Maselli took off his coat as he approached the small council: Aron, Conrad, Rita, Hanna, and Mari. His mother pulled Jeromy aside, whispering that his food was in the kitchen. Maselli’s baby brother slipped away, leaving him alone with the judges.

  “Good evening,” said Maselli. No one responded. He chose the chair farthest from Aron—which also put him closer to Hanna, on his right. Both stayed at the blurred edges of his vision.

  “We were hoping you would have come earlier from work,” Conrad began.

  “I’m sorry for keeping long,” Maselli said.

  “It’s just as well. The delay gave me time to gather my thoughts. We’re concerned, Maselli, and not only for you.”

  Conrad leaned back in his wheelchair, waiting. Maselli glanced at Mari, but she avoided his eyes. He shifted back to Conrad, wishing instead he was the one eating rice in the kitchen right now.

  “Are you ill, Mari?” Rita asked, breaking the silence. “I’ve heard that more than once today.”

  “I’m fine,” said Mari.

  Jeromy’s fork clinked against his plate in the kitchen.

  “Hanna,” said Conrad, “Maselli is here. His parents are here. Your mother and I are here. Whatever it is, now is the time to speak.”

  “I didn’t know you two weren’t getting along,” said Mari.

  “It feels so strange,” Rita said. “Hanna won’t talk. She won’t eat, and she left the house for morning prayers sooner than necessary. I know Maselli has something to do with it, but I don’t think it involves Audrey’s bedsheet.”

  “What bedsheet?” asked Mari.

  “He didn’t tell you?” said Conrad.

  “What didn’t he tell us?” asked Aron.

  “Hanna, I’m sorry for what I said,” said Maselli. “I called her ugly. I meant it to be a joke, but it was in poor taste and I feel bad. You’re not attractive—unattractive.” He shut his eyes and counted to three.

  The fork in the kitchen went silent.

  Hanna stood, crossed the room, and ran out the door. Rita hurried after her. Only then did Maselli realize he should have been the one to follow. On second thought, maybe it was safer to avoid her until he was sixty-five and retired.

  “I have to be honest—I don’t feel welcome here,” said Conrad. “I hope you take care of your agendas soon enough. Hanna does not deserve to be caught up in your personal drama.”

  “Maselli and Hanna’s relationship will improve,” said Aron.

  “I hope so.”

  Aron turned to Maselli, his face stiff with frosted rage. “Whatever you think you’re doing to help Ezra, stop. I understand your fear and the urge to act, but it’s insulting that you don’t trust your mother and me to provide the help she needs.”

  “You’re right,” said Maselli without thought. There was no argument to make. Mari and Aron exchanged a look, then fixed on him again. Neither expected him to give in so quickly. He wouldn’t have, if he hadn’t come to the same conclusion hours before. Franka had broken him.

  “I shouldn’t have to remind you that ruining Hanna’s life to make Ezra’s better isn’t worth it,” Aron said, less collected now. “Your marriage to Hanna is the most important thing in your life. Ezra’s well-being is my responsibility, not yours. No more meddling.”

  “Yes, Aron,” said Maselli.

  The bedroom was dark, his two siblings pretending to be asleep. Without bothering to shower or change, Maselli dropped to his knees and collapsed onto his mattress. Neither Ezra nor Jeromy whispered a word. Light spilled in as the door creaked open. Mari peeped inside. Seeing he was awake, she said, “You have to eat.”

  Alone, he sat behind the counter, digging his spoon into a bowl of sand and grass. His stomach throbbed whenever a morsel landed in it. He dropped the spoon, ran his fingers through his hair, and tugged until a few strands ripped free. If only he had come straight home instead of rushing into things. He wished for the power of time travel—or something cool like super strength or speed. Franka wouldn’t have dared touch him.

  He couldn’t stomach what little he’d eaten. There are children starving in Africa. His mother had said that often when they were young. No one really knew what it meant, only that it was meant to make children feel guilty for not finishing their meals. Maselli grabbed his spoon again and forced himself to dig in.

  Ezra appeared at the entrance, her hand sliding up the door frame. She looked thinner than she had that morning, and greyer. Her footsteps barely registered as she dragged a stool beside him. “Do you want to curse Franka?” she whispered. “I know some rituals we can try—”

  “What, no! What is wrong with you?”

