“You rest,” she told him as she hunted for ibuprofen. “Take these, and I’ll check on you when I wake up.” Then gratefully, she lay down in her own bed.
Coming down with a cold that morning wasn’t planned. Aidan’s body ached, and his throat hurt when he swallowed, but he didn’t care. His heart pounded as he listened to Diana leave for school. Then, when she was gone and all was quiet, he slipped downstairs, supporting himself with his arms on wall and banister, so that his feet scarcely touched the creaky treads. Softly he escaped through the kitchen. Gently, he shut the back door.
Great trees canopied his street and Maia’s roses were all blooming luscious red, but Aidan didn’t stop to look. He ran to Central Square to catch the T inbound. Plunged, with his student CharlieCard into dank tunnels and took the rattling train to Boston.
He had never been to the Seaport World Trade Center. He had hardly been to Boston Harbor except on trips to the Children’s Museum when he was small. Now he saw the ferries and the sailboats, the rusty fishing boats, and all the people swarming the gray convention center on the water. A friendly mob had gathered even before doors opened, gamers in costume, entire companies brandishing their spears like shaggy Vikings at the harbor’s edge. Hand-sewn Elvish shoes with turned-up toes, custom knives and swords, the glint of chain mail in the sun—this was EverCon.
“Yo, why aren’t you dressed?” demanded a blue-haired Fire Elf.
She was a girl from Kansas City traveling with three friends from her company, all dressed in black leather bustiers and thigh-high boots.
Aidan did feel undressed in ordinary clothes. He was relieved to see that some Everheads had come in jeans—the buskers selling ouroboros T-shirts, the guys scalping tickets to the evening show. There were jugglers and musicians crowding the door. A man entertained the crowd with a Whennish lute he’d built himself, a seven-stringed instrument inlaid with mother-of-pearl and a twangy sound like a medieval banjo.
The crowd was joyous. Everheads were eating breakfast harborside in folding beach chairs, trading tips and telling war stories, reuniting with their companies, donning matching T-shirts. After campaigning together for months and years online, qwesters embraced, many meeting in person for the first time. They were college kids and couples, and hordes of hard-core single gaming geeks. They were men and women, Elves, and Gnomes, masters and journeymen. My people, Aidan thought. Arkadian nation.
Even so, he hesitated at the Trade Center doors. At least twenty protesters stood right in front, flanked by police. Christians Against Gaming Exploitation wore matching CAGE T-shirts, and brandished big hand-painted signs for the cameras of Channel 7 Eyewitness News.
CU IN HEAVEN!
BE A PRAY-ER, NOT A PLAYER
HELL NO: DON’T GO
“What are you doing here, son?” one Christian asked. The man had a round, friendly face, and he wore round, friendly glasses. “Shouldn’t you be at school?”
Aidan flinched, nervous about the cops.
“Won’t you join us?” a second Christian asked. She had long blond hair, and she wore a little gold cross on a chain. “Won’t you consider reading this?” She held out a leaflet printed:
YOU AND CHRIST: WIN WIN!
Keep walking, Aidan thought. He wouldn’t take the leaflets offered him.
“God has other plans for you!” the picketers called after Aidan as he hurried toward the World Trade Center doors. “Jesus is waiting, if you let him in!”
What a relief to dash inside without anyone chasing or reporting him. Aidan presented his school ID at the registration table and no one questioned him. His name was on the master list, and he received an all-access pass to wear on a chain around his neck. He fingered that strand of tiny metal beads as though it were a chain of Elvish gold.
“Straight ahead,” one of the EverCon staffers said.
Aidan entered the blue-carpeted Commonwealth Hall, and it was dark after the June sun. Vast as a theater, dim-lit, draped in black. For a moment Aidan stopped in awe. Thousands of gamers had brought their home computers and powered up, logging in to play EverWhen, together and apart. Rustling, shuffling, clicking, the assembled armchair heroes sounded like cicadas on a summer night as they slayed dragons with trackballs and joysticks. Above them, banners hung from the vaulted ceiling, pennants floating over the virtual fair. There were monitors pimped out with flashing police lights, computers bedazzled with crystals. Aidan saw a PC transformed into a steampunk masterpiece of cherrywood, antique typewriter buttons, and polished brass.
