Jenny gave a little cheer, then she continued by snapping the other pieces together until she had formed a simple cube. After that, she quickly formed two more cubes. Next, she tried the five remaining cards from the Simon Says block. After some trial and error, they also joined together and formed an open box.
Jenny rolled back on her heels. So, I have three cubes and a box. Now what? She looked at the pile of four narrow rectangular strips. She flipped and rotated them until they snapped together as well. However, these pieces didn’t form a cube, or a box, they, they formed a peak. It looked to her like a roof, so she set it onto the open box. The finished product looked like a little silver house. The roof even opened and closed on an invisible hinge.
Now I have three cubes and a house, Jenny thought. Is that it? Did I complete the puzzle? If so, I don’t get it. Jenny’s stomach growled. She checked the time. Wow, it’s already time for lunch. She pushed the puzzle into her closet and closed the door. It’s time to get some answers from Michael…and my birthday milkshake.
After checking on her mom, Jenny said goodbye to her aunt and left the house. She crossed the street to the Black Rabbit Cafe and opened the battered door. Inside, she heard “How Soon Is Now?” by the Smiths playing from four black speakers mounted to the ceiling. Dark wood and brass adorned the interior. A few solitarily patrons sat at small tables and worked on their laptops.
Michael Creme pushed the drawer shut on the antique cash register and walked over to Jenny. He wore a stylish vintage button-up shirt and tight indigo jeans. Michael leaned over the bar and said, “Welcome back.”
“What?” Jenny looked into his dark eyes. “This is the first time I’ve been here today.”
“No. You came in earlier, then you just disappeared.”
Jenny shook her head. “My doppelgänger again.”
Trudy, Michael’s coworker, steamed a latte at a big silver espresso machine. She was around Michael’s age and had pink hair and several facial piercings. Trudy poured steamed milk into a travel mug and handed the drink to a couple in matching tracksuits.
Jenny set her smartphone on the bar and sat down on the barstool. “I heard the message—I know you work for Cabin, whatever that is.”
“Where I’m from, it’s a household name, like Apple or Microsoft, only Cabin is like a hundred times bigger.”
“Okay…” Jenny didn’t entirely believe Michael’s claim, but living with Sally made her accept the strange and unusual more easily than most. Even that a corporation one hundred times bigger than Apple could exist. “I need some answers.”
“And a milkshake?” Michael raised an eyebrow.
“Well, yeah, that too.” Jenny smiled.
“How about a strawberry Milkquake?”
“A Milkquake? That’s not on the menu.”
“No, but it’s popular where I’m from.” Michael scooped ice cream into a steel mixer. “This dessert is so grand that it was honorarily renamed ‘the Milkquake.’ It isn’t soft-serve ice cream defecated from a machine with some red flavor mixed in. This ice cream”—he gestured with the ice cream scoop—“is made fresh every day, from cows milked this very morning. This miracle of dessert is a closely guarded secret.” He leaned over the counter and whispered, “History tells us that the creator spent weeks experimenting with different temperatures, mixing devices, proportions, timing, and exotic ingredients.” Michael flipped open a bin and added scoops of red strawberries to the mixer. “Sadly, the creator of the Milkquake passed away from a heart attack.”
“Probably because he drank so many milkshakes,” Jenny said.
Michael nodded slowly. “Yes, but lucky for us, he thoroughly documented his entire process. This secret formula has been passed down through generations.” He picked up a squeeze bottle and added a healthy amount of caramel. “Who knows what he could have created if he had lived.”
Michael thrust the tumbler under the mixer and flipped a switch. A loud whir whipped the contents and ground against the metal cup as Michael worked the tumbler. He poured half of the pink Milkquake into a fountain glass, then topped it with a dollop of whipped cream and a cherry. “Critically acclaimed across the world, and even farther. On the house.”
“Thank you.” Jenny pulled the milkshake toward her and ate the cherry, then took a big bite of the shake. “Mmm.” The flavor ignited her taste buds: creamy, sweet, and fresh. She looked up and smiled.