  “He stole my medicine money!” she hissed. “Twice.” Ezra pulled a knife from the cabinet and carved into the counter. “Franka’s going to learn not to mess with me again.”

  “Um, Ezra.”

  “Hm?”

  “Why don’t we think this through first?” Maselli said. “Does he really deserve eternal torment?”

  “Are you hearing yourself?” she asked. “You’d rather let me die than push back against your bully of a brother? Is that it?”

  “No! I’m just looking at this from a moral standpoint. He’s still a person, and he’ll get what’s coming, eventually. I don’t think you should be involved, that’s all. Besides, Aron promised to handle things. I’m not sure the anti-curse drugs he wants will work, but I’m willing to trust him. Please—let’s not make this worse.”

  She dropped the knife before the symbol she’d been carving. Part of him didn’t want to study it, but another part itched to. She’d already drawn two triangles, each with a vertex touching the other’s centroid. A line cut perpendicularly through both bases, and she was halfway through circling the symbol when he stopped her.

  Every child had learned the basics of symbol-drawing in school. Even the dullest student knew the common ones and their powers. But this—Maselli had never seen before. The lines were too straight, the circle too perfect, the angles too exact.

  “Where did you learn this?” he asked, blowing dust from the carving.

  “I made it up,” she said.

  “You can’t just make up nonsense and expect it to work.”

  “So why were you scared I was about to curse Franka?”

  “I’m sceptical, not stupid.”

  She snorted, still grinning as she inspected the knife. “Do you want to know what I would’ve done to him?”

  “Why do you have to be so creepy?” Maselli muttered. “And no, I don’t want to know.”

  “I was going to lure him into the forest and let Shados get him.”

  “How would you lure him into the forest? You can’t even leave the house. And Shados isn’t real.” He thought she’d grown out of that phase—the one where she claimed monsters hid in the woods. Aron had told her countless times there were no other faeries in the UCL except for her.

  “Shados is real,” she pressed. “You should’ve been home last time. I don’t know what the show was called, but some guys hiked through the forest and caught the demon on camera. I swear, I’m not making it up.”

  “Just because it’s on TV doesn’t make it real. Have you seen any film crews in Blackwood? Ever?”

  “How would I know? I’m stuck indoors.”

  “There are none!” Maselli shouted, throwing up his arms.

  “Okay! What’s your problem?”

  “Hanna,” he blurted. “She’s pissing me off. I can’t bring myself to care about her whining when you need us.”

  He knew the moment he’d said it that it was a mistake. The last thing Ezra needed was to be blamed for their family’s sacrifices. She forced a smile that quickly faltered. “Please don’t say that. Don’t make me an excuse for your behaviour. Have you even tried to understand why she left you? It’s not because she’s unreasonable—it’s because she expected you to be decent.”

  “What does she want from me? I apologised for the joke.”

  “Did you apologise for the other thing? Did you even bring it up?”

  “What other thing?”

  “Your lady friend downstairs. Jeromy told me about Zerah. I doubt he was the only one who saw you pay her a late-night visit. Her husband abandoned her, and you swoop in to ‘save’ her? It’s not a good look, Maselli.”

  “How do I win Hanna back? That’s what matters. I’m not ready to spend the rest of my life paying fines for refusing to have babies.”

  “That’s easy.” Ezra brightened, colours spiralling in her eyes. She dragged her stool closer, straightening him so he could see her grin and the two fingers she held up. “There are two ways of winning any girl.” She tapped her first finger. “Either you’re impossibly good-looking, or you’re funny.” Then she set both hands on his shoulders. “Let’s work on your comedy.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, you’re good looking. If we overlook the fact that you’re not all that tall, your jawline is pretty soft, your hair’s not red, and your eyes don’t sparkle like sapphires.”

  “That’s your taste,” he mumbled. “You’ve got weird tastes.”

  “We’ll work with what you have—and that’s your personality. And, my God, does that need work.”

  “What’s wrong with my personality?”

  “I’m sorry you have to hear this from me, but you’re insufferable. Rude. Prickly. No one can breathe around you.”

  “Do I smell bad?”

  “Not what I meant. You upset people. Your ‘jokes’ are often just hurtful.”

  “Oh, please—”

  “Remember that Christmas—”

  “No, shut up.” Maselli clapped his hands over his ears and started reciting the Henrikian anthem at the top of his lungs.

