by Elara Skye
“Can I bother you for eighty-six cents?” the man asked, voice muffling through his scarf, which hardly supplemented his too-thin jacket. Amelia’s attentiveness didn’t shrink as she inched back a little. The man held out his hand, revealing a few small coins, and pushed them around with his finger—like he was checking to make sure of the amount.
“Just eighty-six?” she asked.
“‘s all I need. Eighty-six.”
Her breath fogged up the air as she reached down to her clutch. The man kept a fair distance from her as she dug through it—which Finn appreciated as well. There were two dollar-bills tucked away in the purse’s folds, but Amelia pulled out the neighboring ten instead.
“It’s not much,” she murmured, attempting a grin that barely masked her discomfort. “But here’s what I have.”
Finn looked back at the man, watching a superfluous reaction unfurl. His eyes widened in wonderment as he stuttered for words. The same expression hinted in Amelia’s face as well, along with Finn’s—it was more of a response than either of them expected at the expensive of a ten-dollar bill. There was an unbridled sense of gratitude beneath the coarse exterior, and a lucidness about him that made it seem excessive.
“Thank you,” he breathed out, as though she’d handed him a grand instead of a ten. His lips tightened earnestly, voice shaking a bit. “Thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”
He bowed his head again and again to her.
Amelia grinned reluctantly and shrugged. “It’s only ten dollars...”
The man now shook his head, staring at the bill as he turned in the opposite direction. “No—thank you so much! Thank you, thank you, and Happy New Year!” he cried out as he hobbled enthusiastically back up the street.
Both Finn and Amelia watched perplexedly. Finally, he heard a quiet scoff. Looking back, Amelia donned a broad, slightly confused smile on her face. Her body was still rigid—tight and protective of itself—but for one reason or another, she was smiling.
Finn tracked the lingering warmth—the unbridled kindness—across her pale features. The gentility embellished every curve of her face, making the whole a pleasure to look at. He found himself staring until she turned to leave without him. He watched her go, the lightness lingering in her every step and posture. Something tightened in his chest as he waited.
It was his turn, though Finn took his time turning away from the scene. He had his own group to re-join, after all—or so he thought until Alaric popped into his line of sight across the street. He was far enough away to avoid looking suspicious, but close enough to jump in if Finn needed help.
He sighed as he walked in Alaric’s direction, staying in the Ether. Finn didn’t have the energy to look for an opening to cross back over.
“Everything okay?” Alaric mumbled as he drew near, trying not to look like he was talking to the air.
“I’m fine.”
“Getting fuzzy with a human?”
Finn glared at him—Alaric, of all people, had no right to tease him about that. “I said I’m fine.”
“I never said you weren’t,” he mumbled. “Sure you don’t want to go after her?”
“No.” The response was immediate. “I’m done here. Let’s get back to the group.”
Alaric shrugged. “Alright. Whatever you say.”
Chapter Six
For all that she spent her childhood skating across a block of ice, Amelia hated swimming. Nor was she fond of bodies of water that weren’t frozen. It may have had something to do with nearly drowning as a kid, courtesy of being an only child in a mansion with a pool. Naturally, she learned to swim long ago, but she avoided it most of the time.
Furthermore, Amelia hated the recent nightmare that seemed borne of her subconscious. Something had to have been profoundly ingrained or triggered, for it to have persisted over the past few days. Since New Year’s Eve, to be exact.
There were no twists or turns on the ice when she dreamt it up, and the music was a distant echo in the mountaintops surrounding her. As always, Amelia knew she was asleep—being an exceptionally lucid dreamer—but that never made it easier to wake up. Even the shadows along the jagged surface of the ice seemed to dance with ever movement. Meanwhile, the water underneath turned over violently. Rippling waves of foam and moonlight pounded against the surface beneath her feet.
Which finally began to crack.
