Hold Your Fire

by Lisa Mangum

  No, no, no …

  Someone giggled. Giulia scanned the backyard and saw tiny bare toes sticking out between the purple blooms of the sage bushes that lined the back fence. She sighed with relief.

  “Sofia!”

  The giggling stopped. Sofia popped up out of the bushes. A purple sprig stuck out from behind her ear, tangled in her curls.

  “Oh, Auntie Giulia, you should come play! The door is the best! It makes it so much easier to see everything. And you have the friendliest bushes!”

  Sofia ran across the yard, making sure to veer through the door and closing it carefully behind her. Grinning, she skipped over to Giulia.

  A kernel of pride blossomed inside Giulia. She had done this. She had made Sofia happy.

  “That’s wonderful, Sofia,” she replied, the gentleness in her voice surprising her. “I’m glad you’re having a good time. Let’s get you some food.”

  Every day for a month, Sofia had run through the magical door in Giulia’s backyard. It was so much easier to see, to hear, to know when she used the door. Her special dreams came almost every night now. She drew pictures so she could remember them, and sometimes she showed the pictures to Aunt Giulia.

  The first time, Giulia had smiled that tiny, barely-there smile, and the cloud around her shrank a little. Last Friday, though, the day after she had handed Aunt Giulia a new picture, Aunt Giulia had started acting weird.

  The picture was of Giulia with a sword, facing down a crowd of trolls trying to pull her off a hill. In Sofia’s dream, Giulia fought up the hill all by herself, and she wasn’t giving it up to some stupid trolls. There was one really mean troll with glasses and a chipped tooth. Sofia’s picture showed Giulia about to slay him. She was pretty proud of that.

  Giulia had smiled when Sofia gave her the picture, and she had pinned it to the fridge with the others. She’d even brushed Sofia’s curly hair away from her eyes, her touch soft and less awkward than it had once been.

  Sofia had spent the next morning back at day care since Giulia had a “big meeting” at work. When Giulia had picked her up that afternoon, her aunt was even quieter than usual. The cloud wasn’t darker, but it was edged with yellow. Uncertainty. Sofia had caught her aunt studying her when she’d thought Sofia wasn’t looking.

  Later, Sofia found her pacing in the office. She had taken the drawings off the fridge and spread them out on the desk, the yellow growing stronger.

  You gotta stop talking about these dreams of yours, kiddo, Daddy used to say. People are going to think you’re … odd.

  Sofia had given the drawings to her aunt because she thought her aunt would like them, but maybe there was some grown-up thing about the pictures that she didn’t see. She opened her mouth to ask Auntie Giulia why the drawings had made her yellow, when the doorbell rang, followed by five quick raps on the door.

  Sofia and Giulia shared a look over their empty lunch plates; only Nonna Claudia knocked that way. Bright streamers of yellow flared around Giulia.

  Uh-oh.

  “Go outside, Sofia. I’m sure Nonna just wants to hear how my meeting went.”

  Giulia left the kitchen. Sofia glanced at the door, then crept to the edge of the kitchen and peeked out. Just to make sure Nonna wasn’t here about the pictures.

  “Mamma, good to see you,” Giulia said. The cloud was much thinner now, but still edged with yellow. It didn’t pull toward the ground anymore.

  “How did the meeting go? You never call me back,” Nonna Claudia said. Orange sparks frizzled on her short gray hair and across her eyebrows.

  “It’s, uh, fine. Don’t worry about it,” Giulia said, her hand still on the door. Her shoulders were up like a cornered cat’s. Nonna Claudia didn’t seem to notice, pushing past Giulia to enter the house.

  “They are keeping you full-time, yes?” Nonna Claudia prodded, her accent stronger than usual. Mamma called that Nonna’s “riled” tone.

  Giulia sighed. “Yes, Mamma. I got it all figured out. I’m starting classes in a couple of weeks.”

  Nonna Claudia patted Giulia’s cheek. “Good, good. You look good, carina, better than before. It’s good to have things to do, yes? Concetta was right to bring the girl here.”