  Ezra grabbed his hands. Their tug-of-war began. Every time she started the story, he sang louder to drown her out. “Anna-Lisa had a crush on you for an entire year. She waited for the right time, and when she finally confessed at the well behind the chapel, you told her—”

  “I was honest with her.”

  “—‘I’d rather cut my tongue off than ever kiss you.’ That’s what you said.”

  “We laugh about it now.”

  “You know, I’ve realised something. Anna-Lisa makes you insecure. You think she’s too good for you, so you undercut her before she can realise how ugly you are. I think you’re being mean to Hanna for the same reason—because she intimidates you.”

  “That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all day,” Maselli sniggered.

  “You don’t get it. Girls like it when guys show a little sensitivity. Stop being such a baby. Put in some effort to show you care about her feelings. You know what? Forget trying to be funny. Just be a decent human being.”

  “How do you know so much about relationships?” Maselli asked. She was, at the end of the day, just like him. Another dumb teenager.

  “I watch The Love Triangle. Every Wednesday. At nine. You should watch with me sometime.”

  The next day, Ezra sat him in front of their dressing mirror and dragged an afro comb through his hair. She straightened his collar, brushed dust from his coat sleeves, then licked her palm and smoothed his eyebrows flat. Pressing both hands to his cheeks, she leaned close until their brows touched.

  “Be sensitive, be a gentleman, and don’t be yourself,” she said.

  “Be a gentleman,” he repeated.

  “Let me check your breath.”

  He blew. She sniffed, nodded, gave a thumbs-up, and said, “Go get her.”

  The church was packed with parents, the elderly, and children jostling for space. Maselli hurried, hoping for a seat next to Hanna. He spotted her in the front row, wearing a brown petty coat and a long black skirt down to her ankles. One leg crossed over the other, arms folded as tight as her cornrows.

  “Hanna,” Maselli said, reaching the pew. “Can I sit with you?”

  She didn’t turn her head. He lingered, asking again and again, until someone nudged him aside. He ended up in the back row, next to his uncle Percy.

  “As decreed by Rheina,” Father Ken said, “the woman shall leave her home and join the man, and the two shall become one. Let the newlyweds among us rise and come forward for a special blessing.”

  Maselli’s classmates stood. The congregation applauded as they moved in pairs toward the priest. Danica and Samellie. Noreen and Milo. Yohannes and Sera. Others followed, smiling, holding hands, waving at parents. Then came the awkward cases—like Maselli and Hanna. A few couples were absent; others pretended they weren’t part of the ceremony at all. That was hardly comforting. Soon enough, the aunties would start asking why he wasn’t beside his wife.

  “Trouble in paradise, Maselli?” asked Uncle Percy.

  “I never got to paradise,” Maselli muttered, ducking his head. He couldn’t bear to watch his peers receive benedictions without him. “Hanna and I aren’t in a good place.”

  “You children make things harder than they are,” Percy said. “In our time, we were just glad we’d finally be getting some sex.”

  “Can you just ignore the fact your partner doesn’t care for you and still be… intimate with them?” Maselli asked. “It doesn’t feel right.”

  “Patrica and I turn forty-one this year,” Percy said. “We’ve accepted what we are. Not everyone gets to be in love like your parents. The rest of us took what we got.”

  “The woman won’t talk to me, Uncle. Any advice?”

  Uncle Percy rested a heavy hand on Maselli’s head. “There’s one thing no girl can resist—a man who takes the lead. Your girl’s being silly. You need to set her straight. If she won’t talk, force her. When she walks away, grab her arm, make her look you in the eye. Use that voice that makes her quiver, and she’ll know who’s in charge.”

  “That’s not what Mari told me.”

  “Don’t take a woman’s advice on how to win a woman,” Percy said. “It’s the one thing they don’t know. Listen to me—be confident, direct, aggressive if you have to. Show her there’s fire in those bones of yours.”

  Maselli looked toward the couples at the front. Were they really happy? Fat Yohannes had always been an unbearable brat at school, yet Sera held his hand like she was in a romance film. Pretenders, all of them.

  When morning prayers ended, Hanna walked out with two classmates. Maselli took a bold step after her, but his courage dried up. He let her drift from the church without trying any of Percy’s advice.

  Aron appeared with his hands in his pockets. “You’re stalling,” he said.

  “I don’t know how to win her back.”

  Aron pulled out a crisp ten-kliq note. “You can’t go wrong with money. Buy your woman something nice.”

