by Elise Kova
As Jo looked around, she saw everyone pull out their various timepieces in example. Eslar’s was another pocket watch, this one made of wood and etched with designs and markings that were unfamiliar to her. Samson’s was made of some sort of crystal, it looked like, the watch face embedded in a leather bracer he wore on his right forearm.
“When we’re given a wish that requires legwork, we’re also given time.” Wayne picked up the explanation, holding out his wrist and showing off his own watch with all the determination of a man compensating for something. It was shiny and expensive-looking, probably a Rolex. Jo put her bet on a knock-off. “That time lets us interact with people and things in the real world.”
Despite herself, Jo perked up at that. Interacting with the real world, the Door. . . it could add up to a way out. “Do I get one?”
“You should have woken up with one,” Eslar said, and Jo’s heart fell.
She hadn’t woken up with anything.
“Yours is probably like mine,” Takako chimed in, and when Jo looked over in her direction, she was holding up a rather dated-looking “smart” phone. Involuntarily, Jo looked down at her wrist, the strip of circuit-embedded fabric peeking out from beneath the sleeve of her hoodie. She pushed the cuff up to her elbow and, as she did every day, ran a finger along the material, watching it light up with the time. Only instead of the whole display coming to life, flush against her skin, it stayed frozen on the lock screen, the time passing in solidarity.
“Yeah,” Takako chuckled quietly. “Mine won’t unlock either.”
Jo lowered her sleeve back down. “So how does it work?”
“When you’re out in the field, you activate it,” Takako said, as though the fact should’ve been obvious.
“It means little until you have time,” Eslar interjected.
Jo looked back at her watch. Zeros stared back at her where the stopwatch would usually be running. She shook her head, feeling exhausted all over again. Just when there had been hope, she was thwarted.
“And I get time when a wish comes in?” There was a consensus of nods. “When does that happen?”
“No one knows when,” Eslar continued. “And even when you have time, it’s not to be squandered.”
She was dealing with a real Snow 2.0 here. Jo’s mind continued to try to work out alternatives, but it stayed sluggish. Despite herself, a yawn escaped through her lips.
“Tired?” Nico asked.
“Yeah, a bit.”
“I’ll walk you back to your room,” Wayne offered. “Should be the last time you need to sleep. After this your body will have fully acclimated to its new status as member of the Society. Naturally, you can sleep if you want, but it’ll no longer be a necessity.”
Jo’s mind buzzed with the new information, trying to make sure that tidbit got sorted with Nico’s earlier comments about food. But it couldn’t seem to gain traction about anything. “Sure, okay,” she mumbled.
Wayne led her out of the room to a chorus of brief goodbyes and see-you-laters. He kept pace with her dragging feet. “Why did you let me walk you this time?” he asked, finally.
Jo didn’t bother concealing a self-satisfied smile. So, he was the sort to speak first. “I have a question for you.”
“Oh?” He had the coin from his pocket, flipping it absentmindedly. Jo regarded it cautiously, remembering the magic he’d used on her earlier. She wouldn’t let herself fall into the same trap.
“You seemed so helpful earlier, I thought you may be willing to assist again.” And he also seemed like the type who got off on saving a damsel. The self-satisfied grin confirmed her suspicions. “How do you pick where you want to go through the door?” Her tongue moved freely this time. Whatever coin magic he had, wasn’t in effect.
“Intent,” he answered. She should’ve guessed it was something like that. But her intent certainly hadn’t been to go to the Rangers. She’d just been trying to find the code, thinking there was only one.
“The last wish the Society granted—” Jo swallowed, hard, the words suddenly sticky. "Mine. Did the Society need to go into the Ranger headquarters to help grant it?”
His flipping stopped, the coin pocketed. Wayne regarded her thoughtfully. “Yes. How did you know that?”
