Interitum Read online

“See you at dinner?” Erim asks.

  “No, you won’t.” Ben smirks at him, a plucky tilt to her head.

  Erim pauses and lifts his fingers. A wall of water rushes up from the stream just in front of Ben as she takes a step. She lolls her head towards Erim, popping her gum loudly. “Cute.”

  The water holds, frothing and spitting with life, guided by Erim’s spread palm. “What illicit activities are you doing with the Neos tonight?”

  “Nothing you haven’t done.” Ben points her face at him.

  Erim drops the water. It splashes all over her thick, laced boots. “Just rememb—”

  “Don’t get caught.” She shrugs like that’s implied.

  “That’s my girl.” He grins over his shoulder.

  When Erim reaches the Medium Hall, he’s not sure what he’s walking into. Albert didn’t give him specifics; he was in too much distress to be of any help. When Erim opens the doors to the theater, he understands why. Its commander, a woman who has always been incredibly carefree, is so frenzied that the lights flicker around her. The walls echo an odd groaning sound like they’re straining under pressure.

  “Finally, you’re here.” She stalks up the aisle to him.

  He takes a step back. “What’s wrong?”

  “Sloane Rory.” She hurls the name at him like an accusation. “I need to know if she’s here. I want you to check every terrarum, every intake roster. You ask every Soul Keeper, every Arc.” She glares at him, trying to deeply ingrain the instructions. He says nothing, trying to calculate the connection. He doesn’t realize that she can read his silence like an open book. “Oh, she’s here, good.” Her posture relaxes, but it doesn’t translate to her face. Those features are nearly impossible to read. “Chester Joiner too?”

  “You know I can’t say—”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” She sits in one of her velvet seats. “I want to talk to Sloane. Bring her here.”

  Erim stares at her silently. He won’t do that. “We have to sort some things out for your friend.”

  “She’s not my friend.” Sofia scowls. “She’s my cousin.” It’s an odd connection for Erim to cement in his brain. The two look nothing alike, though he supposes cousins don’t have to. He sees enough resemblance in their forceful demeanors. “And what do you mean ‘sort some things out’?” Sofia dips her forehead at him. “If she’s not on your list, why hasn’t someone evicted her already?”

  Erim sighs, knowing he should stop talking. “I’m going to talk to Somboon now,” he says. “We’ll figure everything out. I’m sure someone can evict her.”

  Sofia steps back, falling completely silent. All urgency vanishes. A realization quiets the walls and fades the lights. “She won’t leave him here.”

  “She has to,” Erim responds flatly. “It’s his time, not hers.”

  Sofia turns away like she doesn’t even hear him. She drifts back towards the stage in a solemn daze, taking the tense air with her. With every step, she seems more unreachable. Then her head flicks over her shoulder, and she swivels back to stride up to Erim. The instability of her moods is enough to give him whiplash. “Don’t tell her anything. She can’t know I’m here.” There’s a fresh determination in her brows, pulled down over her hazel eyes. “I refuse to make it easier for her to stay.” She grabs Erim. He feels the vibrations of static where her hands squeeze his shoulders. “You send her home.”

  QUINQUE

  Ches smiles when he sees Sloane walking towards him. He gets up and runs to her, much to the dismay of the little girl beside him. “How did he do it? How did he do it? Was there a lever or something directing the water flow from above?” Ches’s words tumble out like his brain’s been on overdrive with theories since she left. His face drops at Sloane’s blank stare. “You didn’t ask him.”

  “Oh Ches, I forgot, I’m sorry.” Sloane groans.

  Ches twists his lips, trying to mask his disappointment. “It’s okay.”

  “Next time we see him, we’ll ask, I promise,” she says. “But for now, why don’t we look around?” Ches nods and turns to wave goodbye to the old lady, who smiles and waves back.

  “Race you to that pool?” He points to a small pool at the base of a large tree.

  “Alright.” Sloane grins. “One, two, three, go!” Ches squeals and sets off on two. Sloane follows just behind and lets him beats her to the tree. She leans against it, laughing between labored breaths. “That was quite sneaky, Blackbeard.”

  He smiles, quite pleased with himself. “Ms. Jacobs says that to gain detailed information about his life, I need to act how he would in reality,” he says. “He would definitely cheat at a race.”

