayne’s caution for wasting her time, even if Snow said she was benched for the current project. But recreation rooms didn’t take time, a little voice in the back of her head whispered.
“I’ve been in high-pressure situations before,” Jo insisted.
“I’m sure you have. Yet another reason why you’re the best hacker we could ask for.” Takako shook her head and brought her attention back to Jo. “Besides, you’re the only one of us who can. I’m the newest ‘recruit’—if you will—and even I know very little about computers.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible.” Jo shook her head at the excuse. She knew Takako was just trying to deflect the conversation away from the wish and her sourness regarding it. “Everyone is practically born with a computer in-hand.”
“In your time, maybe.” Takako looked out over the far edge of the pool.
Jo studied Takako’s face in profile; looking outward or in, the woman’s expression was no more relaxed. Her time. It was no longer the present, no longer now. It was hers—that was the only reference point that mattered to anyone else. Just like the early 2000s belonged to Takako. But what had her life been like? Where had she lived? Did she have a family, a job, a lover? What had brought her to this life outside of time?
Eventually, Jo followed Takako’s stare at the mountains in the distance, the questions burning her tongue. She hadn’t wanted Takako asking about her mom, or Yuusuke. But Jo also wanted to know more about her new friend; even just a little would go a long way.
“Did you have mountains like this, where you lived?” Jo asked softly, not taking her eyes away. “I mean, I didn’t. Texas in my time is—was—flat, and hot, and dusty,” she added quickly, not wanting to seem like she was asking without giving something in return.
“I did.” Takako nodded. “I grew up in the shade of the Japanese alps, northwest of Tokyo in Gunma.” Her attention was still glued to the horizon and Jo wondered if she saw the haze of the mountains from her childhood.
She said nothing more, leaving Jo to glance at the other woman from the corners of her eyes. Now what? She’d started this train of conversation but had no idea where to lay tracks so she could proceed. She couldn’t just demand more information, she wouldn’t; she respected her kind new friend too much. But she was curious, and that hindered her from concocting any sort of effective transition.
A crash from behind them saved her.
Jo startled, half jumping from her chair. Two men were in the room beyond. Eslar was sitting at the chess table in the far-left corner—too far to overhear, she hoped. With those elongated ears of his, though, who really knew? Though Jo was left to wonder when, exactly, he’d arrived. And why, exactly, he had time to play chess when he was supposed to be granting wishes. Nico was in the kitchen, fretting over ceramic shards that littered the floor.
“No, no-no.” The man who was sunshine incarnate was under threat of drowning due to the invisible raincloud that hung over his head. “Not that one, it was my favorite.”
“What happened?” Jo called.
Nico looked up, startled. Even despite his obvious turmoil over the broken dish, he smiled. “Jo, how good to see you. How do you feel?”
“Better,” Jo admitted and started in, Takako on her heels. There wasn’t any point in trying to play off the fact that she’d been in an utterly pathetic funk for two days. But finding out you gave up your whole existence for nothing could do that to a person. She paused at the entry to the kitchen where Nico was scraping up the remnants of a mug and coffee in shaky hands. “Are you all right?”
“Just get a little twitchy when I haven’t had enough nectar of the gods.” Her opinion of Nico increased tenfold the moment she realized his description of coffee matched her own.
“I know that feeling.” She chuckled and knelt down, picking up some of the larger shards. “Takako, is there a broom?”
“Yes, I’ll get it.” She gave a nod and darted to the far end of the kitchen, returning with a broom and dustpan.
“Thanks.” Jo set her shards in the pan, helping Nico clean up the rest. When they stood up, Takako held another mug out, steaming and potent with the aroma of coffee.
“Soothe yourself.” Takako might be the only person alive who could turn a cup of coffee into an order. And a very. . . interesting order at that. Jo had to swallow back laughter at the seriousness in Takako’s expression.
“That was my favorite mug,” Nico lamented as he took the fresh cup, staring longingly at the dustpan Jo still held. “It was just the perfect size and shape, everything about it was ideal.”
“Can the house just. . . give you a new one?”
Nico shook his head. “The mansion only gives us things in the recreation rooms and our bedrooms. But we can’t take things out of the former, and can’t just ask for things from the latter. It’s a mixed bag of what we get in our rooms. Usually, it’s what we need and are familiar with, but not alwa
ys.”