“Good guess.” So the numbers that had appeared in front of her eyes when she’d looked at the keypad weren’t random. Somehow, she’d broken apart clues to find a pattern where one wouldn’t have otherwise been. They stopped in front of her door. “Well then, goodnight.”
“Goodnight—”
The closing of her door cut him off. Jo looked back at her room that was not quite hers. Then, down at her watch. She had a path home at least, she hoped.
But finding it would have to wait for tomorrow. Her eyes were already shutting of their own accord. Tomorrow, yes, she’d go home tomorrow and see if Snow was being more upfront about the effects of her wish than he had been about the price she’d paid to get it.
For now, though, sleep was the only thing on Jo’s weary mind.
Chapter 7
Wish
JO STARED AT the blank spot in the wall where the Iron Man poster had been, not moving, barely blinking.
She was not in her tiny apartment, no matter how much it looked like she was. She was not even really alive anymore. She was a member of the Society of Wishes, and this was their mansion headquarters that existed outside time.
Perhaps, if she said it enough times in her head, she’d start to believe it.
Jo pulled herself to her feet, rummaging through the hamper and picking out two random articles of clothing that looked suspiciously like what she wore yesterday. However, they didn’t smell, and the jeans-plus-tank-top combination worked just as well with her hoodie in this world as all the jeans and tank tops she’d worn in her past life.
Before the nostalgia monster could sink its claws into her, Jo exited her room. It was suddenly a lot easier to believe that she was pulled from time and had magic when the unfamiliar stretch of Society members’ doors greeted her. Down the hall, down the stairs, down the second hall, and Jo was back in the living area-slash kitchen-slash dining-slash games-slash patio-slash pool area.
The space, which Jo mentally dubbed “the common room” for ease, was completely empty, a fact that made her thankful for two reasons.
Firstly, she didn’t have to interact with anyone. Everything was still settling on her like a weird dream that contrasted with the reality she’d known for nineteen years of life. She felt more than a little off-balance and awkwardly on edge, to say the least. And secondly, there would be no witnesses to her fumbling about in the kitchen.
“There must be coffee somewhere. . .” she muttered.
“Second cabinet to the left of the refrigerator.” Jo hadn’t expected a response, least of all from the voice that gave it. She stilled, turning slowly. Snow stood in the doorway.
For a moment that could stretch into infinity, they merely stared at each other. He almost looked out of place, even among the opulence. There was something to that perfection that even the arched ceilings and stained glass couldn’t compare to.
She swallowed hard. “Morning.”
“Is it?” The question struck her as odd and had Jo looking at her watch.
“I guess so, I mean, technically. . .” Her watch read 11:45. When had she gone to bed? How long had she been asleep for? It suddenly seemed a blur.
“Time gets distorted here,” Snow said, as if reading her mind.
“Yeah. . .” They stared at each other for a long moment before Jo suddenly remembered that there was coffee to be had. It was unexpectedly relieving to have an excuse to look away from him. Under any other circumstances, she’d want to ogle a man as attractive as Snow. But he was. . . different.
“How did you sleep?”
Jo stilled once more, and turned. Was he really trying to make small-talk? “Good. Like the dead, really.” Jo instantly cringed at the metaphor and returned to her task.
“Good.”
Another awkward silence.
“Do you want a cup of coffee?” She asked as the pot was percolating.
“There’s no time.” The sudden urgency to his tone startled her. “Wake Eslar, inform the rest of the group. There has been a wish. Briefing room in ten.”
With that, the man was gone before she had time to even turn back around. Jo blinked. “I guess that’s a no to coffee, then?” she called at the spot he’d just vacated.
Mug in hand, Jo ventured down the series of hallways, ending up at the room with Eslar’s name on the door. She gave a few solid raps. By the speed with which the man opened the door and how put-together he was, he clearly had not been sleeping for some time. She tried to steal a glance into his room, but couldn’t; the tall elf dominated the sliver of open door.
