Earth

Belle Village, Maine

Melissa sat on her kitchen floor with an army of books spread before her and her twelfth cup of tea in the past ten hours at her side. History books, The Storybook of Seconds, atlases, physics textbooks, coverless and nearly unbound leather journals...they were all spread out before her now in a cacophony of tea-stained symbols, colors, maps, and numbers. She had spent every waking moment pouring over these books the minute she'd gotten back from her meeting with the Board Members and the Bloom about Lilly. Melissa couldn't stop; she had been up all night and now eight-thirty A.M light slid slippery and pale over the kitchen floor and she was so close, so close. 

She had a theory. If she kept studying over these books, she was positive that she would find something to confirm it. 

There came a rap rap rap on the backdoor. Reluctantly, Melissa got up, mind reeling with words and numbers, eyes burning, stomach growling. She tied her hair into a ponytail to make herself a little more presentable and opened the door to Nathan Eccent, who held out a white paper bag and a to-go coffee cup like a white flag. 

"My peace offering," he said.

Melissa narrowed her eyes.

"That's not a very nice look."

She took the paper bag and peeked inside to find a scone. A marvelous pumpkin-spice fragrance filled her nose, sending her empty stomach into violent protest. "Thank you," she said. "Why a pumpkin scone?"

"Think of it as a congratulations-on-not-getting-your-arm-torn-off-by-a-giant-wasp present. I also got you a black coffee." 

"I hate coffee." 

Nathan grinned. "I knew that; I was just hoping you wouldn't take it so I can have it. Really, I just wanted to check in. How's your arm?"

Thanks to her leather jacket, the wasp's mandibles had not snapped Melissa's arm off. There was a tight bandage around her bicep and the wound still throbbed, but she'd live. "It's fine."

"And your leg?"

"Also fine." Her bad leg actually wasn't. After the fight with the wasps, it had been giving her a fit. Whenever she moved it, sharp aches shot from her knee to her thigh. This was common for her after physical exertion, and because she was so used to it by now, she kept list of advantages for leg-pain firmly in the front of her mind. 

Kept her pain tolerance up. Challenged her not to complain no matter how bad it hurt. Reminded her why she spent her heart on wishes involving Nathan. 

Excuses, excuses. 

In the awkward pause that stretched between them, Nathan looked down and Melissa looked up. She could practically read Nathan's thoughts, written so plainly in the pain across his face: Don't you at least want to tell me how Lilly's doing in Elliott Way? Don't you want to invite me in? 

She didn't want to do either of those things. 

"Um." What she really wanted to do was ask him to leave so that she could get back to her studies, but that would be rude, considering the fact he'd helped her ward off the wasps and bought her a scone. "Um...so how's Jake?" 

That was fair, right? She didn't have to talk about Lilly or invited him in but still threw the ball back in his court. 

Nathan smiled. "He's alright. I wish he would get out more, though, but comic books rule his life. He also says that Lilly owes him a favor...so you may want to mention that to her whenever you get a chance to write her. He seemed a little too excited about it."

"Ah, I'll do it. Well, I should really get back to—" 

"Listen, I'm sorry about the other week. I didn't mean what I said...you know, about you being a hypocrite. I know that you regret what you did to Finn, and it was horrible of me to say such a thing." 

"Don't worry about it." The sixteen-year-old girl inside her heaved a theatrical, swoon-thick sigh; the twenty-eight-year-old that was her told the sixteen-year-old to shut up. It was kind of him to apologize. Should she tell him the real reason she was so upset with him, that it didn't have to do with her mother or him calling her a hypocrite? Was it worth it? What if his eyes drew up into that careful crease of his and he wrinkled his nose and said in his perfectly polite voice, "I have to go now" and never look at her again? 

Melissa would certainly care if he walked away, but she would care more if he completely rejected her hurt, if he acted like it was stupid for her to feel the way she did about the things that happened between them. Nathan would do it in his kind and courteous manner, and that would hurt, too. There was too much hurt and Melissa wanted to pull the covers over her head and avoid it all. 

Before she had the chance to make up her mind, Nathan's eyes slid past her onto the mess of books on the kitchen floor. "Did you enroll in a university while Lilly's been gone?"

"Oh...the books. Come in." Okay, moment of weakness. But if he came in, perhaps she would make up her mind about whether or not to tell him. She opened the door wider and led him into the kitchen. Carefully stepping around the books, for they were precise in their placement, Melissa picked up her half-empty mug and set it and the paper bag on the counter.

She explained, "I have a theory about the beasts in the Shifter World."

Really, she should have told him to leave earlier. She could feel the words rising within her. Gristin, she was going to do it. 

Nathan picked up one of her notebooks, which looked like she'd written a story with numbers and mathematical symbols. They were equations—actually, it was one equation that took up two whole pages to get to the answer. Melissa watched Nathan's eyes follow the careful lines.