  Maselli reached for the note when a lashing voice shrieked, “Maselli!”

  Hell.

  Zerah stood at the church door, head wrapped in a black scarf, black dress, long black skirt. She rocked her baby hard, as though she might launch the little thing into orbit.

  “I don’t like the games you’re playing with me.”

  “Zerah, I swear—”

  “Save it. Please, I don’t want trouble. Just give me my money and let me go my way.”

  “I told you I would get the things—”

  “Give!”

  “How much does he owe you?” Aron asked.

  “One hundred,” Zerah said. “You act like I have nothing to do but wait around for you all day. I honestly thought you were someone decent.”

  “Please respect yourself and show some courtesy.” Mari had appeared behind her. The two women locked horns until Zerah finally bowed and apologised—though only after Aron promised to pay Maselli’s debt.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Thank you,” said Zerah.

  “Don’t come near him again,” said Mari. “We don’t want the like of you in the company of my son.”

  “Yes, Aunt,” said Zerah, and she left.

  “We take one step forward and you drag us two steps back,” said Aron. “Are you a curse?”

  “Aron, not here,” said Mari, noting the bystanders.

  “I’m only asking,” Aron said.

  “Don’t give her that money when we need it more,” Maselli said.

  “That is theft,” Aron said, snatching the ten-kliq note from Maselli’s hand. “Had we not had our conversation last night, I would’ve not have taken this lightly. Is there anything else we should know?”

  He considered telling him about Jude, and about the gambling money. “That’s all,” Maselli lied.

  Mari leaned close, whispering into Aron’s ear. Maselli couldn’t make out the words. The bystanders drifted away, bored of trying to piece together the drama. From their expressions, Maselli guessed Mari was asking if they could afford returning so much money to Zerah.

  Aron said, “How much do you make on overtime?”

  “Same as you,” Mari answered.

  “Working today and tomorrow should give us more than enough to buy the pills.”

  “Jeromy and I can work overtime, too,” added Maselli.

  Both parents stiffened. Even with Aron’s back to him, Maselli could feel his father’s frown. The answer was obvious.

  The Ring was hot and ready. A portal ripped open. Workers gathered in groups, waiting their turn to cross to the various Farms. No one asked Maselli about Zerah, but he caught his friends sneaking glances. Some whispered to Hanna, no doubt filling her head with lies. He had to pull her out of this before it ruined things further. Show some fire in your bones, Maselli. Be confident.

  “Maselli.”

  Jeromy’s voice.

  He turned—and saw his brother. Brothers. Franka shadowed Jeromy, his clawed fingers digging into Jeromy’s shoulders. Henchmen slithered through the crowd, closing in.

  “Good morning,” Franka said. “Any plans for today?”

  The portal to the Third Farm opened and their group started across. Maselli reached for Jeromy, but Franka shoved him away.

  “I’m keeping Jerry like this because I want you to listen,” Franka said.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” said Maselli. “Please let him go. We can’t afford to miss work.”

  “Yes, I know. Mari’s sick and needs medicine,” Franka said. “There’s someone I want you to meet. Stay on the Farm after work. I’ll come for you.” He released Jeromy.

  Maselli yanked his brother back. “Who?”

  “It’s a surprise,” said Franka.

  No need to tell Franka he wasn’t interested. Franka knew. He was only teasing, dangling hope that Maselli might get back what had been stolen. Aron was already doing everything he could. Maselli wouldn’t get in his way.

  His chance with Hanna came sooner than expected. He and Tall Boy were behind the fire, shovelling ore. When the furnace spat out astaphite, Hanna stepped in with an empty crate.

  A coin flipped in Maselli’s head—should he be sensitive, or aggressive?

  She crouched, the crate wedged in her armpit, plucking glowing stones one by one. Maselli crouched beside her, slipping stones into the crate until their hands met. She drew in a breath and snatched the stone away.

  “My heart burns hotter than this furnace,” said Maselli. “Why fight when we can bask in the heat of our love?”

  If that was what Ezra meant by sensitivity, it wasn’t working.

  “We all saw this coming,” said Tall Boy, going back to his shovelling. “Renna Sorel turned you down, so now you’re crawling back.”

  “Unfortunately,” Maselli said. “Any ideas on how to win Hanna back?”

  “Be yourself.”

  “That is exactly what got me into this mess. Hanna has made it clear that she does not want me to be myself.”