Amelia took off skating toward the edge of the lake, just as she always did, but it was pointless—the shore was always moving further away. Fatigue wracked her body mercilessly, and her eyelids forced themselves shut within the dream. Pretty soon, her knees began to quiver, and some invisible weight pressed down on her shoulders. Bit by bit, she sank to the ice, which splintered violently under the pressure. And when it split, the water pulled her into the murky depths.
Damn it all. She couldn’t see or hear anything down here. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t—
Amelia flinched, her eyes shooting open. A bundle of warmth lay beside her, taking shallow breaths against her chest, rousing to see if its owner was alright. Amelia’s eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly, courtesy of the streetlights casting light into her room. She gave Nyxie a gentle pat, accepting that she successfully woke up, and rolled over to look out the window. Snowflakes drifted by on the other side of the glass, spiraling with the occasional breeze.
Amelia wasn’t afraid of the dark, but nightmares always made it more unsettling. Granted, being awake in the dead of night wasn’t classically enjoyable, but having Cat back in the house made it marginally better. Positive thinking—that would hold her down until morning. Which wasn’t hard to do, as sleep reclaimed her eventually, but it felt like minutes before the sun woke her up again.
It was bound to be a groggy day.
Amelia stared out at the snowy street the following morning, enjoying the sweet smell of batter drifting from the waffle maker at her hands. Her phone rested beside her on the counter, and she glanced down at it lazily—still no word from Finn.
Not that she was waiting.
Moments later, the sound of Cat thumping down the stairs drew her out of a daze.
Amelia furrowed a brow at her roommate’s cohesive outfit. “You look fancy,” she remarked, earning her a quizzical look.
“Dude, why aren’t you dressed?” Cat asked, then sniffed the air. “And why are you making waffles?”
“Why aren’t you making waffles?” Amelia drawled, waving Nyxie away as she leaped onto the counter.
“We were going to the meet-and-greet breakfast—the career fair thing, remember?”
“No?”
Cat frowned. “I mean, we talked about it a while ago. Damn, I should’ve reminded you. It’s okay, you don’t have to go with me.”
“Did I tell you I would?”
“Yeah, but it’s fine. You don’t have to.”
Amelia gently exhaled as she looked down at the waffle maker. “No, it’s alright. I’ll take this to go.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Shhh.” Amelia looked up at her, jabbing the wooden mixing spoon in her direction. “I told you I’d go, so I’ll go. Besides, screw the small talk you’d have to endure alone.”
Cat teetered around the counter, throwing an arm over her with an earnest ‘thank you.’ She paused as she made her way back to the stairs, turning back to Amelia. “Wait, why are you up so early if you forgot about it?”
Amelia blinked away the image of glittering ice. “I’ve just been getting these nightmares. I didn’t sleep well, and then I woke up early.”
Cat’s shoulders sank. “Oh, I’m sorry. Well, like I said, if you’d rather stay home and sleep, it’s okay.”
Amelia smiled earnestly. Having lost the majority of her family, Cat was all that Amelia had—she did her best to treat the girl accordingly. “I told you, it’s all good. Let me just get dressed.”
Back in her room, Amelia did her best to match Cat’s level of eloquence. There was a surplus of black shirts
in her closet—an occupational hazard—and more than a few winter coats. The weather around here never got too warm for the most part, but that was one of the things Amelia loved about living this far north. In the past, she’d only ever see the snow when her family went on ski trips during winter. Now, she lived in mountain weather for a sizable portion of the year.
Her phone buzzed moments after dropping it onto her bed. She was halfway through a winning battle with a stubborn pair of skinny jeans, when Amelia paused, her head snapping toward it on the blanket. For a moment, she merely stared at the device, and then continued warring. Finally buttoned up, she rolled over to read the text she’d received.
Hey Amelia, it’s Finn. Happy Saturday. I was wondering if you’d like to meet up.
She pursed her lips, modest tendrils of excitement and doubt plucking her heartstrings. Amelia’s anticipation for this text had waxed and waned, and she couldn’t quite gauge her current level of enthusiasm.
