by Elise Kova
Jo wanted to question if it really was that simple. Jo wanted to question why her despair mattered. Jo wanted to know everything about this man and how she measured against him. His height, compared to hers. Their closeness, barely touching along the entire lengths of their bodies. The electricity that began to fill in the void that something in her ached to close.
“Now, I must begin.” Snow released her, as though he hadn’t felt the fever pitch he’d been working her toward with just his proximity. Jo’s knees felt like gelatin—likely for the best he’d let her go before they completely turned to jelly. “There is a wish to grant.” He looked back to her, gaze falling to her feet. “If you don’t mind stepping out of the circle?”
“Oh, no. . .” Jo shuffled back until she met the wall. She leaned against it, arms folded, as if defending herself from whatever odd sensations he’d just begun to provoke in her.
Snow gave one nod, and one last, long look at her. Jo had never felt a man stare at her with such intent. It wasn’t like some creepy stalker, and wasn’t like Wayne’s eyes, seeing her body first when his own hungered. These were the eyes of someone who was taking in every detail, cataloging it, storing it for a memory that would be cherished. Jo recognized the stare, because she’d given it countless times to strings of code whizzing by on a command prompt. But she’d never aimed it at another person.
She swallowed again, her throat still dry, and gave a nod of her own.
As if on her command, Snow looked forward. He reached into his pocket, producing what Jo fully expected to be a watch—it seemed the M.O. of the group. But instead, it was a small snuff box, no bigger than his palm. Jo squinted her eyes, trying to make out the details of the gold gilding and silver metalwork, but she couldn’t from her vantage.
“In the circle that is life and death, our world and the next, I invoke my power.” Snow opened the box with his left hand. “The circle has been cast, invocation made, and the wish shall be granted.”
He swept away his left hand like a maestro summoning to life an invisible orchestra. His right hand remained outstretched in front of him, perpendicular to his chest and parallel to the floor. Snow’s movements were measured and practiced, but rigid, as though he were a puppet moving along on invisible strings.
A gasp rose in Jo’s throat as the circle in the floor began to spark to life. Magic shimmered in the obsidian, a mess of color before a green, fire-like light blazed around Snow. Its tendrils reached for the ceiling. While there was no heat, Jo pressed closer to the wall behind her, as if pushed back by the force of the magic itself. Or, by the force of the sudden and extreme unease that came with an odd sense of impossible familiarity to what she was seeing.
Snow’s left hand twisted, palm up. Rising from the fire was a second circle, one of leaves and twigs. It hovered atop the first, snowing magic down onto the fire and cooling it to a dull ember. From this second, glimmering circle, images solidified in the same leafy hue.
Jo saw the hospital, the nurse, Mr. Keller, all rising before exploding like fireworks and freezing mid-air around Snow. She saw different pictures of the nurse pouring over a textbook, a graduation, a new doctor. These fell into the remnants of the fire below, sparking to life as they were consumed into nothingness. Little embers danced off the magic flames, floating toward her like the last farewells of a world that could never be.
World destroyer, Pan had said. It looked more like world burner, from where Jo stood.
She watched as the cost of the wish was consumed, a few images, a core possibility—gone forever. Everything stood in balance: the sacrificed world, the circle that Jo had no doubt mirrored what the nurse had used to make her wish, and the sparks of new possibility. It all hung together perfectly. Jo may not understand everything, but she knew that hers and Eslar’s efforts had been enough. The Severity of Exchange was perfectly measured.
In one sudden movement, Snow brought his left hand to his right in a wide arc. The magic followed in front of his fingers, quickly ushering itself into the box his right hand still held. The room flashed brightly, everything rising to a pitch, and then the box closed with a sound that resembled a thunderclap.
It all echoed in her—a deep resonance in a void that Jo had never known she possessed until there was something attempting to fill it. Jo’s ears rang and her heart raced. Her eyes struggled to catch up with the sudden darkness that followed the brilliance of the magic. They settled on the silhouette of a man, hunched and heaving, wrapped in on himself, curled on the floor. Magic steamed off Snow’s shoulders with a faint glow that looked almost like the smoldering remnants of some fallen angel.