  “Well then, I think that in reality, he would definitely be tossed overboard.” Sloane shoots him a sly look. His eyes get wide, and he prepares to run, but she snatches him up and heaves him into the pool. He bobs up from the massive splash, giggling. She grips the smooth stone rim and swings herself in. The cool silky water envelops her entirely in its quiet, cleansing caress. She lets it mute all her senses; the sounds muffle, and she closes her eyes, shutting out the watery light.

  Sloane surfaces to find Ches paddling around happily. When he sees her, he rolls onto his back to face the ceiling. He’s struggling to stay afloat, so Sloane puts her hand under his back to support him. He spreads out his arms and legs like a starfish and arches his back to stick out his chest.

  “It’s nice here,” he says, watching the trees sway above them.

  “Any more insight on where we are?” Sloane asks.

  “Yes, I’ve figured it out.” He smiles. Sloane’s nerves clench. “We’re in the third or fourth stage of the REM cycle. That’s how Erim did the waterfall trick.” Ches pats the water beneath his hands. Sloane stares at him, speechless. Of course, he thinks they’re in a dream, still in a kid’s world where nothing bad happens. “Right?” His eyebrows knit together, big doe eyes probe hers for the answer.

  Sloane loses every speck of the courage she thought she had built up. How can she possibly tell those brown eyes that their life was cut terribly short? That they won’t see the faces of his family again and that they’ll lose their color and shrivel? How will those eyes look at her when they learn it’s all her fault?

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Sloane hears a voice say, realizing with disgust that it is hers. Ches relaxes, and Sloane curses herself as a coward.

  “Hey Chesty,” a mousey voice says. Ches bolts upright. The little girl with the braid peeks over the edge of the pool with doll blue eyes.

  “Oh, hey Mina, I—I was just, uh, swimming.” His cheeks grow red. Sloane snickers, and when he glowers at her, she exchanges it for an amused cough.

  Mina hops daintily onto the edge of the pool and waves a hand through the water. “Erim sent me to get you two. We’re about to begin supper.” Mina meets Ches’s eyes and looks away bashfully while he turns an even darker shade.

  “Oh, well, if you’re going, Chesty and I will be there for sure.” Sloane nudges him.

  “Okay.” Mina’s giggle sounds like chimes. “You’ll find us in the clearing. Just go towards the light.”

  “Fine choice of words,” Sloane mutters as she prances away. There’s a faint glow of light deeper in the trees, a sharp contrast from the darkened surroundings. The patches of sky peeking through the rocks overhead have dimmed from orange to navy.

  “Are you ready?” Ches asks.

  “Yeah, we should get going. Your girlfriend will be waiting.”

  He wrings his hands and averts his eyes. “She’s not my girlfriend.” His sternness breaks with a smile.

  They walk through the trees, using the growing light as their guide. The hum of voices grows, and they emerge into a bright clearing. Warm lights strung between the trees cast shadows on the grass. Wide wooden harvest tables are set up end to end, forming an enormous square that everyone sits around. Sloane is relieved that no one seems to notice their entrance as they slip into a couple of empty chairs. She scans the table,
recognizing a few faces such as the old storyteller, the whispering lovers, the mother with her baby, and the reader. “Why are we the only ones without food?” Ches taps his empty plate. There’s no food laid out on the tables, but people’s plates are full of all kinds of unique cuisine.

  As the final few seats fill up, Erim appears, draping his arms over the back of the chair next to Sloane. She can sense Nim’s glare before she even sees her; the fox struts over to take her regular place under the table near Erim.

  “Good evening, all.” Erim magnifies his voice to stretch across all the tables. A hush falls over the group, and everyone turns to face him, many returning the greeting. The exchange astonishes Sloane. She hadn’t thought that he was the main one in charge. “First, I would like to welcome our new arrivals here today.”

