As her eyes scanned the layout, her magic automatically searching for any and all ways she might be able to break into his office (once she found it), she couldn’t deny how much the atmosphere reminded her of Wayne. It was outlandish and pretentious, but it still managed to scream class. In fact, if she didn’t know any better, she’d have sworn there was a hint of his 1920s flair hidden in the furniture and wall art. Between this and his clothes . . .it had to be him, he had to remember. It was so reminiscent of the man, it almost made her smile, even as her stomach dropped.
Because while she’d been admiring Wayne’s personification in the lobby’s aesthetic, someone had approached her unnoticed and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. Her magic hadn’t even managed to formulate half of a plan yet.
Jo spun around to face the owner of the authoritative grip, only to find a woman about her height, dressed in a pencil skirt and silk blouse, a key card clipped to her breast pocket. Kind eyes stared at her from behind fashionable, thick-framed glasses, and when she smiled, there was only a hint of the authority there. It was still enough to put Jo on edge.
“Ms. Espinosa?” the woman asked, and Jo nodded before she could stop herself, caught off-guard by the sound of her name in an unfamiliar voice. “Follow me, please?”
There seemed little other choice, so Jo accompanied the woman to her desk, watching as she waved at a row of metallic spheres on a floating pillar to the left of her computer. One of the spheres responded to the motion and floated quickly into Jo’s presence, flitting about between each of her eyes, before making a spiral pattern around her torso, and finally stopping at Jo’s wrist.
Out of curiosity more than anything, Jo lifted up her arm. The metal sphere did a small 180 before returning to the desk. The secretary held out a hand, and as it settled into her palm, the metal began to shift, molding first into an amorphous blob, then into what was clearly an ID bracelet.
The woman waved a hand and the bracelet vanished, a firm weight suddenly appearing on the wrist Jo still had outstretched. Jo studied it in surprise, feeling around the edge of the cool metal. The magic within it was comforting in a way, like hiding under covers from the monsters beneath the bed, or locking away something special with the only key hanging about your neck. It was a magic that felt like safety and certainty, and maybe just a hint of something familiar.
Nickels and bets and a Paris penthouse, her mind supplied for her, but surely she was just projecting.
“This will take you all the way to the top floor,” the woman explained, motioning towards the elevators. “Be sure to keep it on until you leave and have no plans of returning so none of the wards hinder you.” Jo nodded, keeping a hand on the bracelet as she made off in the direction indicated.
With the hum of working magic beneath her fingers, the elevator door opened. There were no numbers to press, no scanner for her bio-band, but her bracelet seemed to direct the elevator upward regardless, stopping when they’d reached what she presumed to be the top floor.
If the lobby had been elaborate, the office on the top floor was even more so, but in a way that reminded Jo of Wayne’s bedroom in the mansion. Floor to ceiling windows, modern architecture, a view that took Jo’s breath away. It suited Wayne far more than even the lobby had. Though she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to, Jo felt instantly at ease in the familiar atmosphere. That is, until an equally familiar voice brought her out of her silent musings.
“Nice of you to finally show up to the shindig, dollface.”
Jo whirled around to find Wayne leaning against his desk, eyes filled to the brim with amusement and understanding, and looking as dashing as he always had. Before she really registered what she was doing, she was shuffling, then walking, then rushing into his arms, catching them both off guard—if the startled laugh that escaped Wayne’s chest and muffled itself in her hair was any indication.
“You’re alive,” she breathed, not aware until that moment that she hadn’t been entirely certain he would be. It took a rather awkward breath of stillness before Wayne returned the embrace.
“Yeah, doll. I am. And so are you.”
They weren’t on solid footing yet, and Jo could feel it, but she still took it as a win. He hadn’t turned her away.
“I see you found new fashion in this world,” Wayne appraised her, still holding her in his grasp.
“I’ll take a hoodie if you have one.”
He arched his eyebrows but said with a chuckle, “I think that can be arranged.”
“I can’t believe you remember me,” she added, even though it was redundant at this point. This time, Wayne’s arms tightened the embrace a bit before letting go, his laugh much softer, fonder.
“I remember everything. We all do.”
We all do.Jo’s eyes lit up.
“Everyone else? The rest of the team?”
But before Wayne could be bothered to explain, he was moving away from her and reaching for something on his desk.
“Speaking of the rest of the team, I think you’ve kept them waiting long enough.” Wayne grinned, waving a hand over a small obsidian disk placed on the desk—it was the same way Snow used to wave a hand over the briefing room table. Shimmers of formless light appeared in the space above the disk, then two faces. Faces she knew, faces she loved—alive and nearly within reach.
“I’m in the middle—” Samson began to say.
“Sam, it’s Jo!” Takako interrupted.
Jo watched as the crafter stopped what he was doing at a barely visible worktable in the background and turned, inspecting the. . . Camera? Screen? Black Disk? His eyes widened and nearly overflowed with tears, tears Jo didn’t quite feel she deserved.
“It really is you!”
“Yeah, it’s me.” Jo leaned toward their images, her own face flushing in an overwhelming mix of emotions. It felt like her heart might burst. They were alive. They were all alive and Wayne knew how to contact them and—“Nico?” she dared whisper.
