I did not entirely hear the second half.
The first half had done its work, and the panic that had been propped up was already moving sideways and finding what it was actually about.
“The kids.”
I said it before I knew I was going to.
“The kids—Theo, Theo is four, Theo’s mother drops him at nine on Saturday, if I’m not there—Nova, oh, God, Nova—Tuesday at six, I was supposed to talk to Marcus on Monday, Marcus doesn’t know about Tuesday at six, Kate is going to bringher at six and Marcus isn’t going to know, and the rink—the rink barely makes payroll, there’s a leak in the back office, the chiller is on its last legs, if I don’t—if I’m not there to do the Saturday lockup next week, the rink, the rink will—”
“Hush.”
He said it like that. The one word. Hush.
It worked.
My mouth stopped, and my throat stopped, and the moving sideways stopped, and I stood in my doubled white trainers on the cold gold-veined marble and I looked at him because there was nothing else available to do.
“It is taken care of.”
He said it as though he were saying the rain has been arranged.
“Your rink is well funded as of three days ago. The leak in the back office has been repaired. The chiller has been replaced. There is an envelope of operating capital sufficient for two seasons in the safe under the counter, and the board of the facility has unanimously voted, this past Wednesday evening, to engage a senior coach. Olympic medalist. Bronze, Salt Lake, ladies’ singles. She begins Monday. She will teach Nova. She will teach all of them. They will not lack for anything. None of them.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“It is taken care of, precious one.”
The voice did not change. The eyes did not change. He was not bragging. He was stating the weather.
“Three—three days ago.” I heard my own voice come out very small. “You did this three days ago.”
“I did,” he said.
“You knew, three days ago, that I—”
“I knew, three days ago,” he said, “that the Veil was about to open.” He sounded a wry chuckele. “I have known for longerthan that. Much, much longer. There were arrangements to be made, and I have had a long time to make them, and I have not been an idle man.”
He let me have a beat with that.
“The decision,” he said, “is yours. The Veil is not a cage. If you wish to return to your world, you may. I will open it for you now. There will be no consequence. The rink will continue to be funded. The children will be taught. You will go back to your apartment in Spokane Valley and you will live the life you have chosen, and I will not be the one who takes that from you. The choice is yours alone.”
Silence.
I could go? If I wanted to?
“I should go.”
The words were out of me before I had decided.
“I should go back. Thank you. Truly. Thank you for—for whatever this is—for the rink, for whatever you did for the rink, I don’t understand any of it and I don’t need to, I’m grateful, I really am. But I’m not—I’m not your fated mate. I’m sorry. I think you’ve—I think the Veil made a mistake. I’m not the woman you saw skate. I’m not her anymore. I haven’t been her in nine years. You’re looking at a ghost, my Lord, you really are. I should go.”
The gold in his eyes did not move.
“There is one way,” he said, “to test your theory.”
The voice came low, patient, unhurried, the same as before, but the gold in his eyes had done a thing—the rings had stopped moving for half a beat, and then had started again at a slower speed, like a clock recalibrating.
