It wanted to tell the solange-eyed one not to trust this mine. But instead, the wind huddled at the sticky edge of a cardboard container that smelled of sweet and sour sauce.
The solange-eyed one sat across from the mine. He was too large for the small wooden chair—his knees hit the bottom of the mine’s desk.
The wind peeked around the cardboard box and skittered back when it saw the mine’s gaping smile.
The solange-eyed one studied him the same way the wind sometimes saw humans studying paintings in museums. What was he looking for?
“A year?” the solange-eyed one asked. “Each time, it takes a year of my life?”
The mine tilted his chin like a man nodding off to sleep. “Yes. A year of your fate. I must warn you, if you are fated to die in six months’ time, then . . .” He gave a hollow, froglike cackle.
The solange-eyed one ignored the sound. “Then I will die as soon as I use it.”
“Exactly. It’s a risk.”
The solange-eyed one tapped a finger against the desk, thinking. The mine watched the tap, tap, tap. He was a slippery thing; a calcified creature.
“How is it that you aren’t under Jagger’s will?”
“Who says I’m not?”
The wind crept closer, inching from one overturned cardboard box to the next.
“A mine can’t harm Jagger.”
“But I’m not harming him. I’m helping him.”
The solange-eyed one narrowed his eyes.
The mine moved slowly, sluggish and sluglike. The desk creaked and groaned as the mine reached inside of it and pulled out a small stone dial. A sundial? No. Something else.
It was the size of a rose in bloom. Slate-gray and circular. Lines were etched into the stone. The wind couldn’t read though—not any of the languages of humans.
The mine pushed the stone across the desk. It made a rough scraping sound. The solange-eyed one kept his eyes on the stone’s slow movement.
“Four times,” the solange-eyed man said. “One for each direction.”
“If you stay longer than four hours each time, you are trapped. See?” The mine’s long fingernail tapped on the surface of the stone.
The wind peeked at where he was pointing. Words. Too many words.
“If I die, you won’t get what you want,” the solange-eyed one said. “I’ll make certain you never get it.”
What did the mine want? What?
The thing hissed, and the wind fled back behind the cardboard box that smelled of sweet and sour sauce.
“Do we have a bargain?” the solange-eyed one asked.
The mine opened his cavernous mouth in a smile that made the wind shiver. “A bargain. Yes. We have a bargain.”
The solange-eyed one nodded and then scooped up the stone. He stood and moved to the door, and the wind hurried after him.
It only wanted to escape—to flee the calcified feel of the hungry, cavern-mouthed mine.
As the solange-eyed one turned the doorknob, the creature said, “Smith? You fear her becoming like me, but it’s too late. She already is me.”
The solange-eyed one didn’t turn around or even acknowledge that he’d heard the mine. He only opened the door and closed it quietly behind him.