There were girls dressed like cheerleaders walking the aisles to toss out T-shirts, bumper stickers, free download codes. There was the blue-haired Elf from Kansas City, who had followed him inside. She told him she had legally changed her name to Kalinda, but he had someone else in mind.
Daphne was here somewhere in this mass of people, and she’d promised, after his long days and dangerous nights, after a million refusals, that he could meet her face-to-face. She had arranged his all-access pass.
Curtained off from the gaming hall, vendors sold costumes, crystals, dragon masks, silver ouroboros bracelets, and pendants of amethyst. Some wares were silly, like needlepoint phoenix pillows, or hand-painted eyeglass cases with your company’s insignia. Some exquisite, like the swords of tempered steel. You could buy anything, from Elf-inspired candles to prosthetic noses, humps, and wings. At the Arkadian brokerage, you could sit at a bank of computers, log in, and bid real money for an imaginary jewel or weapon or gold ring. You could buy an enchanted sword that would take months to earn in EverWhen—or you could sell your hand-forged virtual armor in an instant.
Daphne had promised Aidan that he’d find her, but the convention was even bigger than he’d imagined. He watched early-round tournament play on giant screens. He saw Viktor Lazare speaking to a thousand Everheads about UnderWorld and its new platform. “This is official,” Lazare announced. “Everything you’ve heard is true. We’re launching in December.” But even Lazare’s keynote couldn’t hold Aidan for long. He searched every hall, texting, where ru?
Daphne did not reply, and yet he scanned the crowds. Every blond girl in black leather startled him. He texted again, but his phone didn’t even blink. He remembered Diana’s words—“There is no girl.”
But his sister was wrong. Daphne was real. She had to be. He had traveled with Daphne; he had fought with her and against her. She had been his guide, his companion, and his closest friend. Even without his headset, he heard her throaty voice, her whisper, and her laughter in his ears.
He hadn’t eaten, and after several hours his body ached in the highly air-conditioned hall. The place began to look fake, with its black drapes and kitschy painted booths. He kept looking for Daphne, but he moved slowly now. He saw spectacular costumes, but others seemed hokey and embarrassed him. So many girls fell short compared to Elvish women. Their arms were flabby, and they were always tugging at their bodices, afraid they would fall down. So many guys were old and bald. They didn’t have the physique or hair of warriors. Everheads could not live up to the real thing.
Discouraged, he drifted through the demo booths, with their banks of computers set up for free trials. EverHeart. EverFlight. He sank into a swivel chair, and a black-shirted Arkadian staffer offered him a headset to play EverSea.
At first he said no, because he wanted to keep searching, but after a few minutes he slipped the headset on. Logging in as his old Elf, Tildor, he found himself in the Golden Islands, where he came upon a skiff beached on the shore. A fair wind was blowing, and the tide began to rise. The golden ocean swelled, murmuring around him, and he leapt into the skiff and began to play.
The wind whipped up. Salt spray flew into his face and water roared in his ears, along with the pure voices of mermaids singing on outlying rocks. The mermaids’ breasts were full and lovely, their hidden tails serpentine, deadly underneath.
“Hey, buddy.” A male voice broke in. “Five-minute warning before we have to shut this thing off.”<
br />
“Okay.” Aidan kept his eyes on the screen.
Quickly, nimbly, he tapped and clicked, approaching the mermaids, but keeping his skiff just out of reach. He kept his distance as each mermaid questioned him in turn.
“Who are you?”
“What are you doing?”
“Where have you been?”
He froze when he heard the last mermaid. Daphne.
“Listen, I’ve really gotta shut you down,” the EverSea demonstration supervisor said apologetically.