  “That’s what you think. She’s watching you right now—no, don’t look, idiot.” The furnace cracked again, scattering stones across the floor. “Do you know how we became friends?”

  “You saw me behind the furnace and figured I was too small to manage on my own.”

  “No. A girl came around asking for the biggest boy in the factory. People pointed her my way. When we met, she asked how much I’d take to help you settle in.”

  “Why would she do that? How much did she pay you?”

  “Two kliqs a day,” Tall Boy said. “I’d sneak you out for early breaks. She was right to do it. Don’t deny it—the girl likes you. Talks about you all the time, too.”

  “To you?”

  “To anyone who’ll listen.”

  “I…”

  “You’ve got a fan in her. She’s crazy about you.”

  “Then please—tell me how to win her back.”

  “Speak from your heart, Maselli.”

  Lunch couldn’t come quick enough.

  “Maselli.” Jeromy. His brother stood three places back in the lunch queue. Maselli waved him forward, and Jeromy cut ahead, ignoring the protests behind.

  “You look happy,” Maselli said. “Any good news?”

  “Have you checked your pocket yet?” Jeromy whispered, grinning as he knocked his knuckle against Maselli’s trousers. Maselli felt the slip of paper there—a letter from Ezra.

  She had penned it in flawless cursive, hollowing out the dots on her i’s.

  Everything is going to be alright. And if things don’t turn out your way, we can always try again tomorrow. I hope to see you soon. I love you, and I wish you the best.

  “What are you smiling at?” the caterer snapped at him. “I don’t have all day. Take your pack and move on.”

  Maselli floated out of the line, scanning the cafeteria for Hanna.

  He spotted her sitting with some boys he didn’t know. A wall of cold shoulders formed as he approached, each ugly face glaring. One, though, he recognised. Antonica.

  He sat closest to Hanna, a thick arm draped around her neck, sharing her food pack, eating from the same spoon.

  Disgusting.

  Antonica. Antonica.

  What worm was eating through Hanna’s brain? The stupid girl believed the rumours about Maselli and Zerah and thought the best way to punish him was to sell herself to Zerah’s husband. If she thought Antonica would make him jealous, she was a fool.

  “Can I sit with you?” Maselli asked.

  “There’s no space,” Antonica said, mouth full. “You could try the whore table at the end of the cafeteria.”

  The boys and girls laughed as though that was funny.

  Maselli laughed it off. He could be cool. “Move over. Better still, you could leave so I can talk to my wife.”

  That wasn’t supposed to come out like that. But watching that long, hairy mouth eat from the same spoon as Hanna’s stirred something black inside him. He wanted to rip Antonica’s arm off and beat him with it.

  “Did he just call you his wife?” Antonica asked Hanna. “Now he thinks you’re worth his time.”

  “He doesn’t mean it,” said Hanna. “My father threatened him. That’s the only reason he’s here.”

  “I always knew you were a coward,” said Antonica. “Do you know what pisses me off the most? You’re a coward with a sense of entitlement.” His friends measured Maselli with judgemental sets of eyes. “Anyway, it’s too late for you. Hanna has moved on. You can go back to Zerah.”

  “Hanna,” Maselli snapped. “I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t take you for granted again. You and I both know nothing happened between me and Zerah, so stop this pathetic act and let’s go. Antonica’s making me nauseous.”

  Antonica scooped up a mountain of beans on his spoon. Hanna, eyes locked on Maselli, opened her mouth and let Antonica feed her.

  “I’m fine with paying fines,” she said. “Just like you pay a hundred kliqs to get under Zerah.”

  “I refuse to believe you genuinely think I’m capable of that.”

  “We all saw her at the chapel,” Hanna shot back. “We heard what she said.”

  “What?” Maselli screamed. “Are you that stupid—making up stories over something you overheard?”

  “Remember how he spoke up for Zerah that day?” Antonica added. “He made me look bad when he was the real monster. I called her a whore, and he went out of his way to make her one. We’re all struggling, but what you did—it’s unforgivable.”

  Maselli had heard enough. He walked away in silence.

  Near the end of the day shift, he wandered through the farmer’s market at Trade-All. His wages had dropped to six kliqs a day. He bought rice, eggs, tomatoes, onions and oil.

  The oil was imaginary. He had no money.