  Sofia didn’t like being called “a thing to do” or “the girl,” but she knew that was just how her nonna talked. The love light appeared on the edges of Giulia’s cloud. Sofia felt warm, from her toes to the tippy-top of her head. That light was for her.

  “I’ve loved spending time with Sofia,” Giulia replied. Her shoulders straightened, as if she had made a decision. “Has she ever told you about her dreams?”

  Nonna Claudia snorted and rolled her eyes. “Silly little girl dreams. You used to have them all the time.”

  “I did?” Giulia leaned back, her eyes wide. “Don’t you think it’s … odd? That some of Sofia’s dreams seem to come true?”

  “She’s just a quick thinker, like you. Reads people, situations, connects the dots,” Nonna said, flapping her hand. “Don’t you start talking about true dreams and magic. Sound just like my mamma with those damn cards. It’s crazy talk. Sofia has to learn, just like you did.”

  Sofia’s heart tumbled down, down, down until it hit the floor. Blue waves washed down her legs, over her sneakers. Silly. Odd. Crazy. She crept outside to the one place she felt like she belonged. Where she didn’t feel alone.

  “Sofia?” Giulia asked over their bowls of mac and cheese.

  “Mmm?” Her niece stirred her noodles half-heartedly, staring at the bare fridge.

  It had been a couple of weeks since Giulia had taken Sofia’s pictures down so she could study them more closely. Giulia hoped she hadn’t accidentally hurt Sofia’s feelings. The girl seemed quieter. More withdrawn. Especially after she had found out that Giulia was starting work again next week.

  Giulia would still watch Sofia three days a week and most evenings. She wouldn’t admit it to Connie, but she was happy she still had time to do so. Sofia was an easy kid to love. She reminded Giulia of Scott, with her ability to believe in something with her whole heart.

  But Sofia hadn’t seemed happy since she’d heard the news.

  “Have you had any more of those dreams? The picture dreams?” Giulia asked.

  Sofia looked down at the table as she twirled her spoon. “Umm … no?”

  Giulia reached across the table, taking Sofia’s small hand in hers. She wouldn’t have thought to do so just a few months ago.

  “Sofia, I hope you know you can tell me anything. I’ve missed hearing about your dreams and what you see outside.”

  “You don’t think I’m being silly?” Sofia asked in a small voice.

  “No, of course not,” she said, hating the pain in Sofia’s voice. Her niece looked up at her with the big brown eyes that saw too much.

  “So why did you take my pictures down?”

  Giulia looked at the fridge. Careful, she had to be careful. Not just with Sofia—with herself. Her mind had skirted around the issue for days, not wanting to look closer but unable to let it go.

  “I wanted to look at them more closely. The one you gave me last week—”

  “The troll one?”

  “Yes, that one.” Giulia paused, trying to find the right words. Not just for Sofia. For herself. “That troll you drew with the glasses and the chipped tooth reminded me of my coworker. He was mean to me in a meeting I had the next day.”

  Freaking Dyer, trying to get her demoted to part-time so he could clear the way for one of his favorites.

  “He tried to push you off your hill?” Sofia asked, eyes alight with interest.

  “Yes, actually, he did.” Giulia smiled. “But I didn’t let him.”

  Sofia clapped her hands together, that sunny smile back on her face.

  “Just like my dream!” she said.

  Giulia felt like she was walking on ice that could shatter at any minute.

  “Yes, like your dream,” she said, the words dripping from her lips like molasses.<
br />
  Nonna Rosa spoke to her, words from just before she’d passed away. Concetta’s little one is precious. She is marked for good things. I’ve seen it in my cards. Just like you, tesoro.

  “Sofia, is it always like that? Do your dreams always …”

  “Come true? Only the special ones,” Sofia answered.

  “How often do you have these special dreams?”

  “Oh, all the time now. Since I started playing with the door.”

  A crack ran through the ice.

  That damn door. For weeks now, Giulia had dreamt about it. Sometimes Scott walked her up to it, his hand warm and strong and alive in hers as he asked her to open it. Sometimes Sofia stood beside her, smiling up at her. Sometimes she was alone, pulled by whispers from the other side of the frosted glass. Whispers of something she had known once, long ago. Silly little girl dreams. You used to have them all the time.

