Last week, Quinn,” Emma announced giddily. “Aren’t you pumped?”
I stared at her from behind my untouched Turkey Club, blinking, not sure what to say to that. For lack of words, I swept my gaze around the coffee shop. The artwork and posters on Space and Thyme’s walls had changed from sunflowers and seascapes to images of old shacks surrounded by red-and-yellow trees. Decorative baskets filled gourds and squashes sat on nearly every surface.
“Pumped?” I managed.
Emma nodded, crunching into a kettle chip. “Amped, stoked—elated?”
“About what?” I said tiredly.
She shrugged. “Just change in general. Going back to school. That sort of thing.”
“I’m surprised you’re excited for school,” I said. “Thought you had your heart set on England.”
She glowered at me. “Would you rather I be miserable? Just devoid of all emotion, stay-in-bed-all-day mopey? A cold, distant, mage-without-a-cause type?””
I quirked an eyebrow. “You’re talking about me?”
Emma smiled a mischievous little grin. “Was I that obvious?”
“That’s very funny,” I said humorlessly.
She shook her head. “I don’t get it, man. One day you’re all happy-go-lucky camping guy, trekking out in the wilderness with your two new buds—the next you’re Mr. Doom-and-Gloom. I haven’t seen you talking to Tristan? Ethan’s face is all messed up? What gives?”
What gives?
How about a friend who won’t open a door when I knock, let alone make eye contact with me in the off chance I actually see him around the lodge because I did something so horrible he can’t even look at me no matter how many times I try to explain that it wasn’t my fault?
How about seeing the Webb Industries logo on every truck that pulls into the resort, knowing exactly what it has to do with all the canceled nature hikes and basilisk trackings but not being able to say anything about it for fear of waking up to a sword in your back?
How about spending an entire summer of your life trying to accomplish something, holding it in your hand, and then, at the very last second, losing it and watching it sink to the bottom of a bog?
If you want a solistone, Emma, why don’t you check there in about 200 million years or so? You might be in luck if Ethan Webb’s great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandson doesn’t have you arrested for trespassing!
“Nothing gives,” I whispered.
“Nothing gives?” she repeated. “That’s your answer?”
I shrugged.
“Whatever,” she sighed. She stood up, then sat back down, looking me in the eyes. “I know it’s been a rough summer, Quinn—but it’s not over yet. There’s plenty of time to patch up anything that needs patching. But it’s not gonna happen by sitting around here not-eating your sandwich all day.”
Standing once again, Emma gathered up the bowl her soup had come in and the leftover crackers, setting it on a nearby counter. “I’m heading back to the lodge. Long walk, lots of packing—you coming?”
I shook my head. “I think I’m gonna not-eat my sandwich for a little while longer.”
“Suit yourself,” she sighed sadly. “Later.”
“Later.”
As she made for the door, Emma buttoned up her pea coat. I hadn’t seen her in it since the first day. Must have finally been too cold for her jean jacket.
I heard the door open and heard Emma say, “Hey.”
I looked up.
“Hey,” Tristan said politely, avoiding her gaze. They crossed paths in the doorway, and then Emma was gone, the door bells clinking behind her.
I stared at Tristan, surprised to find him staring back.
“Hey,” he said.
I swallowed loudly. “Hey.”
“Mind if I sit down?”
“Go for it.”
Tristan’s took Emma’s spot, brushing away the crumbs of her finished lunch. No puffy vest, no life jacket, just a warm-looking gray sweater with a short zipper that only went to the middle of his chest. He laced his fingers and stared at his hands for a few awkward seconds. I didn’t know if he was waiting for me to say something, or if he just wanted us to sit there in silence because he knew it was killing me.
“It was for her, wasn’t it?” he finally said. “The solistone?”
I nodded. “How’d you know?”
Tristan gave a quick snort. “Pretty obvious. You always got weird when anyone mentioned her. Plus, she’s like the only good-looking alchemist that works with us.”
I let go a tiny laugh. “I guess.”
His grin faded away. “She must be pretty special if you’d slay a dragon for her.”
I groaned. “Tristan.”
He shook his head. “I know it wasn’t your fault. I mean, it was your fault that we were out there. But I know it wasn’t your hands that ran it through with the sword.”
“Do you?” I asked hotly. “Is that why I haven’t seen you around? Or why you wouldn’t even open the door when I stopped by? Because you forgave me?”
He bit his lip, averting his gaze. “I’ve been busy.”
“With what?”
To answer my question, Tristan quickly dug in his pocket and withdrew a balled fist. When he opened the fist, a little shiny rock fell out onto the table, about three times bigger than a marble.
I felt a fluttering in my chest. Cold fingers probed my lungs. “Is—is that—”
“If you hurry,” he said quietly. “You can probably catch her before she’s out of the parking lot.”
I felt lightheaded. Like there wasn’t enough air in the world. Cautiously, hesitantly, I wrapped my fingers around the small solistone.
I stood up with a jolt. “I have to catch her!”
“Yes,” Tristan snickered. “You do.”
I bolted for the door, a startled jackrabbit. Just before I turned the knob, I looked back to Tristan still sitting at the table. “Did you save one of the scales?”
“Not exactly,” he replied.
I shook my head. “How’d you get one?”
He shrugged. “I, uh—I went back out there.”