“. . . Snow?” Jo squeaked, finally. If her legs had gone soft before, the display had pulverized them. She wobbled against the wall, feeling tired, drained, as though she had somehow taken actual part in the ritual she’d just witnessed.
He did not move.
“Snow?” Jo tried again, making her way to him. “Snow, are you—”
“Don’t,” he rasped, stopping her in her tracks. Jo noticed that he only seemed to gain the strength to speak, or move, the second she was about to cross the threshold of the circle. “Don’t come near me.”
“What? Don’t be silly, are you all right?”
“Go!” He shouted, without looking at her. His left hand thrust out from where it had been curled against his chest. Jo followed the point of his finger to where the Door back to the Society had magically reappeared. “I shouldn’t have. I let you get too close. I don’t know why I thought —”
“You invited me!” She was not about to let him push her away. “Let me help you back.”
“Jo, I—” Snow’s face shot up. His hair hung limply, slicked with sweat to his face, clinging in tendrils. His lips, usually red, were void of color, ghostly. His eyes. . . his eyes were the most alarming part of him. Their steely color had all but vanished, blanching into the white that was being infringed upon by gnarly, bloodshot veins.
He had said he died there, and now, as she looked at the corpse of a man, Jo believed it.
“You fear me,” he whispered.
“I am the Shewolf, and I fear no man,” Jo replied with more confidence than she felt.
Jo crossed over to him. Snow leaned away, swaying slightly, like a panicked animal. There was hurt and fear and all the weariness of seeing and consuming countless worlds.
“Let me help you back,” she repeated, kneeling next to him.
“Why do you not run?” He stared through her with those monstrous eyes.
“Are you my enemy?”
“Not in any lifetime.” It sounded like a vow.
“Then I have nothing to run from.” Jo took his hand, sliding it toward her. The moment his palm left the ground, Snow tilted; Jo had to press her side into his, quickly slinging the appendage over her shoulders for stability.
Her thighs screamed in protest as she hoisted them upright. Snow’s head hung heavily, barely coming up long enough to pin the code back into the Door. They were ushered back through, him nearly stumbling again as the sound of pressurization echoed through the briefing room.
“We’re almost there,” she encouraged.
“We are not,” he wheezed.
“Do you even know how to not be a pain?” Jo laughed at her own forced levity. From the corners of her eyes, she could’ve sworn she saw a smile playing on his lips.
Be it fate or luck, they ran into no one else on the way back through the mansion. Both recreation rooms were void of watches. Her back ached and her legs wobbled, but Jo wasn’t going to let the man down. He didn’t really deserve her loyalty, a logical part of her mind insisted. But Jo couldn’t forget what she’d seen.
“Here’s far enough.” Snow raised his head, outstretching a shaking hand to support himself against the wall.
“It’s right—”
“Here’s far enough,” he repeated, looking down at her warily.
Jo looked back to the last two doorways at the end of the hall. She put
her hands on her hips, opened her mouth, and then Snow stole the last words.
“Leave me here, for both of our sakes.”
Jo opened her mouth to fire back. There was a strong urge to put the man in his place. But no retort came.
Instead, Jo’s feet pulled her away. She felt his eyes on her as she traversed the length of the hall. She didn’t look back once the whole walk to her room. It wasn’t even until she was behind her own closed door that a deep sense of overwhelming dread collapsed on her, dropping her to her knees.
Chapter 31
Black Door
IN THE MONTH that passed after Snow’s unexpected reveal of his magic, surprisingly little changed.
Perhaps it was because she seemed to be acting like nothing happened. Jo had neither seen nor spoken a single word to Snow. She knew where to find him, in theory. But every day came and went, and she was no closer to finding the motivation (courage) to seek him out. It was as if speaking of that night alone would reveal a truth she wasn’t yet ready to handle.