  “Aunt Giulia?”

  Giulia realized she was staring at the sliding door.

  “Yes?” The word seemed to come from very far away.

  “Come with me. Through the door,” Sofia said. “It’s easier to show you than to talk about it.”

  Complete trust glowed in her niece’s eyes. Innocence, too, even after she must have been called silly or strange or whatever else by people who didn’t understand, who thought she was just playing pretend.

  Those other people hadn’t seen the drawings of Sofia’s special dreams and matched them up with events that happened later. Those people didn’t hear her talk about how the flowers said a storm was coming, then have a surprise thunderstorm pour down rain hours later.

  Those people didn’t have dreams of their own. Odd dreams. Dreams of things she could never explain or admit to anyone, not even to Scott.

  Hush, Giulia! You keep talking like that, someone is going to lock you up! Her mother’s voice, a fuzzy, half-remembered warning.

  Another crack through the ice, spiderwebbing out from the first.

  “Yes, I think I’d like that,” Giulia whispered.

  Giulia helped Sofia off her stool. Sofia took her aunt’s hand in hers. A small thing, but such moments had helped Giulia keep her head above water the last few months, helped her think about tomorrow again.

  They walked into the backyard together and stopped in front of the door. Giulia looked down at her niece.

  “What now?”

  Sofia pursed her lips and tilted her head this way and that. “You should open it,” she said. “I think you need to open it for it to work.”

  Giulia reached out, her fingers trembling. She dropped her hand and rubbed it against her jeans to hide the shaking. This is silly. It’s just a door. Just another of Scott’s flights of fancy. She saw glimpses through the glass of bright flowers running along the back fence.

  So why did it feel like she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs?

  She looked down at Sofia to ground herself. Her niece smiled again. She looked lighter, freer than she had the past few weeks. Giulia wondered how much taking the pictures off the fridge had weighed on the little girl, made her feel alone, different.

  “It’s almost gone, you know,” Sofia whispered.

  “What?”

  “The cloud that hangs around you. It was there for a long time, but it’s been shrinking every day. I can barely see it now.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Sofia shrugged, the blithe movement of a six-year-old completely confident in herself once more.

  “I think it means now is a good time to try the door,” Sofia replied. She looked up, but Giulia had a feeling she wasn’t looking at her, but instead at the cloud. “I think Scott would have wanted you to try.”

  Giulia’s vision blurred, but the knife didn’t come.

  “I think you might be right,” she whispered.

  She reached out again and grasped the doorknob.

  She opened the door.

  The ice broke, and she fell through it.

  Colors, everywhere. So many colors they almost blinded her. Everything was louder, brighter. The wind rustled through the sage bushes, and Giulia swore she heard whispers. Overwhelmed, overstimulated, she sank to her knees and closed her eyes, putting her hands over her ears.

  Am I crazy?

  A small hand grasped her shoulder.

  “Auntie Giulia?”

  Suck it up. Put on a brave face for Sofia and figure out the crazy later.

  She forced her eyes open. The colors were still there, bright sparkles in the air. A strange pink mist hovered above the sage bushes. A strong white glow emanated from behind her. But with Sofia’s hand on her shoulder, they were manageable now, less frightening. She blinked and looked at Sofia. And started to cry.

  Her niece radiated soft, warm light, like a tiny star. Giulia knew, somehow, without having ever been taught how to see this way, what that light meant. It was love.

  Bright sparks of purple flared and faded, then flared again, like fireworks, all around Sofia. Bravery, a voice inside Giulia whispered, one that sounded very much like her grandmother.

  Giulia looked down at her hands. They were covered in a faint gray mist, remnants of the cloud Sofia had described. But as she watched, the wisps started to glow with that soft, warm light, too, echoing Sofia.

  “Auntie Giulia, are you all right?” Sofia asked.

  A spark of purple burst into the air, near Giulia’s engagement ring.