“Into the woods?” I asked. “How’d you do it? Ethan’s people are crawling all over the, um—where it happened?”
“It’s like I said, man,” he said, grinning. “ Take care of plants and they’ll take care of you.”
“Thank you,” I said, exasperated. “You have no idea—”
“Don’t try to explain it to me!” he said, waving me away. “Go get the girl!”
I gave him one last nod, mouthed another thanks, and burst out the door like a racehorse out of the gate. I ran faster that afternoon than I ever had before or ever would again.
When I got within earshot of Emma, I was too out-of-breath to call out her name. Fortunately, she heard the panting and waited for me to catch up.
“Quinn, what the—”
I skidded to a halt right in front of her, nearly knocking her down. I grabbed her hand and twisted her palm up. There weren’t any trenchcoats or fireworks or applause, but I dropped the solistone into her hand all the same.
Her eyes recognized it instantly, but she still asked, “What is this?”
I forced a weak grin. “It’s called a solistone. They’re pretty rare.”
She looked back at it. “Is it—is this—”
“Yours,” I whispered. “All yours.”
Emma stared in shock at the shiny rock in her hand a few seconds longer, then broke into a loud sob of laughter as she threw her arms around me. And squeezed so tightly I could barely breathe.
But I wouldn’t have told her to let go for anything.
“You’re welcome,” I eked out.
“Thank you! Oh, my god, thank you!” she cried. More squeezing. “How? How did you do this?”
Even the question felt like a dagger sliding between my ribs. I tried to cement the smile to my face, but it was quickly losing steam.
“Don’t ask,” I answered. “Just go to England and learn your fancy British alchemy.”
She laugh-sobbed loudly in my ear. She pulled away and the next thing I felt was a pair of warm lips against mine. I tasted the salt from her tears. My cheeks burned crimson under her cool fingertips.
I was kissing Emma Leyton.
She pulled away with a smack, looking serious. Her hands still cupped my face. “You’re my hero. You know that, right? It’s—this is huge, Quinn! I can’t—there aren’t even words!”
Emma was right: there weren’t words. None that I could find anyway. I wasn’t even sure if I could speak anymore.
So I just let her do all the talking as we walked together back to the resort. She had a lot to say, about England, and alchemy, and how she needed to stock up on potassium sulfide.
It was all very interesting, I’m sure. But all I was really listening to was the hope in her voice.
As soon as we got back to the lodge, Emma had to go. “I have to go call my parents! I have so many calls to make!”
Thanking me repeatedly, Emma ran back to use the phone in the office behind the front desk. She returned a few minutes later with a forlorn look on her face.
Oh, no.
“What’s wrong?” I asked nervously.
“Ugh. Nothing really. Ethan’s tying up the employee line,” she groaned. “I guess he’s been in there for, like, an hour.”
“Who’s he talking to?”
“His dad, I think,” Emma answered. “Business stuff. The rich get richer, right?”
I didn’t laugh. Not even a grin.
“Tough crowd,” she muttered. “Anyway, I’m going to go use the student phone down in the dorms. I’ll find you later!”
She turned to run off, but I put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey.”
She turned back to me. “Hey, what?”
I lowered my voice somberly. “Are you still going to Focus on making people like him—like Ethan—into mages?”
“Well, not exac—”
“You know, Hitler was pretty dangerous,” I said out of nowhere. “And he was inept.”
Emma glowered at me hotly, hurt. “Can we just talk about this later?”
I nodded. She took a couple backward steps, then pivoted, sprinting out the front door. I sighed. Don’t get me wrong, I was happy to see her get her solistone—she deserved it, more than anyone I’d ever met. For her, I’d slayed a dragon—whether I wanted to or not. But for what? So she could take a plane ride across the ocean and out of my life? So she could find a way to imbue monsters like Ethan Webb with metaphysikal gifts?
“Are you ever going to tell her what happened?” Tristan asked from behind me.
I spun around. How the hell did he get here so fast? Either Emma and I were pathetically slow, or he had a few more “shortcuts” around here that I didn’t know about.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean about Ethan and—and everything? What really happened?”
I shook my head. “Not today.”
“But eventually?”
I nodded. And as I did, I pulled out something that had been wedged in my back pocket. It was a nameless red book—my journal. The one my grandmother had given me. The one that I’d been writing in all summer, collecting my thoughts and sketches and maps.
“Someday she’ll know what happened,” I told Tristan, waving the journal. “Someday a lot of people will know what Ethan did.”
“So you heard?” a voice asked from behind us. Tristan and I spun around, finding Mizz Slayt looking surprisingly less severe-looking than usual. She looked tired, like she’d just fought some kind of epic battle.
“Heard what, ma’am?” Tristan asked.
“About Ethan Webb,” she replied, sighing. “How Webb Industries bought out the lodge?”
“What?” I asked. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” she said. “I don’t even know what they’d want a ski lodge for? It’s not really in their business plan, if you catch my drift.”
I looked at the ground peevishly. “You’d be surprised what’s in their business plan.”
“So? What?” Tristan asked. “We all work for Ethan’s dad now?”
“Webb Industries absorbed the company, but the shares used to make the purchase were Ethan’s,” Slayt said, shaking her head. “We all work for him now.”
“So,” Tristan tried. “What you’re saying is—”
“Ethan Webb,” I said, beginning to feel the cold numbness set in, “is my boss?”
The End