  On his way home, Maselli passed Fortune’s drugstore and found the man huddled in the corner. He hardly noticed Maselli at the entrance until Maselli greeted him.

  “Negotiator,” Fortune called. “What’s your name?”

  “Maselli,” said Maselli.

  “Right. Where’s your brother?” Fortune placed his phone on the desk beside him, stretching his neck as if to check if anyone was behind. “Have you come with the two-fifty?” He cracked a smile, offering Maselli a seat. “I saw what your brother did to you last night. I wouldn’t have believed you could make that much if I hadn’t seen you robbed.”

  Maselli couldn’t bring himself to respond. Fortune might sound sympathetic, but business was business. He wouldn’t hand out a bottle of Black Syrup for free.

  “Are you any good at electronics?” Fortune tossed his phone. Maselli caught it. “It won’t come on.”

  Maselli tapped the power button, pressed the phone against his cheek. Cold. Maybe a battery problem.

  “Do you have a screwdriver?” he asked. “I need to get going, but I can show you what to do.”

  “Sure.”

  “Open the back and check if the battery’s damaged. Sometimes prolonged use overheats the phone, and it excites the ascension stored in it.”

  “Can’t you stay until ten?” Fortune asked, already rummaging through drawers. “Why the rush home?”

  “I’m charging you if you make me fix it.”

  Fortune winced. “Fine. Get it to work and I’ll give you something.”

  “Something isn’t a number. Twenty-five kliqs, or take it to a repairer.”

  “My friend,” Fortune laughed. “Twelve. And I’ll extend the discount days on the Black Syrup.”

  “Deal.”

  Behind the table, Maselli picked away at the phone until the back was bare, its components glimmering under the weak bulb. Fortune stood beside him, arms folded, watching like an apprentice.

  “My little girl’s performing tomorrow evening,” Fortune said. “I promised to watch.”

  “Would it be that bad if you missed it?” Maselli asked, blowing on the battery.

  He’d been wrong about the problem. The triangle imprinted on the battery had faded, weakening its ability to absorb ascension from the environment. A deliberate flaw most phone manufacturers used so people would buy replacements. But Maselli knew how to engrave a permanent triangle.

  The process was slow, keeping him in the shop late into the night.

  From the corner, Fortune tapped his finger on the back of his other hand.

  “Franka mentioned something this morning,” Maselli said. “Said he was meeting a friend here. Do you know what that’s about?”

  “He came once with those boys he walks around with. I saw a pistol sticking out of one’s coat. You might regret not fighting back when he took your money, but me—I’d call you lucky.”

  “Well, Lucky’s done and has time to spare,” Maselli said, pressing the power button. His fresh triangle absorbed ascension and the device lit up.

  Later, he stopped at the farmer’s market and topped up his groceries—more rice, tomatoes, onions, and eggs.

  As he left the Farm, he prayed for his parents’ safety as they worked the extra hours. Back home, Ezra and Jeromy sat on the sofa, groaning with hunger.

  “I bought groceries,” Maselli said. “Cook rice, make stew. When it’s ready, take it to your room and eat there.”

  “Why?” Ezra asked.

  “I’m bringing a visitor.”

  “No,” Zerah said when he invited her. “You’ve got the audacity to show your face here.”

  “Then you know how much this means to me,” said Maselli. “I owe you an explanation.”

  “You can give one right now.”

  “It’s a long story. Still, I feel bad for wasting your time and making you so anxious. No nursing mother should suffer in that way.”

  Zerah rolled her eyes. “Your mother is not around, is she?”

  “No,” said Maselli. “We can enjoy dinner in peace.”

  “What if she walks in on us?”

  “She’s working overtime tonight. My parents won’t be back until early dawn.”

  Zerah still looked unconvinced.

  “I’ll tell Mari it was wrong of her to assume the worst of you.”

  “Am I not the local prostitute?” Zerah snorted.

  “Even prostitutes need to eat. Thirty minutes, and you’ll be back home. The rice is already cooking. No sense wasting good food.”

  “Eat it in the morning.” She reached for the door handle.

  Maselli slid his foot between the frame and the door.

  “You’re coming with me,” he said. “It’s just dinner.”

  She watched him take her wrist. With time, she crept out of her cave and into the bright evening.

  “Where’s Will?” he asked.

  “Sleeping,” she said. “I have to get him.” She headed back inside, and for a moment he feared she might not return.