With a contemplative sigh, she stared at the text message for a time, fully ensconced by the paramount moment of truth. Her little alarm clock was ticking on her nightstand, making the passage of time seem slower.
Ah, screw it.
Her fingers tapped against the glass as she wrote back to him.
Hey, Finn. Happy Saturday to you too. What did you have in mind?
Play it cool, for now—she’d tell him afterward that she made plans and see what he did with that information. Moments later, she got a response.
There’s a new exhibit at the museum downtown. Some French paintings. I heard they’re originals, not duplicates. I wanted to go see them and was hoping you’d come with me.
The museum? Interesting selection to hang out casually—unless it was a date. Did she care if it was?
Amelia shook her head, dismissing the train of thought. Better to take everything at face value, and he made no mention of a date.
It sounds like fun. Kind of an all-day thing though, I’ve got plans with my roommate, and I’m not sure how long it’ll be.
No problem, it doesn’t have to be today. Are you free tomorrow?
Sure, tomorrow works.
Wonderful. I’ve got a quick conference call in the morning, but I can send a car to pick you up.
Amelia’s brows shot up as she read the message. A Sunday conference call—unsurprising. But the last thing she wanted on a lovely Sunday morning was to be picked up ‘by a car.’ An SUV, no doubt. Her father attended meetings in those, and all manner of get-togethers. Perhaps Finn had an affinity for those as well, though the prospect of being picked up in any fashion foreshadowed a bout of nostalgia she had no interest in revisiting. Getting coffee and arriving on her terms sounded better.
No, that’s fine, I’ll just meet you there.
Alright, if you’re sure. The offer stands anytime. Just let me know.
Amelia paused, reconsidering the rest of her day’s apparel—namely, due to the skinny jeans currently biting into her hips. Sitting for more than an hour in them would be torturous.
As she trailed off into her thoughts, another message appeared.
Does noon work for you?
“Well, apparently…” she mumbled sarcastically to herself, before responding.
Yep, I’ll see you then!
***
At first, Finn thought it was a shame that Amelia couldn’t meet him on Saturday. The following day, he realized that he shouldn’t have brought her here at all. The realization came abruptly—and in the worst possible fashion—with the revelation that the paintings were original.
Finn knew it when he first sauntered into the entry hall of the museum. Even from the kiosks near the door, he had an open view of the exhibit. Outside was the snow-covered pavilion, which Amelia may or may not have arrived at yet, but her arrival was a fleeting consideration. It drifted to the back of his mind, instinct seeping to the forefront instead, drawing his attention to his left.
To where the dead wandered aimlessly throughout the air-conditioned room.
Naturally, their numbers hardly matched those of the living, but there were still so many. Some were confused, while others were focused. Most stood before the etchings that depicted them in life, unable to sever the ties that kept them clinging to the past. They were unfeeling of the ages as they flew by, likely unaware of just how long they had been dead.
Finn groaned inwardly when he realized his mistake. How was he to pick apart a human in this setting, with his concentration skewed? The presence of an angel would not go unnoticed, and there was no way of telling what would ensue, or how it might affect the other humans in the room. Amelia may or may not have been sensitive to the comings and goings of the Ether, but he didn’t know her well enough to say.
The whole thing was a rookie mistake.
“Finn!”
Too late now...
Amelia teetered up behind him, boots clicking, and the air around her glowed with life. She was a bright antithesis to the raw breath of death surrounding them. “Amelia,” he removed a hand from his coat pocket as she went in for a hug. “Good to see you.”
“Good to see you, too,” she said, pulling away to glance around the hall—looking everywhere except at him. Citrus wafted from her hair as she moved. “Wow, his place is even fancier on the inside.”
“You’ve never been here before?”
“Nope. Have you?”
“Once, several years ago,” Finn held up a printed slip of paper, “but I’ve got your ticket right here, so let’s change that.”
“Oh.” Amelia looked at it, eyes narrowing for a split second as she considered something. “Thanks for getting mine.”