  Eyes fall on Ches and Sloane. She seizes up at the thought of public speaking, but Ches relieves her of that burden. He’s used to an audience at all his academic contests, and they trained him to always introduce himself. “This is my friend Sloane, and my name’s Chester, but you can call me Ches. All my friends do.” He projects just like Elena taught him, infused with the energy of a hundred stares. Some laugh and even clap at his enthusiasm, but it only stresses how young he is. They can’t hide their somber expressions, the looks that ask: What happened? Who was watching him? Why didn’t anyone save him? The answers swarm through Sloane’s head, poking at her violently. She happened to him, she was watching him, and she tried to save him but didn’t. She imagines screaming into the crowd and flipping the table or something equally shocking, and a slight smile spreads across her face.

  She tunes back in just as Erim instructs them how to make dinner. “Meals are pretty straightforward. Whatever you like will be provided with only an intentional thought.” He beams and claps his hands. “Let’s eat!” As he takes his seat next to Sloane, his proximity to Ches concerns her. She doesn’t want Erim to say anything that might suggest that Ches is anywhere but safely dreaming in his bed. Sloane is determined to redirect any such conversation from her spot between them.

  “Aha!” Ches yells in triumph. He successfully summoned a plate of macaroni and cheese, chicken nuggets, and fries. Sloane decides what she wants and closes her eyes, imagining the plate brimming with color. She opens her eyes and looks down, grinning. “That meal has no nutritional value!” Ches points out.

  “Well, neither does yours,” Sloane argues. “Besides, I’ve got pineapple, orange, lemon, strawberry, and raspberry on my plate. Sounds pretty nutritional to me.”

  “It doesn’t count when there’re all gummy bears!” Ches throws an accusatory finger towards Sloane’s mountain of candy. She stabs a red gummy bear with her fork, leans in toward Ches, and slowly puts it in her mouth, making loud yummy eating sounds. He tries to keep a rigid face, but it cracks, and he bursts out laughing.

  “Wait until you see what I make next time,” he blurts. Sloane sits back, unknowingly opening a line of sight between Erim and Ches.

  “So, how do you like it here, Ches?” Erim asks, handing Nim a hunk of meat. The fox snaps it up greedily, and Erim continues his meal of mashed potatoes, pork, and green beans. An annoyingly balanced dinner, in Sloane’s opinion.

  “It’s great!” Ches replies, swallowing a chicken nugget.

  Erim chuckles, impressed. He opens his mouth to say something else, but Sloane interjects. “Well, Ches is very clever,” she says, “he knew this was a dream right away.” Erim nods, his expression unwavering. Sloane avoids his gaze, mortified that Ches is still in the dark. She chews on her gummy bears slowly, looking around the table. “Are all meals like this?”

  “We try to have one every night. It’s nice to sit down as a community.” When Erim smiles, the edges of his eyes crinkle, tangling his dark eyelashes.

  After the meal, Mina pops up next to Erim and offers a cello demonstration for everyone. Her instrument is simple, unpolished, and hand-carved; the bow is raw as well. Sloane’s always thought that instruments like that make the music purer, completely organic. Though Mina’s tune is light, it strikes a melancholic note in Sloane as she aches for her violin in hand—live hands. Ches is captivated by the performance, less so the music than the musician.

  Erim leans over and softly asks Sloane for a private word. They leave the table and walk towards the edge of the clearing where a man is waiting. He is stout, round, and elderly, with soft blue eyes squished to slits by his round smiling cheeks. His curly hair stretches down the sides of his face to join his snowy beard in the shape of an upside-down Hershey’s kiss. He wears warm clothes for winter: a knit sweater, corduroy pants, and fur boots.

  “Sloane, this is my colleague Kostya.” The man waves thick fingers at her.

  “Hello,” Sloane says. Kostya doesn’t speak, only responds by nodding and stretching his warm smile to reveal a rectangular gap between his two front teeth.

  “Kostya is a part of a group that works with astray souls like yours. He can return you to the world of the living, where you belong.” Sloane looks at Kostya and then back at Erim, who watches her silence, his black eyes tight with inquiry. Sloane crosses her arms, stepping back. Her heart feels like it’s slamming out of her chest as she fights to resist the hope bubbling.

  “You can send us back?” Her voice cracks a little.

  Erim’s eyes slide to Kostya, whose smile fades, and then back. Erim pauses for a moment. “Sloane, they can only send back those who are astray. Remember that Ches is—” Alarms flare up in Sloane’s blood.

  “No,” she snaps, turning away.

  “Sloane, wait.”

