All the power of the aetherios at my fingertips, a thousand spells at the tip of my tongue, and I still couldn’t get to Emma’s dorm faster than my feet could carry me. Not even Primseek could’ve known where I needed to be faster than I did.
I was a freshly launched spear, no arc. If there wasn’t a perfectly straight beeline to Emma’s place, I didn’t notice. Huffing and puffing, I pounded on her door, no memory of even the slightest turn or corner.
“Emma?”
How stupid was I? Of course she didn’t care what I thought of her that day at the beach. I was so busy thinking of how it was going to affect us, I didn’t bother to realize that Emma’s whole world had been turned upside-down.
The way she looked at her hands. The way she kept glancing in the van’s mirror. It wasn’t about me being scared of her—it was about her being scared of herself. Of alchemists.
Nothing wrong with a little pride in your kind, Babbit’s voice whispered in my ear.
But what about none at all? Absolute zero.
“Emma? It’s Quinn!” I tried again, jackhammering at the door. “Are you in there?”
I was pounding so furiously, I barely heard the click of the deadbolt. The door pulled away from my balled fist, but only a half-inch. Instead of Emma appearing in the sliver, all I saw was a thin chain pulled taut.
“Emma?” I asked quieter.
“What?”
It wasn’t even a question. Her voice was so cold, so distant. So alone. She must’ve been just behind the door, but I was desperate to see her. Her eyes, her lips, anything to know that she was still whole.
“Uh, can I come in?”
“No.”
“All right,” I sighed. “Well, is … are you okay?”
There was a sound like a snicker, but wet. More like a sniffle. “Is this about work, Quinn?”
“No,” I answered honestly. “But you’ve been missing some.”
A shadow shifted against the wall I could see and I heard a sigh. “I took a couple days off. I need to do a little thinking. Alone.”
“Oh,” I said quietly. “Um, okay. I guess see you later.”
“Later.”
Her door began to close and I turned to walk away. Before I left, something boiled up in my chest and aimed me back at the door. I pressed against it lightly, just enough to keep it open. Emma’s shriek came back tiny and breathy.
“Emma,” I said, not really knowing where I was going. “Whatever happened out there—on that island—it was a long time ago. In a small town in the middle of nowhere. It doesn’t change who you are. What you are.”
I gulped, voice wavering. “Or what you are to me.”
I heard something. Sobbing. Quiet, controlled sobbing.
And then the door slammed shut, missing my cheek by millimeters. I turned away with my head hung low.
I guess that was that.
I figured she probably just needed some time and a little space. Emma was smart, bright, and she couldn’t stay away from people for long.
And hopefully I’d have a solistone waiting for her.
I just needed her to make it until then.
I didn’t sleep well that night. No, scratch that—I didn’t sleep. The night was just one endless rollover, the pillow never cool enough, the comforter never long enough. And the dreams—well, I hardly call them that. More like split-second flashes of doors slamming in my face. Night terror spasms of falling into the crevasse at Paladin’s Face. My stomach ached from the constant string of sit-ups.
Needless to say the next morning I was a zombie. Memory told me where to scrub in the shower and which button to snap. Obviously I was late to work. I lumbered slowly up the hill then tried to fake a sense of urgency as I burst into the main lodge, putting a spring in my last few steps and trying to look out of breath. Perception was eighty-five percent of being a hard worker.
I tried to decide which apology was going to go over the best. The classic “I’m so sorry I’m late.” Or something more specific like “I fell in the shower—really biffed it.”
Turned out it didn’t matter. Nobody was paying attention anyway, despite most of the staff being oddly gathered in the lobby. Was there a meeting I was missing or did Penny bring doughnuts from Willow Bay again?
Moping, droopy faces filled the foyer—worse than just the morning shift blues.
The faces weren’t tired, they were sad. Hurt. Definitely wasn’t the doughnuts.
Penny was behind the front desk as usual, right where I expected her, except her glasses were sitting on the counter instead of her face, replaced by her hands as she sobbed. The few staff members who actually noticed me turned away quickly, back into their hushed conversations. What was going on? A few more people gave me the glance-away. I wasn’t imagining it, they were definitely avoiding my line of sight! And a bubble of empty space followed me, nudging people out of earshot. I wondered for a moment what I did to offend—
Emma.
Where’s Emma?
I’m not sure there’s a singular word to describe the feeling of revulsion that welled up in the pit of my stomach. Like cold claws stuck into my gut and pulled, tearing free just to dig back in and climb up my throat.
No. No no no no no. She wouldn’t—what happened? Where is she?
A light touch on the shoulder turned me around.
No. This was it. Someone’s going to tell me something bad about—
“Emma?”
There she was, right in front of me, like a phantom of a long-gone friend, her faded jean jacket was still on over her work shirt. I wanted to reach out and touch her—nothing weird, just a shred of denim to know she was tangible.
“I—”
She flashed forward and took me into an embrace. She was definitely tangible. Hesitantly—okay, nervously—I returned the hug, pressing my palm lightly against the small of her back. She was safe—but it didn’t take long to read the shudders in her frame.
Emma was crying.
What’s going on? What is this?
Maybe Emma could hear my thoughts because she pulled her face from my shoulder and whispered in my ear. Her face brushed mine and I collected her hot tears on my cheek.
“It’s Babbit,” she managed. “He didn’t show up this morning. And—and—”
I felt a cold snap. Like that snowstorm that started in my stomach was back as a blizzard and it just kept falling, drop after icy drop, prickling along my shoulders and spine. Except it didn’t just roll off. It pierced my skin, delivering glacial venom right into my blood.
Emma tried to continue. “And so … so when he didn’t … so they called …”
It didn’t matter what she said next. I knew what she was trying to say.
Hot, salty tears pushed up from under my eyes. They fought their way out past my lashes and slid to freedom down my face. The cold was gone. Fire burned in my cheeks, the searing tingle that boils over when you try not to cry.
Babbit … my old friend, my mentor … was gone.