He looked back to the television.
Jo placed her hands on the back of the couch, hovering over him. “Eslar. . .” she prodded, giving him space to interject. He said nothing. “You’re the oldest among us.” Jo chose the direct approach. “Surely you must know what—”
“We’ve never not completed a wish.”
Jo straightened away in surprise. “Never? Out of all the wishes the Society has ever granted?”
“No.”
“So what happens if we fail?” Jo asked, her voice falling into a weaker hush than what she would’ve liked. He said nothing, his face passive, his eyes avoiding her at all costs. “Eslar—”
“I do not know,” he cut her off. His intensity only made Jo more suspicious.
“But—”
“I can only assume it wouldn’t be good.”
“Why?” Again, he was silent. That cool distance he always managed to keep finally set Jo’s blood to boiling. She took a sip of the too-hot liquid in her cup. “Eslar, what do you know?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” The word flew from her mouth faster than Jo could catch it. But seeing it land in the shock on the elf’s face, she didn’t regret it. “You know—”
“I know nothing and I do not wish to be bothered any longer.” He huffed and threw open the book in his lap, looking between it and the television with a determined ferocity.
Jo abandoned the elf and her mostly untouched coffee, storming out of the room in a huff. If he wouldn’t tell her, she’d find someone who would. There were only two people who were older than Eslar: Pan and Snow. Jo would rather eat her hoodie than speak to Pan. Plus, she didn’t want to bother with anyone or anything else when she could go straight to the source. She’d avoided him long enough; what better excuse than this?
At the Four-Way, she heard voices in the distance—coming from the briefing room. Jo’s feet stilled and she squinted down the dim hallway. The door was ajar enough at the end that she could hear Samson’s voice, but she couldn’t make out his words.
That same frantic, nagging feeling wormed up her neck from earlier and Jo started up the side-stair with purpose.
Jo stood before Snow’s door for the first time in weeks. How longhadit been exactly? The last time she was here was after her failed hack-a-thon. But she’d walked away that time like a coward, her tail between her legs. She couldn’t even knock.
Not this time, Jo vowed to herself.
She wouldn’t be denied and she wouldn’t be turned away. She wanted—needed—answers, and it seemed there was only one man who could give them to her. Jo raised her knuckle and, in equal parts anger and curiosity, but mostly sheer force of will, rapped on the door a few times.
Just like the last time, it took Snow several agonizing moments to respond (long enough that Jo almost walked away). But when the door finally opened, Jo’s mouth did with it. She was going to ask him everything she wanted and not tolerate any kind of subversion.
But her mind went blank the moment she saw him.
He wore a knee-length silken robe in white that seemed to accentuate his lithe figure, with tight-fitting trousers of some variety underneath. If it didn’t somehow work so perfectly on him, Jo would’ve made a joke about looking like a second-rate rock star.
But itdidwork perfectly for him. He looked like a vampire with an ethereal edge. A sort of angel-meets-demon forbidden combo that Jo couldn’t decide if she’d rather be smited or saved by. She’d honestly take a little of both, given the option.
Snow stared down at her. She could tell he was trying to withdraw, trying to keep his face passive, but he failed (miserably). Jo saw the confusion, inquiry, and. . . something more.
How long had it last been since they’d even just seen each other?
Too long, echoed through her chest before she could think of the actual answer.
Jo opened her mouth. She’d come here for a purpose. She’d come to pin him down and force him to tell her the truth about the Society. And yet, what slipped from her lips was a mirror to him that felt wholly necessary, like some subtle code they’d unintentionally created that meant nothing to anyone but them.
“I don’t know why I’m here,” she whispered. But what she really said was,let me inside.
Snow stared, blinking in momentary surprise. The haze lifted and his eyes flicked over to the door at Jo’s left, his right. The black and ominous door that belonged to Pan.
Wordlessly, he wrapped a hand around her shoulder and half-tugged, half-ushered her into the great unknown of the Society that was Snow’s personal space.