  “I said no,” she hisses over her shoulder.

  Erim leaps after her, grazing her arm with his hand. Sloane whirls around, slinging him off, but it’s enough to stop her and make her listen, if only for a second. “Sloane, think of your family, your home,” Erim pleads. “This could be your second chance. You have an obligation to take it, to live.” Erim’s volume causes a few at the edge of the table to look their way.

  Sloane stalks up to him. “Obligation? What about my obligation to Ches? I’ve been with that kid his entire life; changed diapers, calmed him to sleep, been to every award show. I’ve picked the damn carrots out of his chicken noodle soup when he’s sick because they freak him out, and I’ve threatened more child bullies than is socially acceptable. I met him the day he was born, and I was right next to him at that accident.” Sloane checks her own loudness so Ches doesn’t hear. “That’s my little brother over there. If he’s not going back, neither am I.” Erim opens his mouth but freezes. Sloane’s eyes bore into him, warning him not to fight her. He clamps his mouth shut, and she turns away.

  She sits back down next to Ches just as Mina finishes her last piece. Ches’s ferocious applause is the first to ring out, and Sloane joins with the others, glad he hadn’t noticed her absence.

  The gathering begins to disperse after the music. A small-figured young woman wearing pointy brown cowboy boots and a sunflower dress makes a beeline for Sloane from across the table. “Sloane, right? Hi, I’m Charlotte.” She holds out her hand, and Sloane takes it, noting the lilt of her Southern accent. Her blonde hair falls in wide curls just past her shoulders, and her eyes are bright blue, her cheeks round and rosy. Her lips are thin, but her smile is big and frequent, a movement so powerful that it makes her nose wrinkle each time.

  “Nice to meet you,” Sloane says. It genuinely seems to please Charlotte as well. She pulls a man from a nearby conversation cluster and leads him towards them. He is tall with ebony skin and short-cropped, curly black hair. His eyes are light and striking, the color of almonds.

  “This is my aequalis, Dmitri. He’s the Auxilium Anima here, Erim’s second in command.” Charlotte beams as he wraps his hand around her waist.

  Ches returns from thanking Mina for her performance, a task he forbade Sloane from joining. “Welcome to you both,” Dmitri says, with a deep, unfamiliar inflection that Sloane cannot place.

  She than
ks him and rests a hand on Ches’s shoulder, waiting for his manners to kick in. His unusual silence tells her he is spent. “We’ve had a long day.” Sloane squeezes his shoulders.

  Charlotte and Dmitri glance down at Ches and exchange smiles. “Oh, of course, of course. Can we show y’all to the rooms?” Charlotte offers.

  Sloane’s muscles ripple with joy at the sound of sleep. “That would be great, thank you.”

  Charlotte holds out her hand, showing a stream path out of the clearing, lit with small lights along the ground. Ches stays where he is. “I’m tired,” he whines, his face being pulled down by exhaustion.

  “How about a piggyback ride?” Dmitri suggests. Ches looks at Sloane for approval, and she nods, just grateful that it’s not her who will have to carry him. Dmitri detaches from Charlotte and crouches down so Ches can clamber onto his back, wrapping his arms around his neck. Dmitri stands swiftly, and Charlotte and Sloane trail them along the path through the trees. Ches’s body relaxes as he drifts off.

  “He’s such a little honey,” Charlotte whispers, watching his tiny unconscious figure bob with Dmitri’s steps.

  Sloane wants the subject changed. “Is it rude here to ask how someone died?” she asks.

  Charlotte considers the question. Even deep in thought, her face still seems to smile. “Death is what we all have in common. Can’t gloss over it, but it still depends on the person. Some don’t like to talk about it, and others, it’s all they want to talk about.”

  “Which are you?”

  “Dmitri and I don’t mind talking about our deaths. We wouldn’t have found each other otherwise.” Her teeth glint in the blue dark. “I died in a rodeo accident. My horse got spooked and threw me. I broke my neck.” She laughs it off as if it were nothing more than a clumsy fall. “A silly way to go, I know, but Dmitri died much more heroically. He was an Allied soldier, a casualty of World War II. Nazis shot him just a few months before the war ended.” The tale still seems to distress Charlotte a little, even if it brought them together.