Perchance to Dream

by Lyssa Chiavari

  Mel shrugged. “I’m sorry. I’ve not really been feeling up to it.”

  “I understand that, but as the semester goes on, it becomes more of a concern. If you don’t understand what we’re doing now, it’ll be a lot harder to catch up later.” She handed Mel a stapled packet. “I’ve got some extra materials I’d like you to look at. Please try to get your late homework in as soon as possible. By Monday, preferably.”

  Mel blinked in surprise. “Monday?”

  “You’ll have the weekend, and if you have any questions, you can bring them to me Monday before school. But I need you on track.”

  “Um, I’ll do my best.” She put the packet in her backpack. “Thank you.”

  As she walked through the hallways, she kept half an eye out for Lea. She didn’t want to run into her unaware—or, preferably, at all.

  Time was running out to do something. The longer she waited, the less likely the police would be to believe her. But the signs had become so painfully clear, even without Lea’s support. She felt Clara’s guilt every time they shared a meal or passed time in the same room. It weighed on the air and poisoned their conversations. It seemed as though even Joseph was beginning to notice that something was seriously wrong. She wondered if he had any inkling of what Clara had done. What she was capable of.

  It was probably easier than she’d imagined. Out for a morning walk, drawn by the promise of intimate conversation and closeness. Just standing there on the bridge, looking at the skinny river below and the wide asphalt bike and walking paths alongside it. Her mother leaning over, pointing at somebody. Laughing. Just a little push. Maybe she hardly realized what she’d done.

  And the image of her mother, lying on the ground like the broken swan of so many old poems. Did she know she had been pushed? Did she think it was an accident? Were her final thoughts of fear? Anger? Betrayal? Did she think of me? Did she have time?

  Mel was called to talk to two more teachers and the guidance counselor before the end of the day, each expressing concern for how she’d fallen behind. She bit her tongue, apologized, promised she’d do better. But they didn’t know. She couldn’t tell them, not until she had more evidence. If Lea didn’t believe her, why would they? They’d tell her to go to the police, and she’d have to admit that she already had. And then what? What could they do? So she kept silent, but visions of justice flooded her mind like ghosts in a graveyard.

  ❦

  Dinner that night was another near-silent affair. Mel poked at her meal, her stomach roiling at the thought of even the blandest food. She saw Clara and Joseph shooting glances at each other and wondered when one of them would say something. It didn’t take long.

  “Mel, we need to talk.” Clara put her fork down with a clink. “We’ve started advertising our apartment to find a sublessee. There are still six months left in our lease, but we need to be here with you. So as soon as we find one, we’ll be moving our things in here.”

  Mel glared at the plate in front of her.

  “Are you listening?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That means we’re going to need to rearrange some things in this house. I’m sorry if this hurts you, but sometimes you have to grieve while you get through the rest of life. We can’t just set everything aside.”

  “Honey, you know your mom wanted us to be your guardians,” Joseph broke in.

  “How do you know what she wanted?” Mel spat. “Neither of you know anything!”

  “She was my sister,” Clara said calmly.

  “She was my mother! And I have just as much right to her as you do!”

  “I know you do. Why wouldn’t you?” Her aunt’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

  “More, really.” Mel felt her heart racing. “After all, I’m the only one being honest about what happened to her. And she deserved honesty.”

  “Mel, we’ve been over this. Your mother committed suicide, and—”

  “She did not!” Mel roared. “You know she didn’t! You pushed her!”

  Silence fell.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You pushed her.” Hands trembling in anger, Mel shoved away her plate. “You pushed her off that bridge. I know you did. Nobody else will believe me, but I know what happened. You were always jealous of her, Mom told me. She said when you were little, you always used to try to take her stuff and the people she loved. And something happened in college—I don’t know what, but you never got over it, did you?”

  “Melanie!” Joseph rumbled, but Mel barreled on.

  “Maybe it was still pure jealousy. Maybe she held some secret over you from college. A crime, or some illegal magic. And you pushed her off that bridge so it would look like she killed herself, but I know my mom! And I know she wouldn’t do that. You killed her. Even if nobody else believes me, I know.”

  Clara stood up, her face hard. “Melanie Daniels, listen to me. You are hurting. You are grieving. And I have given you a great deal of leeway because I know that grief is hard. But this has gone too far. You stand there and accuse me of murdering my own sister? How could you possibly believe that? This is unacceptable behavior. And you need to pull yourself together.”

  She stared straight at Mel. Neither one broke the eye contact until the clinking of plates made them both glance at Joseph. He was stacking up the dishes and gathering the napkins. He looked at Mel and shook his head, disappointment radiating across his face.

  “I can’t stay here.” Mel ran to her room and threw her wallet and phone in her purse. When she came back out to the hallway, Clara was standing there, daggers in her eyes.

  “You are going to stay here and we are going to talk about this.”

  “I am not.” Mel slung her purse over her shoulder. “I’m spending the night at Hannah’s.”

  “Do not walk out that door, young lady.”

  But Mel walked out anyway.