“Just one second,” Aidan pleaded as he scanned waves and rocks. Then into his headset, “What do you mean where have I been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
Daphne laughed.
“You said you’d come here as yourself,” he said.
“I am here as myself.”
“Yeah, right.”
The islands vanished; the singing ended.
“Sorry.” The supervisor started packing up the monitor and CPU.
Aidan took off his headset, but, strangely, he could still hear Daphne’s mocking voice. It took him a moment to realize she wasn’t speaking to him from inside the game. “I’m standing right behind you. Turn around.”
He spun around in the swivel chair and there she was, looking nothing like Riyah. No flowing locks, no leather bodice, no heaving breasts. She wore black jeans and a black sweatshirt. She was so covered up, he could barely even see her hands. When she pulled up her sleeves, he saw indigo flowers tattooed on her wrists.
“What?” she asked playfully.
“Nothing. You look different.”
“From what you expected?”
He looked down, embarrassed. “I probably look different too.”
“No,” she told him. “You look exactly the way I imagined you.”
Her voice was just as he remembered—knowing, teasing. ARKADIA was the word on her hooded sweatshirt.
“You work here.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Of course I do.”
She wasn’t Elvish but elfin, with her slight frame, short hair, and huge blue eyes. The object of his obsession was not an object at all. She was bright, her expression lively, her smile incandescent. He had no idea how old she was, but he figured at least twenty, college age or more. Her voice was condescending, her expression curious.
“What do you want to play?” she asked.
“Nothing. I want to talk to you.”
“I don’t like talking.”
His throat was dry. “What do you like instead?”
She took him upstairs to the Harborview Ballroom, where several hundred champion qwesters were playing EverWhen.
Aidan said, “I thought you have to register for the tournament to play.”
“Not if you’re with me.”
She commandeered two Arkadian workstations, and they sat in swivel chairs across the table from each other. A strange place for gaming, with its sea-green corporate carpeting, but once you started, you didn’t notice anything.
Charging on horseback, fighting with broadswords, shooting arrows, casting spells that rained down sparks like fireworks, she played well, but he played better. Trembling, feverish, his reflexes were faster. Jousting, he unhorsed her. He thrust and parried, forcing her down on the leafy forest floor. Again and again he vanquished Daphne. He frustrated and dazzled her. He fought brilliantly, but she would not admit defeat. She sprang up, challenging him in archery. Together they sent arrows flying after moving targets, gold birds darting and wheeling in the bright sky.
“Once more, once more,” she urged him on.
“I won,” he said. “Admit it.”
“One more round.”
“No.” He scooted his swivel chair to her side of the table.
Reluctantly, Daphne turned away from the game.
Once again he said, “I need to talk to you.”
She felt a prick of fear when she saw Aidan’s face, because he looked so serious. To tell the truth, she had considered standing him up. All day she had ignored his messages, and when he texted that he was playing EverSea, she had circled for a long time, watching.
He was too involved with her. He had revealed way too much about himself. His name, his school, his loneliness. Sad Aidan was sadly predictable, because, of course, Daphne knew exactly what he was going through. Once upon a time she’d been a miserable teenager, shutting herself up and gaming for days. She didn’t need to hear about it when she’d lived it. Even so, he’d won the chance to see her. He’d stabbed her through the heart, and she played fair. “What do you want to talk about?”
He was practically shaking, meeting her like this. He had no weapons; he wore no armor. Even so, he forced himself to speak. “I want to know you.”
“You’re a kid,” she said, as much to reassure herself as to remind him.
He wouldn’t let her put him off. “Who are you?”
“I’m exactly what you see.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Stop!” She brushed his hand with hers. The brief contact, meant as friendly and dismissive, shocked them both. Her touch surged through his body. She felt his heat. “What are you on?” She was only half joking. “I want some.”
“I’m not on anything.”
“I was kidding!” Then she added, “You don’t get to know me.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not good for you.”