  But Zerah came back out, changed into a simple black dress and a jacket, carrying Will in both arms. Her steps were so quiet he half-believed she’d vanished. As he reached for the door, she caught his sleeve.

  “Please, let me go home,” she said. “I forgive you.”

  “I swear, my parents aren’t home,” said Maselli.

  She followed him inside—and stopped short.

  The dinner table glowed with aromatic candles, a small bouquet, and their mother’s ceramic plates. Jeromy stood at the kitchen door with a napkin folded over one arm.

  Zerah pressed a hand to her mouth. “You’re not sane.”

  “You followed me here,” Maselli said. “I can question your sanity, too.”

  Jeromy disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a stroller. Ezra’s idea, no doubt. He just hoped she was hiding in her bedroom and not stuffed into the kitchen cabinet—Aron had already banned her from using it to spy on guests.

  Jeromy parked the stroller by the table. “Your baby, Miss Zerah.”

  Zerah did not hesitate. She eased a whimpering Will into the stroller.

  Keeping her eyes on the front door, she asked, “What else have you prepared for me?”

  “I’m not so sure anymore,” said Maselli.

  “Miss Zerah, would you like something to drink while I prepare your dish?” asked Jeromy. “We have water, and, um, chilled water.”

  “Water would be fine,” said Zerah. “And I would like to pack my dinner for the road.”

  “Absolutely not,” Maselli said. “She’ll feast here.”

  “Maselli,” she hissed. “Your parents—”

  “Are working overtime. Relax.”

  She ate as if she was on the battleground, one eye on the door and the other eye on her baby. Maselli had his own worries. He couldn’t think of anything for them to talk about. Half an hour had passed in silence. “So Zerah…” Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, ran his dumb brain.

  Jeromy came over to Maselli and squeezed a note in his hand. It was in Ezra’s handwriting.

  If you ever got the chance to travel the world, where would you go first?

  What do you enjoy doing that you wish more people were into?

  Do you read?

  Who’s your favourite movie star?

  You’re terrible.

  “I have a question for you. If you ever—”

  A cough rattled the bedroom door. Maselli and Jeromy cupped their mouths and coughed, too, but Zerah was already staring at the source.

  “Is anyone else at home?” she asked, hairs on her arms raised.

  “Yes,” Jeromy and Maselli said at the same time.

  “Our uncle,” they said together again.

  “Uncle?”

  “Uncle Percy,” said Maselli. “He got drunk and doesn’t want Aunt Patrica to see him this way.”

  “I should be going,” Zerah said, rising. After picking up Will, she thanked Jeromy for the dinner.

  Maselli walked alongside Zerah as they headed back to her place. Neither seemed concerned about what neighbours might say when seen together. Their walk slowed to a stroll.

  “Who’s your wife?” asked Zerah.

  “Hanna,” he said with shame.

  “Your stalker. That’s not surprising.”

  “You paid attention to us back in school,” noted Maselli. “She’s not stalking me anymore, though.”

  “Is that what this is?” she asked. “Are you trying to make her jealous? Because if you are, then you have taken it too far.”

  “I know,” he said. “You’re too many leagues above her.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she said, trying her hardest not to smile. “You shouldn’t humiliate Hanna by spending time with someone with my reputation.”

  “I don’t care what anyone says about you.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “I don’t care,” Maselli said. “Your past doesn’t matter.”

  She patronized him with a mother’s glance. “So why did you run off with my money, or do I have to wait for a second dinner for an explanation?”

  What was the truth, anyway? That he’d tried to run off with her money but lost it to Franka.

  “Maselli,” Zerah called again.

  “Maselli!” Jeromy. Thank God. His brother darted down the hall, clutching the balustrade, one hand on his knee, panting hard.

  “Are you okay?” Zerah asked, reaching to steady him.

  “He’s fine,” said Maselli. “Zerah, can we talk later?”

  She didn’t answer right away. She was still watching Jeromy, questions crowding her face but locked behind her lips. At last, she said, “Sure.”

  The brothers raced upstairs, hurrying to their apartment. Maselli didn’t ask what was wrong. He didn’t want to. Ezra is alive. She is breathing. Her heart is beating.

  Ezra knelt on the carpet on all fours. She wasn’t… clean. She tried to rise but collapsed into another fit. The coughing grew harsher each time, until ink spluttered from her mouth. She wheezed when it stopped, only to start again. Ink trickled from her nose, ringed her lips and soon it oozed from her ears and eyes.

