Aster would come looking for me soon.If I didn’t have the sweater, his patience would run out.
I stood up on shaky legs.The shadows appeared to darken and shift, but I didn’t know if they were Aster’s Fates or not.I didn’t focus on them.I didn’t want to give them the pleasure of attention.
I opened the wicker dresser door, which jammed at first, and then fished through my shirts until I found the loose blue sweater I stashed in there over a month ago.I held the sweater up to my face.
Just then I understood why women throughout history always carried smelling salts.The scent of my home in this less familiar environment better grounded me, and it helped my feet resolve their contact with the floor.
The sweater was stylish but too thin to keep me warm.Back when I started packing at the start of summer, I assumed that I would be warm all summer and that if I got too cold, I could buy something at a local store.A souvenir sweatshirt sounded proper for a summer of fun on the coast.But this summer had gone nothing like I had planned.
I couldn’t justify a shopping trip to Aster.I slipped the sweater over my head and pulled the sleeves around my arms.If nothing else, at least I could superficially connect to my past life.
When I headed down the stairs and left out the back glass door, I realized that the sky had darkened over our heads.Aster stood where I’d left him, arms crossed.He had been pacing to kill the time and froze in place when I reappeared.
“I found it,” I said.I looked up and shielded my face with a hand.“Are we expecting rain?”
There’s no rain in the forecast,he said in response.Don’t worry about that.Can you write now?
I could.My hands had stopped shaking, and everything felt more stable with the scent of my home around me.I glanced at the draft and tried a few sentences.Then I pushed my chair back and shrugged.
What’s the problem now?asked Aster.
I shook my head.“I don’t know.I can’t get into it, can’t feel it.”
Who even cares about how you feel?Aster seethed.I’m fading away.I lose more of myself with everything that goes wrong.So place your hands on the keyboard and write something.Anything you like.
I started to type.At first I couldn’t see what was happening.But then I realized that none of my words made sense.It was chaos, a string of arbitrary letters and numbers and symbols without meaning.
Aster sucked in a breath of concern.He glanced away and looked at the clouds gathering in the sky.
Trying again, I pressed my lips together.My fingers appeared to be on the right keys, but none of it showed on the screen.“Look at this,” I said.
Aster paced to my side and leaned forward as he scanned the letters.His shoulders dropped and he moistened his lips.What game are you playing?he asked.
“I’m not playing a game,” I said.“The words just came out like this when I typed.It doesn’t make sense.”
That’s my language,said Aster.The language of the muses.I thought it was sealed away from mortals.
“I can’t read it,” I said.
This isn’t a time for games.
I stood up.“You take the seat,” I said, gesturing.“I can’t do it, but you can.Maybe I’ll get better when the effects of your blood wear off.”
Aster cupped a hand to his chin.He stood on the balls of his feet, eager but still hesitant.No,he said after a pause.What do you not understand?We can’t wait.You act as if I poisoned you.
“It doesn’t matter if I write this thing or if you do,” I said, realizing that I might be able to pass at least a part of my judgment on to him.“But let’s face it.I can’t do anything now.Besides that, you’d be good at it.You know this book better than I do.It’s your book, really.”
Aster blinked.He started pacing and cast odd glances at the gray waves nearby.
“It’s true, isn’t it?”I asked.“You’re good at it.And maybe if you’re more human, you can type without getting strained.”
I could, couldn’t I?Aster whispered.I’ve been working on it the whole time.I know it at least as well as you.
“Exactly!Let yourself go.I can help on the side.”
His eyes glittered, starrier than I had ever seen them.I could take it into my hands.I could write the greatest novel in the history of the universe and let the world know my name.And everyone would see me, and everyone would adore my work, and…
He stopped with his mouth still open.The thunder rumbled again.