“Good, huh?”
“As good as you claimed.” She sucked hard through the straw, then focused her gaze on Michael. “So, what can you tell me about Selkans?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t heard of them before.”
“What about the VRGo puzzle?”
Michael shrugged. “There’s not much I can help with.” Then he leaned against the bar and whispered, “It’s supposed to test for some ability. Something that only you can do.”
“Well, I got it open,” Jenny said, “and I put the cubes together—”
“That’s great!”
“Yeah, but now what?”
“Hmm.” Michael stroked his sculpted beard in thought. “Let me think. There may be some clue I can give you…”
Jenny waved her smartphone at Michael. “I couldn’t find anything about VRGo.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“So, what am I supposed to do with a bunch of cubes?” She set her phone down and spun it on the bar.
“I just remembered.” Michael slapped the counter. “Do you know what a tesseract is?”
“No. Not really.”
The bell on the door jingled. A little girl, maybe four years old, rushed inside and peered into the ice cream case. Her parents followed closely behind.
“Look it up.” Michael pointed at Jenny’s phone. “I’ve got to take this.”
Jenny saw that Trudy was busy bussing tables.
Michael approached the new customers. “Would you like a sample of anything?” he said to the little girl as she peered through the glass case. Her dad picked her up and nuzzled his bearded face into her neck. Her mom smiled at her giggling daughter before ordering a coffee.
Jenny’s heart ached. She had often dreamed of a life with a mother and father. A life full of people who cared about her and supported her choices. A family that wasn’t cursed. She turned and looked at Sally. At least I have you.
Jenny unlocked her smartphone and typed “tesseract” into the search bar. She selected a Wikipedia article from the results: “A tesseract is a four-dimensional analog of the cube, consisting of eight cubical cells. It’s also called a hypercube.” The picture in the article resembled an M.C. Escher drawing. Jenny remembered that the stylized Cabin logo looked like this. So, I’m supposed to make one of these?
Jenny sipped at her shake as she scanned the other search results. Next, she selected a short video about “Understanding 4D—the tesseract.” A hypercube made sense from a mathematical perspective, but it was hard to imagine in reality.
Basically, four lines made a square, and six squares made a cube. That meant eight cubes formed a tesseract. Even if I could push all the cubes into the fourth spatial dimension, I only have four cubes.
“Did my hint help?” Michael peered at Jenny’s smartphone.
“I think so, maybe. It’s a hard concept to wrap my head around.”
“Yeah, but you’re an exceptional young woman, Jenny. Otherwise, Cabin never would have contacted you. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“Thanks.” If they’re testing me for an ability—something that only I can do—then it must be the humming inside my mind. But how would they know about that?
Together, Jenny and Michael watched an animated video with Carl Sagan demonstrating the concepts from Edwin A. Abbott’s Flatland. It described an encounter between an apple and a square in a two-dimensional universe. From the square’s perspective, the apple was an object that changed shapes as it passed through the plane of Flatland. The square refused to believe that the apple was what it said it wa
s, so the apple pushed the square above Flatland. From there, it was able to see all of Flatland.
Just as the square had no concept of up, Jenny had no perception of four-dimensional space. I have to think outside the box. “I’m ready to give the puzzle another shot.”
“Good luck.”
Jenny finished her shake and placed her empty glass in the bus bin. The family with the little girl was leaving at the same time.
The little girl approached Jenny. “Why are you wearing a costume?”
Jenny knew that her makeup, clothes, and hair were unusual. She knelt down and looked at the little girl eye to eye. “It’s not a costume, this is how I dress. Do you wanna feel my hair?”
The little girl reached up to touch Jenny’s hair. “It’s all spiky.”
“Yup.” Jenny smiled. “That’s how I like it.”
“Me too.”
As Jenny crossed the street from the Black Rabbit, a murder of crows flocked around her aunt’s shop. She shooed them away and stepped inside and found Bea waiting by the door.
