by Vicky Savage
In the days and weeks following my unpleasant brush with the Arumel City Police, I slip into a quiet routine: Firearms Training and classes in the morning, workout sessions and fencing in the afternoon, dinner with my fellow Transcenders in the evening, and occasional tutoring with Ralston afterwards. I’m becoming stronger and better educated all the while, but each day hooks onto the next like the uniform cars of a railroad train—chugging down a track to an as yet unknown destination.
My adoption of Callie is quickly approved. She spends most of her time with me these days, but visits the center when the notion strikes her. I have a tracking monitor in my apartment now, so I always know where she is. I’ve stocked up on her favorite healthy treats to make sure she keeps coming back. Thanks to Asher’s excellent taste and decorator touch, my little apartment makes a warm and comfortable home for Callie and me.
My battered heart begins to heal a little more with each passing week. Thoughts of Ryder and his painful death haunt me less now. One morning as I’m making my bed, I remove the fading sketch from beneath my pillow and press it between the pages of my favorite poetry book. Someday I’ll find someone to restore it or at least preserve it for me, but there’s no rush.
I worry less about Domerica these days. In a strange way, studying other earths and the quirky events that shape their destinies, has helped me adopt a philosophy of what will be, will be. I hope one day to see my Domerican father and possibly Gabriel again, if only from a distance, but I’ve made peace with the fact that my future is now in Arumel.
My nineteenth birthday rolls around quietly. It’s the first time I’ve been away from home on my big day, and that makes me a little sad. I’m not sure if anyone at the Chateau knows my actual birth date, but I’m kind of hoping dinner passes without anyone mentioning it. Since my infamous arrest, I’ve been working hard to keep a low profile. I’d rather not have a big fuss made over me.
I plump up the cushion on my desk chair and settle in to read my email. I’m emailing in real time now, so I may have some birthday messages waiting. Before I switch the computer on, though, my front door swings open, and a small flash mob appears in my hallway.
“What’s all this?” I ask as Asher, Eve, Nila, and Urick bustle inside.
“Put on something sexy,” Eve says. “We’re taking you away to celebrate your new trip around the sun.”
“My what?”
“Your birthday, earth girl.”
A goofy smile spreads across my face. “How did you find out?”
“Oh, please,” Eve says. “We’ve been planning this for weeks.”
“Girl, we’re taking you to Venice,” Nila says. “So wear some comfortable shoes, and bring a jacket, ‘cause we’re going for a gondola ride after dinner.”
“Whoa. Did you say Venice? You’re taking me to Italy for my birthday?”
“We’re Transcenders, remember?” Asher says. “Hurry up. We have dinner reservations.”
Nila and Eve help me pick out a dress to wear, and I snag my purse from the hall table. Asher gives us the coordinates for our destination, and we click our latches simultaneously. Zzzt.
We land in the Piazza San Marco, outside an enormous gothic style building facing the waterfront. Asher tells me it’s the Doge’s Palace, and we’re on the Grand Canal. I pirouette in awe, taking in the mind-boggling sights around me. The air is rich with the tang of the ocean, the weight of history, and the crackle of ancient magic.
“The restaurant’s this way,” Ash says, taking the lead.
We stroll along the canal as vendors hawk their wares from small, colorfully painted carts. Poets, puppeteers, actors, and musicians vie for the attention of passersby from slapdash stages. We veer onto a narrow side street, cross two small footbridges, and turn left onto Calle Bempo.
“There it is!” Asher says. “Le Bistrot de Venise.” The aromas coming from the open front doors are heavenly. “Does the birthday girl want to eat inside or out?” he asks.
“It’s gorgeous out tonight, and I don’t want to miss a thing. Let’s sit out here.”
The evening overflows with enchantment—strolling minstrels serenade us at our table, the food is divine, and the lights glitter like stars on the canal. The combination of droll Nila and kooky Eve makes for spirited and sometimes hilarious conversation. I even catch a smile on Urick’s face once or twice.
It’s late when we finish our Italian coffee and servings of house-made gelato, but Nila insists we must have a gondola ride before we leave. We wander back through the Piazza San Marco. The crowds have thinned as we make our way to the gondola stand.
Our gondolier is dressed in the traditional horizontal striped shirt and straw hat with a red ribbon band. He introduces himself as Paulo, and graciously helps us into the long low boat. We take seats on the velvet covered banquettes on either side.
Once we’re all settled, Paulo uses his long pole-like oar to expertly back the boat out of its slip, and we begin our floating tour of the city. Paulo steers our boat from the Grand Canal onto a smaller canal near the Doge’s Palace. Glowing lights mounted on the building facades glint and ripple across the inky water. He narrates along the way in heavily accented English.
“We are coming now to the most famous bridge in all of Venezia,” he says. “The Bridge of Sighs connects the Palace with the Prigioni … the prison. This was the last image of freedom for many of the condemned. One final glimpse of their beloved Venezia.”