  ❦

  On the walk to Hannah’s townhouse, she toyed with her phone, not sure if she should call first or if that wouldn’t do any good. Her feet struck the pavement sharply, her flip flops smacking back against her heels in rhythm. They were the first shoes she’d seen, although now she was mildly regretting not at least putting on tennis shoes. The chill autumn wind whisked around her feet and calves, drawing out the goosebumps.

  Arriving at Hannah’s without having decided on the phone call was a decision after all, she supposed. She knocked on the door, and Hannah opened up moments later.

  “Mel? What are you doing here?”

  “I’m sorry,” Mel said, shivering slightly. “Can I stay here tonight?”

  “Yeah, of course. Come in.” She ushered Mel through the door and closed it behind her. “What happened?”

  “Well.” A shaky laugh caught in her throat. “I, ah, accused my aunt of murder at the dinner table.” The phrasing sounded particularly funny, and the amusement mixed with the anger in her chest.

  “Oh.” Hannah nodded. “Well, yes, I can imagine I know why you’re here then. What did she say?”

  “Of course she said she hadn’t done it. She didn’t want me to leave, but I couldn’t stay there.”

  “I understand. Please, have a seat at the table. I’ll make us some tea.”

  Mel nodded and sat, her face in her hands. She watched as Hannah bustled around the kitchen, gathering kettle and mugs and teabags.

  “Is Earl Grey okay? I’ve just got that and green tea.”

  “That’s completely fine. Thanks, you’re sweet.”

  “It’s no problem. Now, tell me the story.”

  Mel took a deep breath and recounted the conversation as close to verbatim as she could manage. “And that was it,” she finished. “I just walked out.”

  Mugs in hand, Hannah joined her at the table. “Hon, I have a question for you.”

  “What?” Mel asked, dreading what was to come.

  “Are you sure your mother wasn’t depressed?”

  “I’ve told you already, I’m sure.”

  “It just seem
s to me, on reflection, that she had been struggling for a few years now. I know you said her job was hard on her, and I wonder if she was less involved in church committees than she had been before?”

  Mel blinked. “I mean, yeah, she didn’t spend as much time organizing functions as she used to.”

  “Did she sleep well?” Hannah asked.

  “What? Um, I don’t think so. She was always up pretty late. Later than me most nights.”

  “Those are symptoms of depression. And I bet if you think back, you can find some others. I know how badly you want this not to be true. I know how much it hurts. But I think, just maybe, that you didn’t know how much your mom was struggling because she wanted to protect you.”

  “Oh, God.” Mel sank forward and put her face in her hands. “I didn’t…”

  “You didn’t want to believe it.” Hannah put her hand on Mel’s arm. “I know. But remember, you’re not the only person hurting. Your aunt lost a sister. No matter their struggles, your mother was dear to her.”

  “Oh, God,” Mel repeated. The enormity of the accusation she’d made struck her all at once. She couldn’t draw breath, the wind knocked out of her like when she used to fall down the stairs as a kid. Hannah rubbed her back gently, and they both waited for her lungs to function again.

  “You okay?”

  “Not really.”

  “You don’t have to be. But you do have to go back home at some point.”

  “I can’t go back there. How can I face her?”

  “You have to.” Hannah nudged the mug of tea in front of Mel. “Drink. The warmth will help.”

  Mel took a few large sips. The heat was comforting, but her stomach still twisted with guilt. She shook her head slightly.

  “I was so sure. And the ghost…”

  “You said you’d made a new potion that day, right?”

  Mel’s face burned. “Yes.”

  “Is there any chance…” Hannah trailed off, letting Mel figure the rest out.

  “I feel so ridiculous. I got the recipe from an old book, too. Just something I found at the used bookstore. I didn’t think.”

  “No, clearly you didn’t.” She laughed a little. “I’m glad you are now, though.”

  Mel wrapped her hands around the mug to absorb the warmth. “You knew, didn’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You knew it wasn’t her. You knew my mom was depressed a long time before I did.”

  “I had my suspicions.” Hannah closed her eyes and took a long breath. “But that wasn’t what you needed to hear.”

  Mel snorted. “I wouldn’t have listened anyway.”

  “I know.” The wind howled outside. Hannah stood and looked out the kitchen window at the swirling gray clouds. “Some things take time. I’m glad you got here when you did.”

  “Can I still stay here tonight?” Mel asked.

  “Of course. Clara knows where you are, right?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I said I was coming here.”

  “Okay. Let’s make up a bed so you can get some sleep. But you have to go back in the morning. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  ❦

  The house she grew up in was imposing in the early morning light. She reached out and turned the doorknob. The door swung open, the hinges squeaking almost imperceptibly. Mel took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold.

  Clara was waiting in the kitchen, eyes red. She looked up at Mel and shook her head.

  “I’m sorry,” Mel said. “I…” She held out her arms to her aunt, who rose shakily and then stepped into the embrace. They stood there for a moment, hugging tightly, before Mel stepped back and wiped away her own tears.

  “Mel,” Clara began.

  “No, hold on. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just… I couldn’t believe she’d leave me.”