“Jenny, I’d love it if we could talk.”
Before Jenny could shut the door, a crow flew into the room. It squawked and flapped against the walls. Jenny and Bea screamed. A black-and-white picture of an old Roma woman, her great grandmother, hit the ground with a bang. Glass scattered across the floor. Jenny flung the door open and waved her hands at the crow. The crazy bird knocked magazines off the table and tipped the trash can over before making its exit. Jenny and Bea looked at each other in horror. This was a bad omen. In her culture, these were signs that someone was about to die.
“Go check on your mom. I’ll take care of this.” Bea tossed the broken bits of glass into the waste bin.
Jenny’s stomach felt sick from dread as she climbed the stairs to her mom’s room.
Ruby was sitting up in bed as if waiting for Jenny. “Come here.” She patted a spot next to her. “Sit down.”
Tears streamed down Jenny’s cheeks as she noticed her mom’s yellow, bloodshot eyes. Some of the tender capillaries had even ruptured, and blood had dried in the corners of her eyes. Jenny sat next to her mom and laid her head on her mother’s bony sternum. She listened to the rattle in her mom’s lungs.
Ruby embraced her daughter with skeletal arms and looked toward the door. “Bea, I’m glad you’re here.”
Bea’s cheeks were wet as she embraced her sister and niece. As they held each other, Jenny wished that this moment would last forever. But, when Ruby’s nose started to bleed, Jenny was first out of bed to retrieve a warm washcloth. From there, Jenny and Bea knew what they had to do.
Sally stood in the doorway and watched as Jenny and Bea prepared Ruby for her last night. After washing her, they dressed Ruby in a rose-patterned dress and silk stockings. Then, Jenny and Bea lit the candles around the room.
Jenny retrieved a photo album from her mother’s bookshelf. “Mom.”
“Jenny,” Ruby’s voice was a rasp, but she still managed to smile. “You’ve heard every story I know.”
“It just makes me happy.” Jenny squeezed the amulet that hung around her neck. The family heirloom, the last thing her mom would ever give her.
“Well”—Ruby smiled and took the album—“if it makes you happy.”
After a time, Ruby could no longer keep her eyes open. She fell asleep with her hand on a picture of Jenny’s grandma. Jenny flipped a tear-soaked pillow over to the dry side. She lifted the quilt and nestled up to her mom. Bea and Jenny spent the rest of the day close to Ruby. That night, Jenny watched the flickering light of the candles and tried not to think of tomorrow. Her eyes were puffy and swollen, and a hard lump filled her throat. As Jenny’s eyes blurred with sleep, she fixed her gaze on a sliver of moonlight. A small shape, like a mote of dust, rose from the floor to the ceiling with a hiss.
In the morning, Jenny felt a sense of peace as she woke. She took her mom’s wrist and checked her pulse. There was none. Ruby Tripper had finally escaped the pain of cancer on Thursday morning, June 20, 2024. After straightening her mom’s limbs, she kissed her forehead and left the room to inform Bea.
Jenny and Bea sat at the kitchen table and finalized the funeral arrangements. They spent the rest of the day notifying friends and relatives that the funeral would be Saturday morning at ten. Focusing on these tasks helped to distract her, but Jenny found that there were still plenty of tears to shed as she delivered the news.
That Friday, Jenny and Bea sat at the kitchen table eating cucumber sandwiches. The tick of the clock was the loudest thing in the room. Jenny didn’t want to talk about her, and yet Ruby was all she could think about. Her heart was on fire, and her body felt numb. Her mind was a fog, and the line between dreams and reality had become blurred. She needed to get away. Go somewhere that didn’t remind her of Ruby. Jenny forcefully swallowed her bite and looked up at Bea. “Now that Mom is gone—”
“The other day,” Bea interrupted, “when I said I needed to talk to you…”
A feeling of dread enveloped Jenny like a lead blanket.