The white covered bridge is breathtaking with the stars twinkling above and the water glimmering below. I’m awestruck by the fact that I’m actually riding in a gondola beneath the Bridge of Sighs in Venice to celebrate my nineteenth birthday. It’s a night I’ll never forget, and though nothing will ever erase the pain of losing Ryder, I’m happy to be making new memories—good memories—to tuck away and think about when I’m feeling blue.
It’s around one a.m. when I arrive back in my apartment, exhausted, sleepy, and clutching a sequined and plumed carnival mask I picked-up as a souvenir. I kick off my shoes, drop the mask and my purse onto the floor, and fall across my bed. Callie hops up and snuggles up beside me. “Vasa, lights off. Wake me at eight, please.”
“Of course, Jaden. Pleasant dreams.”
Instinctively, I know it’s not yet eight o’clock when my ringing phone wakes me.
“Narowyn Du Lac calling,” Vasa says.
“What? What time is it?” I ask.
“It’s seven a.m. Would you like to speak with her?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
“I’m sorry to disturb you so early,” Narowyn says, “Do you have a few minutes to visit with me before your firearms class? It’s not an emergency, but I have something important to discuss with you.”
“No problem,” I say groggily. “I’ll be right down.”
“Actually, if it’s convenient, dear, I thought I’d come to you.”
“All right, sure. Give me ten minutes to dress.” I bolt out of bed and stumble over my discarded purse and shoes. My knee hits the floor, crunching my new Venetian mask. Guess that means I’ll have to go back someday.
Hurrying to the bathroom, I wash the leftover traces of makeup from my face, run the toothwand over my teeth, and pull the brush through my hair.
“Vasa, coffee on,” I say, slipping into slacks and a sweater.
As I show Narowyn through the door, she surveys my rooms curiously. “With all the excitement the night of your open house, I never had an opportunity to really see what you and Asher had done with your place. It’s charming.”
She hands me a flat silver box tied with a wide matching ribbon.
“What’s this?”
“A combination birthday present and apartment warming gift. Sorry to be late on both counts.”
We take seats in the living room, and I place the box on the coffee table between us. “Would you like coffee?” I ask.
“None for me. Thank you. How was your celebration last night? I understand your friends took y
ou to Venice.”
“Yes. It was amazing. Do you mind if I fix myself a cup?”
“No. Please go ahead.”
I jog to the kitchen and fix a giant mug of milky, sweet coffee.
When I rejoin Narowyn in the living room, she says, “It seems you’re settling nicely into your new life. I do so want you to be happy here. I’m certain you’re still heartsick over your loss, but I hope you’re beginning to feel more at peace as time passes.”
“Honestly, I am. I never would have believed it a few months ago, but I’m starting to feel kind of normal again, and don’t worry, I am happy here.” I gulp some coffee and set my mug on the table.
“That’s wonderful, dear.” She lowers her eyes for a moment and chews her lower lip. “Actually, I didn’t come here only to bring you this gift. There is a matter I need to discuss with you, and I ask that you keep an open mind and hear me out before responding.”
“Okay, what is it?”
“Eleanor Beckett would like to meet with you.”
“What? No!”
“Jaden, please.” She rubs her fingertips across her brow. “You said you would listen to me before making up your mind.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what you could say to change my mind, but go ahead.” This whole topic makes me squeamish. I snag the paperweight Luci gave me off the table and nervously shift it back and forth between my hands.
“Judge Laurence told Mrs. Beckett of your presence here in Arumel. He also advised her that, in his opinion, you were being harassed by IUGA because of your pending civil suit against it. She looked up the case and has taken a strong interest in it. She wishes to file an amicus curiae brief on your behalf.”
“What’s an amicus whatever brief?”
“Literally, it’s a ‘friend of the court’ document. They’re filed by persons, not parties to the lawsuit, who wish to set forth arguments in support of one side or another. She feels strongly that IUGA’s interference in Domerica’s affairs and its assistance in the assassination plot against you was outrageous and should not go unpunished.”
“It’s nice she feels that way, but does her opinion make any difference?”
“As chairman of the Arumel Societal Commission, she’s quite influential on such matters. She is willing to state that if the allegations against IUGA prove to be true, she would support expulsion of the agency from this country.”
Narowyn leans in toward me and clasps her hands tightly. “I can’t stress enough how important this could be to insuring your safety here.”
“And you think if I don’t meet with her she won’t file the brief?”
“No. I’m quite certain she will file it either way. But I’d like you to seriously consider this invitation.”
“Geeze, Narowyn.” The paperweight slips from my hand and thuds loudly against the table, sloshing my coffee and rolling onto the floor. “Aren’t you the one who warned me about getting involved with people’s mirrors? I see nothing but more heartache coming out of this. I don’t want to know her. I don’t want to be her friend.”
“I understand why you would feel that way.” She retrieves the paperweight and replaces it next to my mug. “In this particular instance, however, I wish you would reconsider. She could be a powerful ally.”