Of course, anything else would make sense, Jo thought bitterly. Whoever came up with the rules of the mansion had a sick sense of humor. Wasn’t magic supposed to make your life easier, not harder?
“So, how do we get things if we need something specific?” Jo asked no one in particular.
“Samson.” Eslar stood and joined the conversation. He moved over to them in that lithe, willowy manner that could only barely pass for human. There was a surreal feeling about him, as if he didn’t move, but the world moved around him. “I’ll take it to him.”
“You don’t mind?” Nico put his coffee mug down to clasp his hands over Eslar’s as the elf grabbed for the dustbin.
“It will be easier if you unhand me,” Eslar said, not unkindly.
“Thank you!” Nico called after the elf, who was already practically to the hall due to his long strides. A soft sound flowed from mythical man, a language sung in a tongue that Jo couldn’t recognize even with her belief in magic. Jo had a fresh batch of questions, but before she could ask any, the Italian turned his attention back to her. “You must think I’m insane, getting so worked up over a coffee mug.”
“I don’t,” she said honestly, much to his and Takako’s obvious surprise. “I had a mug, one my mother got me when we went to Disney. . .” The one family trip they’d gone on before grandma died and her parents split. “I would have cried messy tears if something had happened to that.”
Jo paused and stared at the countertop where the dustpan had been. It was another trip she hadn’t taken. Another token from her mother she’d never received. Jo wondered if it was still in the house, even. If, now, her mother would buy it for Lydia’s cocoa.
Not existing could really mess with your head if you thought too much on it.
“I’m glad I caught you, actually.” Intentionally or not, Nico stopped her from slipping into that rabbit-hole of sorrow. “There’s something I’d like to show you.”
“What?”
“You’ll need to follow me.” Nico beamed at her. Excitement radiated off of him like sunshine and Jo was helpless to say no.
“Sure, not like I’m doing much else.” And it gave her a convenient escape from Takako. It wasn’t that Jo hadn’t enjoyed her time with the woman—quite the contrary, in fact. But there was a new mission in Jo’s head and she needed a clean breakaway that wouldn’t rouse suspicion. She’d see whatever Nico needed, and then figure out her next steps. “If you don’t mind?” she asked Takako.
“You do what pleases you.” She leaned against the counter, hands in pockets, small smile. A polite person was ten times more attractive for it.
“Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
Jo hoped that when Takako said “anytime” she meant it, because she had every intention of seeking her out again. Nico led her away and Jo gave one more appreciative look back at the stoic woman still leaning against the kitchen counter, doing nothing other than giving her that small, unassuming smile the whole time Jo had her in her sights.
Chapter 12
Contentment. Not Happiness.
NICO LED HER back the way she’d come, smiling at her over his shoulder as they passed through the Four-Way. She gave him a quick smile back, shuffling to catch up.
“So where are we going?” she asked, matching his pace. All he gave her in response was a rather giddy-looking gesture towards the door they were approaching on their right. Jo instantly recognized it as Nico’s room, the little bird painted on his nameplate oddly welcoming.
As Nico reached for the doorknob, Jo realized she’d yet to see inside of anyone else’s room but her own. She knew his would certainly not look like her messy apartment, but she couldn’t begin to imagine what shape Nico’s sanctuary would take. Or anyone else’s, for that matter. What did Wayne or Eslar find soothing in their personal quarters? Or even more curiously, Snow?
Before she could get too consumed by her newest slew of questions, Nico was opening the door and ushering her inside.
It was unlike anything she could have imagined and yet so very fitting for the warm, friendly, Italian artist.
The ceiling was vaulted high, making the room feel open and airy; the large span of space was cluttered without being the slightest bit cramped. In fact, the room felt like a breath of fresh air, as if she were standing on the rooftop of a skyscraper overlooking a giant city, contained within four corners but in no way confined.
“Give me a second, I want to make sure it’s ready.” Nico grinned, an excited bounce to his step as he rushed over to the far side of the room.
Jo watched him go, and the way he stumbled over his footing a bit in his haste had her stifling a small bubble of laughter. The wall he stopped at was crowded with canvases in various stages of completion. Some were completely blank, but most had splashes of color, partial designs, patterns and sketches of bodies or flowers or night skies or an image that only the artist could conceive. Even from a distance, she could tell they were stunning.