“I was going to tell you that I’m close to losing my house and my business. Selling your mother’s things will cover some of the funeral expenses, but I’d love it if you could help out more with the business.”
Jenny shook her head and laughed. “I’m never going to be anything but a fortune-teller. Up until the day I die from the family curse.”
“Jenny, this is who we are. We’re carrying on a centuries-old family tradition.” Bea took a bite, and her eyes went wide. “Oh, Jenny, I forgot that it’s your birthday today.”
“To be honest, I forgot too.” Jenny looked down at her plate. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. We should do something.” Bea reached out to take Jenny’s hand.
Jenny pulled away. “Don’t worry about it.” The food had gone tasteless in her mouth.
“It’s not every year you turn seventeen. Maybe we can have a party next week.”
“I said forget it!” Jenny dropped her sandwich and stood up.
“Where are you going?”
“Looks like I’m going nowhere.” Jenny ran to her room, slamming doors along the way, and wishing that her connection to the Romani had died with her mom.
It was Saturday, and it had rained the entire day of Ruby Tripper’s funeral. As tradition demanded, Jenny and Bea did not bathe, brush their hair, or eat during mourning. Jenny wore a lacy black dress and a wide-brimmed black hat. Bea wore a red dress in a simple cut.
Almost two hundred people came to see Ruby off to the afterlife. Jenny recognized many of the same people from the wedding. Funny how tragedy and celebration bring everyone together. She even saw Thatch, the man who owned the curious collection of Lilliputian wonders. Ruby would be happy to know that so many of her friends and family members came to celebrate her life.
As they marched to the funeral home, mourners cried and wailed. Some tossed coins into Ruby’s casket for goodwill. Most of the attendees wore white, to represent purity, or red, to represent vitality. Storm clouds roiled above while people delivered their eulogies. Jenny had helped her aunt plan everything from food to music. She had been surprised at the number of funeral-song playlists. Traditional, modern, uplifting, religious.
Jenny hugged her long black coat around her. It was cold enough to see her breath. The grass—wet from the rain—leached heat out of her tall black boots. A breeze rattled the bare tree branches. Crows cawed and took flight. Self-pitying thoughts stormed in her mind as the priest spoke. Then, a ray of sunlight pierced the gray blanket of clouds and bathed the funeral-goers in its warmth.
Jenny smiled. Mom could always brighten my day. Others viewed the coincidental act of nature as a meaningful blessing. They took comfort in the knowledge that her mother’s spirit was pleased.
At the reception, the mourners imbibed liquor and coffee and waited in line to offer their condolences to Jenny and Bea. Death was familiar to Jenny. She had been prepared for this day. Everyone
born into her family knew that life ended before forty. She mourned properly and cried at the remembrance of Ruby’s life, but she wasn’t broken.
Jenny stood alone in front of her bedroom mirror. She had been compulsively straightening her long black dress and tracing the amulet through the fabric. Gathering her courage, Jenny turned and left for her mother’s room.
It smelled of linen on a summer day and fresh-cut grass. Clear tape screeched as Bea built boxes and added items to them. “One is for things to sell,” she explained in a strained voice, “and the other is for stuff, that, well, we have to get rid of.” Her red lips relaxed, and her eyes softened as she looked at Jenny. “I know this is hard, but it’s our tradition.”
Jenny peered into a box filled with knickknacks: sculptures of silver, brass, and wood, plus found objects like precious rocks and crystals. These were memories in physical form. All the clothes and personal effects that made up Ruby’s life had to be sold or burned to keep evil spirits away.
Bea picked up the quilt they had made together and added it to a box. Jenny choked back a sob. Hypothesizing about a future without her mom was like wondering what life would be like without the color blue. It wasn’t something her mind was capable of understanding, let alone knew how to deal with. “I can’t do this. Not right now.”
“Jenny.”
Jenny’s breathing was short and fast as she looked around the room. “I have to get out of here.”
“Can you sort through the books, at least?”
The Key of Astrea Page 8