Eslar looked her up and down, and Jo did much the same. An elf, an actual elf. She’d seen stranger things, she supposed. Heading to the first town in the LSR to be inhabited entirely by androids should’ve been one. But at the exact moment, even that seemed far more benign.
“Yes?” he asked, the word void of any emotion.
“Snow said there’s a wish, told me to get everyone.”
“Told you?” Eslar arched an eyebrow.
“Yes. . .” Jo wasn’t uncertain of her request; she was uncertain of why Eslar was suddenly looking at her as though she’d sprouted a second head.
“Why you?”
“I don’t know? I was awake? He drew straws? Or maybe he likes me?” The last joke hit an odd place in Jo’s chest.
“Very well, let’s round up the others.”
Samson and Takako looked as if they’d been awake as well. Wayne was found lounging in a mostly-open silk robe, but had a clarity to his eyes that told Jo they hadn’t been closed in restful repose for some time. But Nico practically lunged for her cup of coffee the moment he saw it. Jo liked the guy, but not enough to give him her coffee. Which meant that the two of them went on an expedition to the kitchen for refills before being the last ones to arrive in the briefing room.
What she had only yet experienced as the still, quiet air of the briefing room was now alive with energy. Everyone shifted restlessly, like they couldn’t find a comfortable way to sit. Three chairs were empty, and when Nico settled by Eslar, Jo went for the location between Takako and Wayne, on the opposite end of the table from Snow.
“Not there.” The former held up a hand.
“Why?” It was more curiosity than anger. Jo didn’t care if she sat in that chair or the one between Eslar and Samson.
“Pan sits there.”
“Pan?” Jo vaguely remembered the name being mentioned before.
Snow spoke from the head of the table. “She’ll be here in a—”
“Sorry I’m late.” A woman made a show of a yawn from the doorway, scanning the room as she entered. She had pencil-straight hair down to her waist in an ombre of pinks from her roots to the ends. At first glance, Jo thought she was nothing more than a child—young teen, at the oldest. But there was a maturity to the shape of her face. Her proportions, though slender, were womanly, and Jo was left wondering if she was looking at someone very young, or very old.
Midway to her chair, the woman stopped dead in her tracks. Slowly, her attention swung over to Jo. She stared at Jo with bright yellow eyes, almost like those of a cat, and with all the same curiosity. Then, a pterodactyl screech.
“There’s a girl?” Pan exclaimed in echo, thrusting a finger in Jo’s direction. “When did this happen?”
“Uh. . .” Jo looked over to Takako, whose expression betrayed nothing. The way Pan acted, it was like the other woman who’d been in the Society before Jo didn’t even exist.
“Takako is so dull that she’s practically one of the boys.” Pan shook her head. The casual discursiveness toward Takako had Jo bristling. But before she could say anything, Pan continued. “Why did no one tell me?”
“I just got here yesterday,” Jo explained.
“Not a good enough excuse. Someone should’ve told me.” Pan’s eyes fell on Snow, briefly, before swinging to the rest of the table. “You all know how I hate secrets!” Pan rushed over to her and Jo leaned instinctively back in her chair. Energy pulsated around her in a way Jo was coming to associate with magic. But unlike everyone or anything else Jo had felt to date, this was near-constant—a low thrum that seemed to hover in an aura around the fuchsia-haired woman.
“I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself sooner.”
“It’s fine, really, I was taking a nap anyway.” Pan shrugged.
“For a whole day?” The phrase DOES NOT COMPUTE scrolled through Jo’s brain.
“For a month. It was a good nap.” She grinned, her lips spreading toward her ears with unnatural wideness. Just like that, the visage of the woman-child transformed into something slightly more animalistic. But it was gone so quickly that Jo was left wondering if it was all in her head to begin with.
“I thought we didn’t need sleep anymore. Does it have to do with your magic?” Jo was still pulling up errors left and right for every thought.
“No, I just like sleep.” Pan shrugged.