"What do kinematic equations have to do with magical beasts?" he asked.

"You said the Bloom knows the beasts were created by a person because they're driving their way from Té Shezekia to the west. Towards the Bloom Congregation Center. But why? To destroy some of the most important places in the Shifter World? Why did one of them come to Belle Village? So I looked into the Congregation Center's magical net worth."

"How?"

"Math. Earthens math is a little different than Shifter World math. It's better because most scientists here don't believe in magic...they all use math, and math isn't sentient like magic is. I started working with some equations and I realized that not only is the Congregation Center one of the most magical places in the world, but the magical current is thick there...like...like a layer of leaves on the ground in autumn or dust in an attic. You could almost grab it and tear it."

"I'm lost."

"Then I compared the Congregation's magical net worth with other places in the Shifter World, and guess which one had a larger magical net worth than the Congregation Center?"

"I already told you I'm lost, so..."

"Elliott Way." Melissa knelt down, picked up an atlas of the Shifter World, and pointed to Elliott Way in the middle of Northern Bria Hungary. Just northwest, in Balalaika, was the Bloom Congregation Center. "That pattern you showed me last week...I don't think the beasts are just headed towards the Bloom Congregation Center. Based on the magical net worths, I think they're also headed to Elliott Way."

Nathan's lips parted, and a crease formed between his eyebrows. "So all these books are for theories on strange magical affairs...no wonder you look like you haven't slept in days. Why would anyone want to make monsters to head towards the most magically dense places in the Shifter World?"

"I have absolutely no idea. But you said someone created them, so...so maybe they don't want to just destroy anything. Maybe they're looking for something."

Nathan smiled and pushed his glasses further up on the bridge of his slightly crooked nose. "You're brilliant, Melissa Stowe. You know that, don't you? You're truly, incredibly brilliant."

Melissa drew in a deep breath; she decided. Now or never. "Maybe not." She leaned back against the sink and felt the sour punch of heartbreak in her chest. She fixed her eyes on his. 

What was the point of telling him now? What good would it do either of them? 

Melissa inhaled. He needed to know. He deserved to know that she knew and she deserved to tell him because this whole I-know-what-you-did-and-you-don't-know-but-you-think-you-know charade exhausted her. Maybe...maybe telling him was the first step in things being okay between them. 

"I understood about my mother," she started slowly. Here goes, here goes. "My anger was never about that. It was...Nathan...I know it was you who tortured me that night."

Nathan's eyebrows did rise into a firm crease and she could see his heart shattering visibly all over his face; his lips parted, his hands went to his back pockets, and he shook his head. 

It was—she couldn't—why had she convinced herself to tell him? The minute they came out of her mouth she wished she could take them back. She should have known that telling him wouldn't make things okay between them. Stupid, stupid. 

"Oh," Nathan breathed. "I...I just...I..." 

"We don't have to talk about it," Melissa replied as curtly as she could. She steeled herself on the outside, made sure her face was as stone-flat as possible because vulnerable emotions killed, and added quickly, "Just know that I was never angry about my mother. I would have done the same thing if I was in your position." 

"I think we need to—"

Before he had a chance to finish, there came a loud clatter from the oven to their right. "Hello!" screeched a voice in Balalaikan. "Hello? Anyone home?" 

Nathan whirled around, and Melissa muttered, "Terrible timing" before abandoning Nathan at the sink and moving beside the oven. It sounded as if someone was on the inside, rapping bejeweled fingers against the iron oven door. Melissa opened it, and out popped a rather large head topped with a cotton-candy pink updo that was positively crumpled by the cramped space. This head belonged to Mathilde de la Farazzanna, chief assistant to the gatekeepers of interworld travel. Nathan sucked in a breath as Mathilde climbed out of the oven. It was a sight; she just kept coming, much like an endless colorful handkerchief a magician would pull from his lapel pocket. When Mathilde's plump, overdressed body was all the way out of the oven, she stumbled to her feet, scattering the systematic placement of books and journals on the floor. 

As shocking as it was to see someone climb out of an oven, Mathilde de la Farazzanna was much more of a sight. Despite it being crumpled, her hair was styled in an elegant updo that resembled a carousel. Each horse and child was poised in pale pink gravity-defying wonder, and once, each nuanced detail must have been impeccable. Mathilde had a round face with fat cheeks the color of ripe apples and impossibly large lips the color of pearls. Her dress was the same color as her hair, the bodice cinched tight with a belt of beetle carcasses each as long as a man's thumb; the skirt of her dress fanned out in an extraordinary array of pink ruffles, feathers, and fringe.  

"It's lovely to see you again, Mistress Farazzanna," Melissa said warmly, avoiding Nathan's ogling, open-mouthed stare. She gave a small half-curtsey in formal Balalaikan greeting. "Thank you for sparing me your time." 