“How do you know what’s good for me?”
“Okay, we’re done now.” She sprang out of her chair and began walking.
He hurried after her. “Why are you, of all people, talking about what’s good for me?”
She walked faster. She was nearly running to the mezzanine.
“Daphne!”
She slipped into a crowded elevator going down.
“Wait!” Aidan called out as the doors were closing.
She might have escaped then, but a friendly Water Elf held the door, and Aidan squeezed in with a crowd of costumed Everheads.
“Going to the show?” the Water Elf asked Daphne.
She answered, “Absolutely.”
Aidan tried to edge closer, but too many sweaty bodies blocked him. Last in, first out when the doors opened, Aidan tried to catch Daphne leaving, but other elevators were opening too. Streams of Everheads were exiting, and she slipped into the crowd, ignoring him, as she race-walked to Commonwealth Hall.
He followed Daphne into a conference venue transformed into a rock concert. Sparkling light rained down, as Aidan plunged into a sea of bodies. For a moment he couldn’t even see. He almost lost Daphne in the darkness and the virtual fireworks, the huge reverb, the thunder of Arkadia’s house band, the Velvet Pixels, rocking out onstage, the roar of a thousand Everheads partying. Half blind, he reached out and caught the hood of her sweatshirt.
She glanced over her shoulder, amazed at his tenacity. Her eyes were mocking; her whole body told him, Catch me—I dare you. Her hood ripped as she tore away.
“Stop,” he called. She paused for just a second, and then she raced off again.
He pursued her from the dance floor to the great hall of gamers, with their glowing monitors. Security tried to block him, but he hardly noticed. If Daphne had stopped here, guards would have caught him, but she kept running through the hall. She tried one door, and then another. When she hit an unlocked exit, he was right there after her.
Gasping, laughing, she sprinted down two flights of stairs. His speed was thrilling, actually Elvish. His legs were longer than hers and he jumped the last four stairs at the exit to the parking lot.
“Okay,” she said.
“Okay what?”
She kissed him on the lips.
He was already light-headed, and now he felt like he was floating. For a long moment he was dreaming, flying! But no, he was really standing there with Daphne. That was her tongue pressing against his.
His hands spread over her shoulders. Still kissing, he unzipped her sweatshirt. He touched her through her ribbed
undershirt as he kissed her neck, her collarbone. Then, opening his eyes, he saw her ink. Thick twigs and flowers covered her arms and shoulders, climbing over her shoulder blades. For such a long time he’d fantasized about her Elvish flesh, her pure white character in game. He’d imagined her softness and her nakedness, but she had clothed herself in intricate designs. Black branches, berries, thick leaves tattooed her entire torso.
The instant he paused to look, she pulled away.
He reached for her. Just wait, he pleaded with his eyes.
She glanced at him with a hint of sympathy. “Ohh,” she said, as she might speak to a small child. Then she ran upstairs.
He couldn’t follow. His head was pounding. His muscles throbbed. With sheer adrenaline, he’d chased her down, but he had nothing left, and he sank back against the wall. He was so sick, his mind and body racing. He thought his heart would burst. It wasn’t fair. He’d caught her, touched her, half undressed her, and still she wasn’t his.
—
Upstairs, the Velvet Pixels were performing and the audience was belting out the chorus. “Reality! Reality!” Grateful, Daphne slipped into the crowd. People were singing, and they were swaying, and they were holding light sticks. The darkness and the mayhem comforted her. She loved crowds because you had strangers to fall back on when you were bruised and rattled, out of breath.
She hung back when the Velvet Pixels took their bows and walked offstage, changing from rock stars to programmers and engineers. She did not join her colleagues as they met the band outside to head to Viktor’s after-party at the Institute of Contemporary Art.
Obi saw her and called, “Come on.” Arkadians had been working the conference all day, answering questions, demonstrating features, mingling with fans, and they were ready to escape and celebrate.
“Later,” Daphne said.
The Chalk Artist Page 16