“At least it wasn’t six this time,” Eslar whispered, the only one among them who seemed brave enough to comment.
“Well, perhaps you can teach me how to take naps that long.” Jo thrust out her hand, mentally scolding herself for the unease she felt. “I’ve been known to like my sleep, as well.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon enough!” Pan clapped her hands and completely ignored Jo’s outstretched hand. She spun in place and sauntered around the room to the last empty seat.
In trying to ignore her own awkwardness, Jo observed an interesting phenomenon occur—a unique shift in the overall demeanor of the room. Everyone suddenly seemed obsessed with anything other than Pan. There was an almost subservient manner to the way their eyes were directed elsewhere.
Pan sat gracefully, swinging her legs into a criss-cross and tapping her fingers on the table. She locked eyes with the man at the head of the table, directly across from her. “It was about time, Snow. You finally have all seven chairs filled.”
About time for what? What’s the importance of the chairs being full? Jo wanted to ask. But the questions remained heavy on her tongue. She wondered if Pan had magic like Wayne’s, and had used it to still her questions.
Snow and the woman shared an unreadable look before Snow attempted to continue on as though she hadn’t said anything. “We have received a wish.”
Questions of a different sort burned in Jo’s mouth, but she kept them quiet of her own volition. A wish meant time, and time meant being able to interact with the real world (however that worked in practice), and that was something Jo desperately wanted.
“The wish comes from a nurse at a hospital in Canada.” Snow waved his hand, and the table glimmered to life. What could only be described as magic rippled across the surface, so tangible-looking that Jo lifted her fingers off the edge before it lapped against the side. She couldn’t stop a small gasp, or the blush that immediately followed the outburst. No one else reacted, save for Wayne. He shot her a smug little grin. She narrowed her eyes and then promptly ignored him.
Jo rested her hands back down to find the surface still glass-like, despite the swirling energy beginning to coagulate into shapes. The image of a doe-eyed nurse in soft, teal medical scrubs materialized as if the entire table had been transformed into a hi-def television screen.
“Is this live?” Jo whispered, to no one in particular.
Eslar gave a noise of affirmation from her side.
“The nurse is working with a terminally ill patient in a hospital that specializes in clinical trials. He’s the second she’s dealt with, but the third to die from this disease. If left unchecked, the illness will become a pandemic,” Snow began.
“Can you see the future?” Jo blurted.
“I can see all possible avenues relating to a wish
.” The soft, almost-kind Snow from the compound had vanished, leaving behind a stoic and purpose-driven instructor. This version was different than the almost-awkward man who had encountered her rummaging through the kitchen that morning as well. While his tone wasn’t exactly harsh, it lacked gentleness—not so much leading her calmly into this new world as expecting her to follow dutifully. Like a soldier.
Was that what they were?
“Will you take her existence, too?” The question came out more biting than Jo intended, but she also didn’t feel exactly apologetic for it.
“That only happens for a select few. The people assembled here and no more, ever.” Snow was unbothered by her tone and motioned to the room. “Usually, I only destroy an unrelated world and turn it into magic.”
“So,” Eslar joined in, no doubt seeing the confusion on Jo’s face, “if this nurse wished for the disease to be cured. . .” He glanced at Snow, who gave a nod of affirmation. “Snow would take another wish, an alternate future of hers—”
“To someday become a doctor herself, in this instance,” Snow volunteered.
“Wait.” It dawned on Jo, but seemed too horrible to bear. “To grant her the wish of curing the disease, you made it so that she can never become a doctor?”
“That is where the magic required to alter reality and grant the wish comes from,” Snow affirmed. It was an emotionless statement, calculated, and so far detached from any guilt or regret that Jo was surprised it didn’t echo in the space that his heart and human empathy must have once occupied. This was as much business for him as crashing an ambassador’s self-driving car was for her. Or, had been for her, in the life she’d had before she was a magical wish-granting soldier-puppet.