"Ah, dear girl, you've grown!" exclaimed Mathilde in a husky voice that implied she'd had far too many drinks. "How old are you now?" 

"I turned twenty-eight last month."

"It's quite becoming to you; you don't look a day over twenty-six!" Mathilde gasped, her heavy Balalaikan accent pouring out into her English. She was heavy on the Is and es and her ds halfway sounded like ths. "Might I suggest exchanging those black tresses of yours for a brighter color? A pale purple, perhaps? I know an excellent hair-stylist out of Trexx in Balalaika." 

"Thank you for the compliment, and I'm not looking to change my hair at the moment, but if I ever do, you'll be the first person I call."

Mathilde beamed at the compliment. She was a fine example of how age did not match personality. In her fifty-something years,  she had the childlike spirit of explicit awe and confident hope. 

Behind Melissa, Nathan cleared his throat. "I'm sorry for being blunt, but who are you and why did you crawl out of an oven?" 

"Mathilde de la Farazzanna." Mathilde held out a chubby hand glittering with rings. Nathan shook it—reluctantly, for it was not every day that women with cotton-candy pink hair styled as a carousel climbed out of ovens—and Mathilde glanced at Melissa. "Ees it safe to assume he's a Shifter because he didn't run screaming when I crawled out of your lovely little oven?" 

"It is," Melissa replied with a tight smile. She wished she would have kicked Nathan out the minute he'd come or had told Mathilde to come a bit later. This was all terribly awkward. 

"Ah, well then, mister man," continued Mathilde, clapping her hands together. "I am the chief assistant to the gatekeepers of interworld travel, which means that while my bosses are focused on an upcoming war, I do a lot of mundane work. Although I do love helping dear friends now and then get to the Shifter World without a license." 

"I met Mathilde when I first came to Earthens," Melissa explained. "She made the gate for me when I moved here and babysat Lilly sometimes." 

"How is the sweet girl doing? Has she learned that brushing that head of curls will be good for everyone in a five-mile radius?" 

"She's well," Melissa replied with a laugh, "and no, she hasn't learned just yet." 

"Why do you need a gate?" Nathan asked.  

"I'm visiting an old friend, not that it's any of your business. And seeing as this is my house, I'm going to kindly ask you to leave so I can lock up before I go."

Nathan narrowed his eyes. "This is about Lydia, isn't it?"  

"How do you figure that?" 

"Your expression slipped into disgust when you said old friend. I can also put two and two together. When it comes to her, you don't stop. That's why all this—" he gestured to the mess on the kitchen floor, "—is on your kitchen floor and why you haven't slept. Why else would you go to the Shifter World? And how did you even find her?" 

"It was easy," Melissa replied dismissively. "I wrote a letter to my worldist agent asking for a paper trail and followed it through the worlds. Took eighteen hours, but I got there in the end." 

"Well...you can't just go there." 

"Why not?" 

"Because it's—she's—you—there's a lot of really good reasons!" 

"You're not my caretaker, Nathan. I'm a grown woman; I can do whatever I want and I am quite capable of talking to Lydia. I just want to know why she blackmailed Lilly into going to Elliott Way. That's it. That's the only reason."

"Please, Mel." 

Melissa pressed her hands together and put them to her lips, trying to hide the frustration on her face. Spikes of anger impaled her stomach and chest; she hated the word please on Nathan's lips. That stupid pleading breath in which the word was carried upon dredged up a thousand wishes that had no chance of being granted. She wanted him like she wanted wishes to come true, and she wanted him to leave as much as she wanted to utter wishes beneath her breath. The stupid juxtaposition killed her. 

Vulnerability kills, she reminded herself in the few seconds of silence following Nathan's plea. She worked very hard to make sure her eyebrows did not twitch downwards or that her lips did not dip into a frown. 

Finally, in a flat voice barely above a whisper, she said, "Come with me if it makes you feel better." 

"Fine. Jake's at my mother's house for the weekend and I've got nothing else on my plate anyway." Nathan held out his hand as if to shake on a deal. Melissa ignored it and briskly turned back to Mathilde. "Make us a gate to Northern Bria Hungary and open a gate that leads back here after fifteen minutes. Can you keep it open for twenty minutes?" 

"Sure," Mathilde replied with a smile. 

"Perfect. I'll just lock up the house and then—" 

"You're going to eat," Nathan interrupted. "You can't just live off herbal teas and I get that Lydia makes everyone who has the unpleasant fortune of speaking with her want to vomit up their meals for the last five years, but talking to her on an empty stomach is unhealthy." 

Melissa regarded him with a flat stare, trying to shove down yet another flare of agitation. She knew he was right, but it still irritated her that he'd given her an order. After a moment of hesitation, she grabbed the bag containing the scone he'd brought her, held it up, and said emotionlessly, "Thanks."