  Scott, I wish you could see this.

  “I will be,” Giulia whispered. Suddenly, for the first time in months, she believed it. She clasped Sofia’s hand in hers. “Now, show me how to look with magic eyes.”

  Sofia beamed.

  About the Author

  Writing since she could pick up a pen, Kristen Bickerstaff has always loved exploring the worlds and characters that live in her head. By day, she’s a content marketer and freelance writer/editor based in Dallas. By night, she dreams of magical worlds and crashing spaceships. Learn more about her current projects and other published works at kristenbickerstaff.com.

  The Burren of Mars

  CJ Erick

  From the top of the ridge, with the Martian night approaching, the Burren Project looked to Doria like interconnected green canyons spreading over the ancient plain of Elysium Planitia, as if the surface of the Red Planet had fractured and emerald vegetation had sprouted from the cracks.

  Ravishing. It was everything she’d hoped it would be.

  But sadly, the Burren Project, her project, was failing.

  “Sandstorm’s ten kilometers away, Doria.” Sheela McCoshen’s voice over the pressure suit’s comm link was calm but urgently insistent. A smudgy red line rose from the western horizon, turning a slice of the darkening sky an angry rust color.

  “Ten-four, Sheela. I’m on muh way.”

  She powered up the hydro-vac excavator and drove down the face of the ridge toward the gray metal box that was the main vehicle hangar. The wind whispered over the sloped hood and windshield with the faint hiss of thin dust. The red smudge climbed the sky like a Martian hand poised to capture them.

  Two years earlier, the sandstorms were only a nuisance, a whisper of wind that filled the sky with fine dust, micron-sized particulates that coated everything and blocked the sun. But since the American terraforming project had been drilling into carbon dioxide deposits in the planetary crust and intentionally releasing the gas into the atmosphere, the storms had gotten stronger and more frequent. They called it the “transition period,” when increased atmospheric pressure created chaos and turbulence in the sun-wind cycles. It will settle down, they said, especially after the plant life began to convert the CO2 into oxygen.

  And those conditions would prove her colony design to be superior to the dome projects blistering the plains all over the equatorial zone of the planet and protecting the five hundred souls currently on Mars.

  Instead of domes, Doria envisioned canyons of life, inspired by the great Burren of western Ireland, protected by
a meter-thick canopy of transparent polymer, letting in the light, keeping out the dust, and allowing her and the others in her mighty team of five to control the inflow of CO2. They would grow their own food in a self-sustaining biosystem and expel glorious oxygen into the air, just like the terraformers wanted.

  But if they couldn’t work faster, they would run out of funding, and the Great Burren of Mars would be just another wacky idea destined to die there in the red dirt. Humans would be confined to metal domes for a very, very long time, looking at the beautiful Martian sky not through miles-long, crystal-clear skylights but through small porthole windows and video screens.

  Metal domes, where she and her team would have to live if they failed.

  Doria’s assistant project manager, Sheela, met her as she stepped from the hangar air lock into the square, drab gray dressing area, seven feet high and wide. The ever-present smell of decon chemicals followed her from the lock and lingered in the room. Sheela’s eyes explored hers as she helped Doria shrug out of her safety suit.

  “I’m fine,” Doria said. “It takes more than a little Mars quake and subsequent sandstorm to worry me.”

  She was pleased to find that her words were sincere. Tough spots made one tougher, hadn’t her grandfather told her that more than once?

  “Aye,” said Sheela, “but you were due an hour ago, and this storm came on faster than we were thinking. Hungry?”

  “Aye, famished. I stayed to get the third cut on Channel 15 before this storm hit. How bad is it?”

  “Very, looking at the satellite view. It’s a good thing the HVEs are safely in the garage.”

  Doria’s safety suit, now deflated, looked like crinkly white pajamas made out of oddly flexible printer paper. They checked it for any pink blush, the suit’s built-in warning system for integrity damage, and found a thumbnail-sized spot where her shoulder blade had rubbed on the HVE seat. She’d have to ask Nuala, their equipment handler, to paint a patch of coating there before she could go out again.