Despite the new information, the new conflicting emotions she felt towards their “king,” Jo felt just as welcome and respected by her team as ever and immersed herself in that. She drank coffee with Nico in the mornings and jokingly flirted with Wayne to distract him from kicking her ass in billiards. She watched Samson tinker and accompanied Takako to target practice, and sometimes, on really quiet days, she’d read in comfortable silence with Eslar, trying not so subtly to catch glimpses of the odd runic script that filled his manuscripts.
Samson’s cooking prowess was unmatched and a constant source of delight. It didn’t matter that she didn’t need to eat. With him around, Jo certainly wanted to.
The first breakfast he’d made for her had been nothing short of five-star brilliance. Bacon and eggs, the world’s fluffiest pancakes, waffles, and French toast, pastries of nearly every variety, even some homemade cereal with grains and fruits.
It had been grander than any breakfast Jo had ever eaten, and she’d made it a point to tell him so. Samson had blinked at her in surprise before smiling a small, embarrassed smile and offering his own thanks.
It only had gotten better from there.
Today was an equally lavish spread. Not only had Samson laid out a slew of meats and cheeses to choose from, various vegetables and chips, but he’d also baked an obscene number of different breads. Ciabatta, Rye, Sourdough, and some Jo had never even heard of—maneesh, lavash, piadine.
Once she’d filled her plate with all the delicious makings of the perfect Philly Cheese Steak, Jo scanned the available seats at the kitchen table. Luckily, there was an open spot next to the great chef in question, and Jo took it hastily, bouncing a little in her seat as she settled by his side.
Though Samson still seemed a bit uncomfortable by her now countless attempts at conversation, he’d eased quite a bit over the last few weeks, no longer shying away from her attention. Well, not entirely anyway.
Jo took a bite, savoring and swallowing, before jumping in this time.
“Once again, you blow me away, Sam,” she said, taking another bite and reveling in how the ingredients blended together in a way that was almost supernaturally perfect. Which was only a little ironic, considering.
“I didn’t do much.” Samson shrugged, though a pink tint had begun to creep up from his neck, his lips quirking up in a poorly contained half-smile.
“Well, then,” Jo said through a mouthful before swallowing and trying again, offering up an apologetic smile. “I look forward to seeing what you come up with when you really give it your all.” To Jo’s immense satisfaction, Samson actually snorted at that, a barely audible huff of laughter that had her heart soaring. Mission accomplished.
As Jo ate, she glanced around the table. She listened as Nico debated the deliciousness of the Italian sub over the Rueben with Wayne. She watched as Eslar picked at his hoagie with one hand while keeping a book propped open on his knee with the other. Even Takako was having a conversation with Pan—whose hair was now short, spiked, and vibrant green—though it was hard to tell what it was about, considering Pan kept laughing and Takako kept shaking her head with a frown.
She was supposed to go shooting with Takako later today, and Nico had offered to teach her how to paint (which, Jo suspected, would take a long time). While she hadn’t had much one-on-one interaction with Eslar since the wish from the hospital in Canada, she could still feel a silent camaraderie there; when no one else had stood up for, believed in her, Eslar had. And that really did something for morale.
Wayne and she had said little beyond their occasional flirtations following the wish, but not necessarily in a bad way. It felt like settling into their own skins, like finding the way they meshed best and absorbing into it naturally. He was always good company for a night cap and a laugh, at the very least.
In fact, right here, surrounded by the rest of her team, Philly Cheese Steak dripping oil onto her plate, it felt like everything was falling together naturally, in a way she would have never expected weeks ago. In many ways, it felt like something clicking into place, like acceptance, and a place she’d been meant to be all along.
Maybe, just maybe, things would be all right here.
Now if only she could manage to wrap her head around the still-pressing enigma that was Snow.
Jo shook her head, distracting herself not for the first time by forcing her mind to shift to something else.