  “I couldn’t either,” Clara said. They sat down again. “Couldn’t believe she left you, couldn’t believe she left me. Things were finally good with us. We were finally friends. And you—my darling girl, how could she leave you?”

  There was no answer.

  “I need to know, though. Why did you think it was me?” Clara asked.

  Mel buried her face in her hands. “I saw Mom.”

  “What?”

  “I saw her ghost. When I was in the cemetery. I had taken a new potion I made—I guess I messed it up because it made me all cold, and then I saw Mom. And she told me she’d been murdered. By you. After that I guess I was just looking for clues.”

  “Clues?”

  “Yeah, like how relieved you were when the police officers decided against starting an equivocal death investigation. Or the story Uncle Joseph told me about you and Mom having some fight in college.”

  “Oh, oh.” Clara shook her head. “I wondered why you knew about that. I didn’t think your mom would have told you.”

  “What was it about?”

  “I got involved in some stuff I shouldn’t have. Questionable magic, questionable people. That sort of thing. Probably dangerous and definitely illegal. Rosemary tried to get me out of it but I wouldn’t listen to her. Textbook younger child, I guess. Headstrong and rebellious. But when I finally pulled myself together, we were fine, she and I.”

  “Oh. I thought you’d fought over… I don’t know, Dad or something.”

  Clara laughed. “No, as much as I loved your father, he was not my type.”

  “That’s what Uncle Joseph said.”

  And Clara laughed harder. “He did, did he?”

  Mel nodded. “I’m sorry, you know. I really am.”

  “I know you’re hurting, Mel,” Clara said, “but you can’t push me out like this.”

  “I know.”

  “No, listen. This is going to be a struggle for both of us. I have to learn how to be a parent without stepping on your mother’s toes. But you’ve got to listen to me. If you don’t agree with me, talk to me, but you can’t go walking out on me like that.”

  “I won’t.” Her face burned with shame.

  “Your mother was hurting, too. I don’t know what her struggles were, but I know she wanted to protect you.”

  “Don’t do that to me, okay?” Mel said.

  “Do what?”

  “Don’t try to protect me. Not if it means hiding from me.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  They sat together as the sky grew bright and the world awoke. Mel opened the curtains and raised the windowpane. The autumn breeze blew into the kitchen, and Mel breathed it in. Her heart thudded with a dull ache that would never vanish completely, but in this house, in her home, perhaps on the winter wind, she would someday find peace.

  Shoulders of Giants

  ❦

  JON GARETT & RICHARD WALSH

  “Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things

  As willingly as one would kill a fly;

  And nothing grieves me heartily indeed

  But that I cannot do ten thousand more.”

  - AARON, TITUS ANDRONICUS

  The Last War

  Basland was a small, seafaring nation that for generations girded itself against its larger neighbor, East Albion, with superior technology. Its knights carried stronger swords, its caravels fired more powerful cannon, and its jets blasted hotter afterburners.

  Basland’s first modern military lab was a bunker built beneath a government ministry on the edge of Highdam, Basland’s capital city. Then scientists, and the military budgeters supporting them, gained prestige in the national government. The second facility was a gleaming skyscraper in the heart of the city. When the latest—and the last—war with East Albion began, bombing left the capital a ruin.

  The third lab was rebuilt in a bunker beneath a government ministry on the edge of Highdam.

  Expert panels were convened, and it was agreed: the youth of Basland would be its salvation. New, young scientists would be enlisted in the lab in Highdam, and with them new, fresh ideas to win the war.

 
; East Albion, their foe across the sea, was a culture founded on heroism and the warrior spirit. For generations Albionian boys were raised to revere military service as the most honorable path in life. No greater honor could be earned than giving one’s life for the Homeland.

  But when Basland bombed their capital city, Newmarket, the nation of East Albion recoiled. For decades their military had paraded about, medals glistening and trumpets trumpeting, while the fighters themselves had become soft and easily cowed.

  A great national campaign was mounted to renew the Albionian Spirit, and the military’s Top Brass set its sights on the next generation to save East Albion in the nation’s ultimate battle with Basland.

  Two young adults were called by their countries to fight their war.

  ❦

  Called to Serve

  Bridget Bellweather found herself in the lab-bunker in Highdam the week after her sixteenth birthday. Her lab coat was a bit too big, and she kept forgetting on which side of the belt she’d clipped her bio-encrypted entry pass.

  She was the Lab Assistant Intern to the Chief Research Liaison. Her boss, the Chief Research Liaison, was Captain Anton Snipes. He was a wiry man with short hair and a straight back. His rank was not just an honorific— he really was a captain in the Baslandic Air Corps. He had enlisted fourteen years prior, between wars with East Albion, and had become a bomber pilot before manned bombers became obsolete. He had flown some of the first sorties over the military-industrial Centennial district in East Albion.

  Bridget, for her part, had caught the attention of officials just three years earlier when she received a passing score in the national mathematics tests for the third year running. This was considered extraordinary, since fewer than two percent of Baslandic students knew any math. The odds of a student passing three years running were… well, Bridget couldn’t perform the calculation off the top of her head, but she presumed the odds were low.