She had a key, and now she had a door.Well. Nearly. Her eyes opened, narrowing. “I’m supposed to sell you my extremely illegal, rare, and valuable key, and all you’re giving me is ‘what remains.’ Is that it?”
“It’s not subtle,” he insisted. “And neither are the doors. They arenotsubtle.” He leaned forward across the counter, cat eyes narrowed to slits once more, nearly hypnotizing her. “The doorswantto be opened. The keyswantto be used. The veil is an unnatural thing. It breaks the laws of magic and nature. Itwantsa hole to be found.”
His tone made her shiver.
“And how do you know all this?” she asked, her own voice barely a whisper.
His smile was glinting and sharp, long canines catching the light. “Because my kind isfromthe other side. We are also an unnatural thing.”
He straightened up, and the spell was broken. Silva took a step back, the room swaying around her.
“The doors want to be opened, and the keys want to find their locks,” he continued in his normal voice. “But you willnotbe able to keep it. I don’t know if you were told that, but selling itas quickly as you can is genuinely the smartest course of action, because youwilllose it, either by accident or by force. So, here’s what we’re going to do.” His hand moved over the ledger from beneath the counter, flipping it open to a fresh page. “You’re going to give me your info, and I’m going to give you my card. Text me the location of the key, and once it’s safely in my possession, I will wire you the money.”
“Iverymuch doubt that,” she shot back, parroting his earlier sarcasm, but he threw up his hands in offense.
“Look, I'm a well-regarded procurer by trade with an excellent rating on Squawk. My word is my bond, I swear it.”
The price he offered made her snort, a full third less than what she’d paid, but Silva didn’t see another choice. She hadn’t expected to get any of her money back, so even a pittance of it was something. When she handed over her driver’s license for him to record her information, something on the identification card made him stop, tapping a long, claw-like nail on the countertop for a moment before continuing.
“You share a zip code with a contemporary of mine,” he said slowly, his voice a titchtoocasual to truly be casual, she thought. “Is that where you acquired your . . . rare and valuable piece?”
Silva smiled sardonically, the headache behind her eye slowly making its reappearance. She needed to eat, needed to lie down.And now he wants to be chatty. Figures. “Don’t forget illegal. And no, I don’t live there anymore and I haven’t been back in some time. But let me guess, now you’re going to call your friend and have him slit my throat while I’m sleeping and take my key, so you can split the money for it, right?”
He gave her another glinting grin as he passed a card over the countertop. A business card, stapled to a decorative postcard. “There’s the Karen we know and love. Try not to get eaten, k? Pleasure doing business with you, eventually. And if there’sanything else you need, you have my card. I’ll be eagerly awaiting your text.”
Silva found a snug little bistro a bit further up the same road, booths with high backs, allowing her to tuck in securely without fear of being watched. She was brought a glowing, hot slab of salt to cook the strips of raw beef upon. Silva smiled at the server, assuring the goblin she knew what she was doing, and then devoured each strip raw, using a small, dainty slice from her bread loaf to soak up any of the bloody remains.
This couldn’t go on. She needed an answer from someone, and there was no one she could ask. It was only a matter of time before she was caught, barefoot in her nightgown, face smeared in blood as she ripped into a raw steak with her teeth. The man in the shop was so sureshewould be eaten, but little did he know, elves had a long and bloody history of being vicious hunters and warlords.The Otherworld had better watch itself if I’m there at lunchtime.
She turned the card over, eyeing the strange name.Pyewacket. He hadn’t been especially helpful. She had a key, she had a way to sell her key, but she still didn’t have the door she so desperately needed.
Why then did she feel a buzzing vibration in her veins, an eagerness to go back to her empty house and friendless existence, as if she had something to accomplish there when she did?
Silva let herself rest against the seat back, allowing her eyes to close and her hand to drift to her bumpless stomach once more.We’re going to be okay. She would have a quiet, restful night at the hotel, she decided. She’d get takeout and maybe room service dessert, watch a movie, and then go to bed early, before Tannar returned. She turned the postcard over once more, after she’d paid for her illicit lunch, noticing the stylized poem along the watercolor painting.
The sun sets low
And the river runs free,
What remains after you’ve left me.
It was a graveyard, painted in a soft, muted palette, warmed by the red smear of a setting sun.What remains. Silva sat up.Unlock the door to what remains.Portals themselves are common enough; they can be anything.
She needed to get home. To the place that would never, ever be home, not hertruehome. Nothing would be home without him. But the benefit of living in flyover farmland, she had learned in the six months of her marriage, half of the longest year of her life, was that there was no shortage of graveyards, and her key was equally desperate to finditsway home as well.
Ris
There was never a moment when they didn’t have somewhere to be.
“I’m home,” Ris called, letting herself in that evening, able to tell he was still in the apartment just from the energy it held.
Even the apartment itself functioned like a place designed for constant movement. The front hallway was the launching chute, with shoes lined up along the wall in only an approximation of order, giving the impression that they might go marching off out the door. Her split-sole dance sneakers, his boots of various heights and stud capacity.
Her yoga mat leaned against the wall, held there by a potted plant, in constant danger of rolling away. The case for his upright bass, too large to go anywhere else, rested behind the door, as if it might depart again on its own. His leather jacket rested on the bench beside the shoes instead of hanging on the coatrack, as if it hadn’t yet decided if it was staying.
“Perfect timing,” Ainsley announced, coming around the corner as she entered the kitchen. He paused at the table, lifting his foot to the edge of their kitchen stools, tightening his lacesbefore swinging the guitar case over his shoulder. “I’m just leaving. We have two minutes to make out in the doorway before I do.”
She let him wrap his long, albatross-wingspan arms around her, squeezing until she squealed, hooking his hands around the back of her thighs and lifting her effortlessly.