“Hey, Sam?” Jo said suddenly, putting down her sandwich and glancing to her right. Samson glanced back, eyes less nervous and more curious, which Jo had learned to accept for the triumph it was.
She probably should have thanked him sooner, she realized. While it had been Wayne’s idea, and while Eslar had played messenger, it had been Samson who had made them for her after all. He deserved just as much thanks as the rest of them.
“Thank you for making me the mug. And the sopapillas,” she said, making sure Samson could see every ounce of genuine appreciation in her eyes. “I really needed them. And they were perfect.”
Samson’s face fell from surprised to embarrassed to proud much more quickly than usual, but this time, instead of merely mumbling a quiet apology into his lap, he forced himself to look back up at her.
His smile was warm and gentle, in many ways the perfect smile for a man like him.
“We wanted you to know it wasn’t gone,” Samson said, voice soft but more pronounced than Jo remembered ever hearing it.
“That what wasn’t gone?” Jo asked, subconsciously keeping her voice level with his. It felt like keeping a secret.
This time, Samson looked back at his lap, shrugging a bit, but his smile stayed firmly in place. “A little taste of home.”
For a long moment, Jo didn’t know what to say. She watched, stunned, as Samson’s blush faded and he even began eating again, finishing off his own sandwich before rising to take his plate to the sink. Before he could get too far away, Jo called back to him.
When he looked over his shoulder at her, she could have sworn she saw a different man, one filled with more complexities than she’d given him credit for.
“Thank you, Samson,” she repeated, heart swelling when he smiled and nodded in response.
The rest of her meal would go unfinished, apparently.
For the first time in a month, Snow announced his presence in the kitchen with another quiet, looming arrival. Only this time, when he looked at the crowd at large, his gaze settled on Jo for a brief but warily knowing length of time. His eyes—now back to normal—still held secrets, and Jo found her heart stumbling over itself at the thought that she might be the only one privy to just how many. A fragile, collapsing bridge between them had been crossed, whether or not either of them liked it, and there was no going back.
“Everyone is to meet me in the briefing room in five,” he said, his voice laced with the stoicism of protocol. But his eyes never left Jo’s, and when he made to leave, it wasn’t without a quick nod in her direction. Jo
nodded back, even if he’d already turned away.
Another wish. Business as usual. Like nothing had happened between them. Jo couldn’t help but frown.
“Everybody ready?” Pan grinned, practically skipping into the hall. What a coincidence that the first morning she took breakfast with them in a month was the same morning they had a wish, Jo couldn’t help but notice.
Nico trailed behind her, crossing his arms over his chest and saying nothing, but Eslar merely shrugged.
“We’re not far off of the wave from our last wish. Perhaps this one will go smoothly.” As he said it, he spared a glance in Jo’s direction, offering her a smirk. Jo smiled right back.
“Mulberry fields,” Takako mumbled as she passed.
Jo paused, unsure what mulberries had anything to do with anything, but suddenly, Wayne was next to her, whispering in her ear.
“I think it means knock on wood,” he said, laughing when she swatted at him to back up. “So, what say you to partnering up for this one, eh, dollface?” Wayne asked once the both of them were trailing behind the pack. “A gambler and a hacker—already know we make a good team.”
Jo scoffed, but even she could hear the lack of venom in it. “We don’t even know what the wish is.”
Wayne leaned in close again, lips brushing her cheek. “It doesn’t necessarily have to be for the wish.”
The comment was obviously suggestive, his tone verging on pornographic, but despite the bubble of heat that settled low in her stomach at the sound, there was also a sense of calm. Wayne still had a way of getting her blood boiling and her heart picking up speed, but attraction ended there, and she felt almost closer to him for it. Jo had yet to act on the open, casual invitation that remained between them.
“What’re you going to do when the hacker is needed for field work and the gambler is sent back to his room?” Jo teased. “Might wanna get well acquainted with your hand just in case.”
“Ol’ Righty is already a pally of mine, doll.” Wayne straightened up, grin stretched wide. “No need to worry about that.”