Page 22

“Right.” He stared at his feet and glanced back up at us. “And how dangerous is this place?”

“On a scale of one to ten? Four. There’s time-manipulation magic here, so if it senses a life force fading, time stops and the appropriate inscriptor or doctrinus will arrive to treat you. So, you won’t die. Of injury. Old age is another thing.” Isa, still in her younger form, flipped a few pages in her book to go back to her older self—where she felt most comfortable. “As long as the building itself stands.”

“Can I, like, go home for the afternoon? I think I need time to absorb all this.” He didn’t make eye contact with either of us.

“Only if you allow Zeke to drive you. I cannot leave the environs… Perhaps he should stay with you, or you stay here.” Isa frowned and glanced at me. “Second thought, he’ll be fine alone. Curiosity will bring him back.”

“Yeah. Being alone would be great.” Lex fished out his keys and handed them to me in silence. “Wait… How old are you?”

“Hundred and ninety-one.” I shrugged.

“Do you know how to drive?” Lex scrutinized me for the longest time as I nodded.

“Have my license and everything. My car died a few years back and I’ve not gotten another one because delivery is so easy.” That, and I hated car salesmen.

“Fine.” He turned and made his way to the door, expression unreadable.

I’d win him over.

Chapter Eleven

Lex

Zeke drove me home and let himself in to my apartment before loafing on my couch like he intended not to leave. I just wanted to sleep, though.

“Got anything to drink?” He stared at me expectantly as I rummaged in my fridge and pulled out a few wine coolers. Nothing fancy.

We sat on the couch, sipping in silence, staring at my television, the gray screen a wide expanse of nothing.

“What do you want from me?” I finally got the nerve to ask as I prickled. I didn’t want to lose my job, but everything they told me didn’t make sense, yet it felt right. Like I should have known, like I was meant to find the power in words that I loved so much.

“Nothing, really. You got a job to keep you out of trouble. Kinda easy for one of us to collapse a country if we’re left to our own devices.” He huffed, and I recalled his newspaper stunt.

“It’s not infinite,” he said, as if reading my mind. “My gift only works in the time frame presented to me in adocument. And only if a deus has written it. I found a newspaper that had the vibe, and at the time, we didn’t know exactly how bad it really was. I’m still under restrictions for it. It could have gone so much worse. The longer of a time you go between the event and the change, the bigger the collapse.”

I nodded slowly in understanding. He seemed genuinely haunted and remorseful for being unable to do more. Even in the way he drank, it seemed solemn. A quick swig that made his throat bob, a soft sigh of frustration. “They only really let me use my gift to alter stock market prices, bank records, and wills. It’s how we stay flush with cash.”

I nodded in understanding. “There a lot of people like you?”

“Nah. Just me. I’m useful. Everyone else they tend to have to destroy because they get cataclysmic fast.” He huffed a sad laugh. “I can’t hold a pen. I can’t leave the town without clearance. I’m easily amused.”

I nodded as he drank again, and I followed suit, taking a sip of the fizzy spritzer. I felt like a child there, unsure of the world before me, the world I’d grown up in. “Any guesses on what I can do?”

“Not really. I hope it’s something fun, though. You’ll have a better time if it’s fun.” Zeke laid back on the couch, legs sprawled. “You get to see the world get better, though.”

“Can’t imagine what it was like being—uhh…” I gestured at him.

“Mulatto?” He half grinned as I cringed at the word. “Yeah. But I’ve seen the worst, and it keeps getting better. Segregation was shit, but I managed. Money can earn you privilege. Slavery was worse, but I had it so much better than others. My daddy owned the plantation, so I was a house—you know.”

He hesitated despite me knowing what the unsaid word was. “You don’t have to censor yourself to make me comfortable.”

“Nah, makes everyone uncomfortable, even me. You don’t go about whipping out the hard k do you?” He gave me a knowing glance. Most of the world had nearly forgotten that there was a slur for Jewish people, at least in my age group.

“How did you—” I hesitated.

“Stereotyyyyype,” he sang. “First thing you say before fainting? Oi gevalt. The look. You have that guilt trip judgmental expression on point. The little blessing-scroll-case thingy on the door.”

“My mezuzah?” I glanced over. “Surprised you knew what it was.”