“Of course.” Why was it a question that he would? “Any preference on where to start?”
She pointed to the left. “I think the new exhibit’s this way, isn’t it?”
Finn refrained from looking perturbed—naturally, they would’ve ended up there eventually. “Yes, I think you’re right.”
“Cool. Are you excited?”
“Excited?”
“Well, I figured you like museums since you wanted to come here, I thought you might be excited.”
“I do like them, you’re right about that.” He said with a smile, noticing her lips quirk upward. “Why, is that strange?”
“No, not at all.”
“Then why the smile?”
She shrugged. “No reason.”
“What about you? Do you like museums?”
“Definitely. I used to visit them a lot when I was a teenager.”
“Is that how you liked to spend your spare time?”
“It was a decent pastime,” she said as they approached the first painting in the hall, replacing the couple that had been there moments ago. Finn watched as Amelia’s eyes trailed down the length of the painted waterfall to the pool below.
“Did you go with friends or family?”
“Family for sure,” she answered earnestly. “I had a group of friends that I met through skating lessons, but our interests were pretty variable outside the rink.”
“You met over ‘skating’ lessons? What kind of skating?”
“The figure kind.”
“Interesting,” he chuckled, “that’s a very unique hobby.”
“Depends on who you ask,” she mumbled as she leaned in closer to the canvas. “Richer families can afford it for their kids, so I had a lot of friends doing it with me growing up. It wasn’t all that unique to us, just another after-school activity.”
“Yet, you stuck with it all these years?”
“I had to figure something out to keep at it, but yeah, I’m still kicking.”
He paused. “How are you managing, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Amelia smiled proudly. “Wednesday nights, I teach an intermediate class.”
Finn shifted between surprise and amusement, then chuckled. “Ah—intermediate. So, I couldn’t crash it?”
“If you’re ready to perform in front of a group of judgment
al teenagers as a beginner, I will personally waive the class fee.”
“I could make that sacrifice,” he joked as they moved further into the exhibit. Finn’s enthusiasm dimmed a bit at the spirits dispersed ominously throughout the room. “Have you ever been to the Louvre in Paris?”
“No. I was near there once for the Gala des Étoiles, but I didn’t get the chance to go.”
Her accent was perfectly trained—a small glimpse into her past. Finn slowed a bit, remembering the name from a few years back. “Wait. Gala of the Stars? I almost went to that, were you there with your father?”
“Yeah. Dad loved glamour, plenty of that at a benefit event.” Amelia paused, distaste pinching her features. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It was for a good cause.”
“Yes, I remember reading about it…” his voice trailed off as he looked her over, wondering what might have happened if he had gone to that event—if they met all those years ago, instead. “You know, I find myself curious about something.”
Amelia looked back at him from a painting of an old Victorian woman. “What’s up?”
“You’re welcome to stop me if I’m prying...” he said. “But what do you want to do, now that you’re out of the industry? Did you have a plan?”
The answer came prepared, “I’m not sure, to be honest.”
“Are you just unsure of what’s right for you?”
Amelia shrugged. “Yes and no. No one’s breathing down my neck anymore, but that almost makes it harder to choose.”
“What’ll you do if an industry opportunity comes around?”
Amelia smiled broadly. “That is a simple question that’s very hard to answer.”
“I’m sorry.” He pulled back. “I just thought a lot about your story after Christmas Eve. It’s fascinating to me.”
“Why, you looking to jump ship too?”
His jaw slackened, and he looked at her. “Well, I—”
Finn’s train of thought stuttered to a stop as he noticed the pair of eyes staring back at him from over Amelia’s shoulder. A middle-aged man, donning a court doublet, glared at him with an unnervingly wide-eyed, vacant expression. Hints of a pleading fascination shone as he stared at the angel—he’d likely never seen one before—and the bright, indigo tone of the nearby portrait drew Finn’s attention instantly. It was the same as the man’s doublet.