Nico rifled through them for a second before looking over his shoulder at her. “No peeking! J-just one second.” Jo nodded and turned away from him when he continued to stare expectantly; the sound of him shuffling through his pieces promptly picked back up.
She busied herself in the meantime by walking around the room. The wall opposite Nico’s collection seemed to be comprised primarily of shelving units, each one filled to the brim with art supplies and books. It reminded her of the art studio at her old high school, splattered with dried paint, stained in ink, and marred with scratches from hundreds of projects. It was that sort of “messy clean” only an artist could achieve.
She picked up a paintbrush, noticing that, despite the obvious signs of recent use—discoloration at the tip, caked paint around the edge—it also seemed relatively new. Maybe that was the room’s way of providing comfort; enough signs of age to be soothing, but no actual decay.
Jo put the brush down and turned her attention back to the rest of the room—the large, patterned rug that filled a circle-shaped portion of the cement floor, the bed in the corner overflowing with dark, rumpled linens; a leather chair, pale at the corners, that was kept company by a lone reading light whose switch was worn to a deep brass from years of use.
But the parts of the room that grabbed her attention most were the giant, floor to ceiling windows taking up nearly one full wall. Behind the perfectly polished glass, what Jo’s limited knowledge of geography told her, was somewhere in modern-day Italy.
The windows pulled her to them, as if she were in a trance. Her hand rose instinctively to the glass, smearing the immaculate cleaning job with an instinct to touch the vision before her. It was beautiful, exactly as she’d seen in pictures.
“Home,” Nico said, and Jo jumped a bit at the sudden appearance of him at her side. He laughed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No, no, that’s on me.” Jo waved him away, smiling a bit in embarrassment. “I was kind of lost in my own head, that’s all.” Nico nodded, staring out at the expanse of old and new architecture that was all crammed together like one big happy family. A thought occurred to Jo, stumbling out of her mouth before she could stop it. “Is this really Italy? Like, the real one?”
Surprisingly, Nico didn’t look uncomfortable or disturbed by the question. Instead, his eyes grew wistful, a soft and sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He nodded. “It’s Florence. Not my Florence, not anymore. But still my home and I still like to keep up with it for all its fantastic creations and fatal flaws. It’s the city where my promised and I had once planned on raising our family, so I can’t seem to let it go.”
“You were engaged?” Jo asked, trying to keep her question sincere and kind despite how curious she was. Nico didn’t seem to mind her prying, but she didn’t want to push it.
As if in explanation, Nico reached into his pocket, pulled out his over-sized, antiquated pocket watch, and clicked it open. Jo hadn’t noticed it the first time, too focused on
the time, then. Engraved on the inside of the simple silver casing was a name in elaborate cursive.
Julia d’Este
“We had planned on marrying in the spring, when the weather would be tame,” Nico said softly. “It would be unfair to our guests to have them suffer at the hands of the season during the ceremony, she’d said. My Julia was the most kind and beautiful thing to ever grace this world and the next.”
“You really loved her.”
“Love, not loved.” Nico glanced at Jo out of the corner of his eye, smile growing warmer still. And then vanishing entirely. His stare seemed to grow somber as his mind wandered out upon the city, so lost in thought it seemed he’d even forgotten that he was holding his watch between them, open to the face, his thumb absently rubbing against the grooves of Julia’s name.
Jo found herself drawn to that watch face: three clocks positioned amid a backdrop of pearl. For the second time, she couldn’t help but wonder why one of them seemed frozen, stopped forever at 1:17. When she opened her mouth to ask, however, the words wouldn’t come. Not because she didn’t want to know, but because it felt too personal, like a line she shouldn’t cross.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Jo eventually tried, hoping for a change in conversation that might lift Nico’s mood a bit. He seemed the sort of person who should always be smiling—like when he was happy, the whole world was happy with him. “When were you born?”
To Jo’s surprise, this actually managed to pull a chuckle out of the man. With a flick of his wrist, he snapped his watch shut and pocketed it, leaning back on his heels.
“December 9th, 1484.”
Before she could stop herself, Jo heard herself whisper a stunned, “Holy shit.”
Nico laughed, loud and boisterous. “I know, right? And I’m not even the oldest one here. Eslar, Samson, and Pan were already around when I arrived, and for all we know, Snow could have been running things even long before them.”