“Isn’t it enough that I’ve had two mothers die on me already? Did you tell her about that? Did you tell her she’ll probably die shortly after she meets me?”
“No I did not. She knows your mother is deceased. If you wish to convey your fears to her, that is your choice. I don’t believe it will scare her off, though. Jaden, she’s an educated, level-headed woman. She knows you’re not her daughter. She has an interest in your case, and she wishes to meet with you.”
She studies me for a moment, her fingers twining through her long strands of jet beads. “You’ve not asked for my opinion, but I shall offer it anyway. You learned much through your experiences in Domerica. You may choose to have a social relationship with Mrs. Beckett or not. That is entirely your prerogative. But having a preplanned meeting with her is surely preferable to bumping into her on the street.”
My temples throb. “So, you think I’m just postponing the inevitable?”
“I do. Actually, she lives quite close to us.”
“This really isn’t fair of you to ask.” I sound like a whiny child even to myself.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, dear, but it’s Mrs. Beckett doing the asking, and I do need to give her your answer.”
I slouch back in my chair and cross my arms. “If I agree to meet with her, there would have to be some conditions.”
“Such as?”
“I want the meeting to be just me and Eleanor—no one else. If my father and Drew have mirrors here, she and I can discuss it at that time. But I’m not ready to meet the whole damn family, if you know what I mean.”
“That’s reasonable. I will convey that to her very clearly. She suggested tea at her house tomorrow afternoon. Is that acceptable to you?”
“So soon? That barely gives me time to get used to the idea.”
She tilts her head. “Less time to fret over it.”
I sigh. “All right. Tomorrow at three.”
“Lovely. I think you’ll find her delightful.” She slides the gift box toward me. “Aren’t you going to open it?”
I unfasten the ribbon and open the lid. Inside is a bronze on bronze patterned silk throw. The subtle sheen of the delicate fabric is exquisite. “It’s gorgeous, Narowyn. Thank you very much.”
“It’s Fortuny. I heard you were fond of the Italians. It seems to go well with the rest of your things.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” I toss it across the back of my salmon colored arm chair. “I love it.”
“Well I’d best be going. Thank you for being so gracious about this.” We stand, and her hand reaches for mine. “I’ll send you directions to Eleanor’s home. Have a wonderful day, dear.”
I’m tempted to climb back in bed and pull the covers over my head, but I hit the shower instead, hoping the remainder of my Friday won’t be quite so stressful.
* * *
I wake on Saturday morning with an uneasy hangover from fragments of a vaguely disturbing dream about Ryder. Once my feet hit the bedroom floor, though, all my thoughts turn to my meeting with Eleanor Beckett this afternoon. I don’t have classes on Saturday, but if I stay inside my apartment, I’ll most likely sit around and stress about it all day. I need a distraction.
It’s been a week since my Spontaneous Shifting sessions came to a close, and I’ve missed working with Luci, so I decide to pay her a visit. Also, I’ve been postponing telling her about the strange phenomenon that occurred during the automaton attacks in both Domerica and Madison. I know I should discuss it with someone knowledgeable, and she’s the most likely person to help me figure it out. I’m certain she’ll be in her lab, even on Saturday morning.
“Hey, Luci, you got a few minutes?” I say, poking my head inside her door.
“I always got time for you SG.” She holds up a glass beaker filled with brownish liquid. “Tea?”
“Nah, just finished breakfast. Mind if I close your door?”
“Sounds serious. What’s up?” She sets the tea on her desk and regards me curiously.
I scoot up on top of one of the lab tables. “Not sure how to say this, but I think something might be wrong with me.”
She reaches over and lays a cool hand across my forehead. “You coming down with something?”
“I feel fine. It’s just that I’ve had a couple of well, incidents. Twice it seems like I sent someone flying through the air by aiming my palm and shouting at them.” I hold out my hand for her inspection.
She examines it cursorily, flipping it over and back. “Looks like a normal hand to me. Tell me what happened.”
After I describe the two situations to her, I say, “The similarities seem to be that both times automatons were involved, and I was scared out of my wits. Plus, I
screamed get off, or something like that. Do you think any of that’s relevant?”
She rubs her chin with the back of her hand. “Don’t know. Can you do it for me here?”
“What? Like you want me to send you flying across the room?”
“Not me, but pick an object. How about my tea?”
I laugh nervously. “It’s not like that. I can’t do it on command. I’m not angry or scared or anything.”
“Well, just close your eyes and concentrate on what you were feeling when that robot attacked you in the road. Then give it a whirl.” She shrugs. “Can’t hurt.”
I close my eyes and inhale deeply, conjuring up that night in my mind. It all comes flooding back again—pinned to the blacktop, my heart pounds frantically, I’m scared as hell and roaring mad. A jolt of remembered fury flashes through me. My eyes burst open and I swing my palm up toward the tea, wanting to smash it against the wall. The beaker soars off the desk and crashes into the cabinets behind. Tea and shards of glass splatter everything in sight.