  Something slithered in Maselli’s throat. He grabbed his neck, holding it back. He had to be the adult here.

  “You may die,” said a voice from the TV. “But you may also survive and become an ascender. It has happened before, and it can happen again. You are Henrikia’s next Gaverian. Take a shot of ascension for ten thousand kliqs.”

  “Do something,” Jeromy pleaded.

  Maselli switched off the TV.

  Ezra sat in the bathtub. The water turned murky blue. Black veins spread across her pale skin, branching into thick blotches. Only her head and neck remained mostly clear, though faint roots were already reaching upward. The bleeding stopped after a minute in the water. He got her out, dressed her in fresh clothes, and tucked her under a coverlet. She stayed silent through it all, embarrassed by her helplessness. Maselli knelt at her bedside not knowing what to say.

  Near midnight, he longed for their parents to come home. Jeromy mopped the floor where Ezra had bled and now stood at the sink doing dishes. He sobbed, stopping only when he realised Maselli was near.

  “She has three days to live,” Jeromy said. “I didn’t want to say it—I feel horrible for thinking it—but…”

  “But what?”

  “Forget it.”

  “You think Aron and Mari are letting her die on purpose,” Maselli said. “They’re tired of hiding her. We can’t afford the medicine, the neighbours are suspicious. All they have to do is look away.”

  Jeromy bowed his head in shame, and rightly so.

  “She doesn’t have three days,” Maselli said. “She has three thousand.”

  “That’s still short,” Jeromy murmured. “Eight years, maybe.”

  “That doesn’t make your math skills better than mine.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “It means you shut up when I’m wrong.”

  “Your grades were better because Ezra helped you.” Everyone knew Ezra had a way of predicting exam questions. She’d helped Maselli pass his finals, sparing him a life of hard labour in the Midder-Lands—or worse, Axenfurt. Aron and Mari had caught on and banned the practice by the time Jeromy’s turn came.

  Later, after cleaning up, they collapsed in front of the TV.

  “Ezra never helped me cheat,” Maselli lied. “I made that up so you’d feel better. You’ll never be better than me at anything.”

  “Zerah likes me more,” Jeromy shot back. “Did you see the way she thanked me for dinner?”

  “She was being decent,” Maselli said. “She’s not into you.”

  Jeromy didn’t reply. He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV.

  “I know I don’t need to apologise,” Jeromy said after a while, “but I feel guilty for thinking that way about Aron and Mari. They’re probably coming home with medicine right now.”

  “Probably not. Banks close at five. They won’t open till nine. Whatever they’re earning, they won’t get it in cash until tomorrow.”

  The TV blared again. “…take a shot of ascension for ten thousand kliqs.” A man in a green military uniform, with a trimmed moustache, pointed at the screen. “You, citizen, are in need. If you want the Midder-Lands, then fight for the Midder-Lands. Take a shot. Become a Gaverian.”

  Rheina wandered the wilderness for forty-three days, and in weakness of the flesh, Shaphet tested his virtues. Rheina fought temptation and won. In the same way, we too must be tested. And no test was more daunting than this: Maselli’s test of trust in his father, to keep himself from meddling.

  Whenever the earthen workers’ routine broke, it stirred excitement. Today was such a day. A train from the Midder-Lands arrived at the Third Farm, and out stepped soldiers in red uniforms—the Red Corps. Brave Henrikian men who fought day and night for the Midder-Lands.

  The entire Third Farm came to a halt. Workers and officers alike gathered at the tracks, watching the Red Officers shield their glossy rhen eyes from the orange setting sun. They reeked of patriotism and pride. The sight of them made Maselli’s heart beat stronger for his homeland.

  From a tower window, Maselli watched. Even with the height advantage, the haze of smoke and dust made it hard to follow the soldiers beyond a few kilometres. He glimpsed them climbing into vehicles, heading for the I.A.A. There were three, maybe five hundred.

  The I.A.A. was where soldiers took their shots of ascension. Which was worse—that so many would risk a three-percent chance of survival, or that the government would sacrifice hundreds of men for a single ascender?

  Maselli turned his eyes back to smaller, more pressing matters—like his failing marriage. While the crowd still fawned over the troops, he scanned for Hanna. He spotted her near the tracks, standing with Antonica. Thinking no one was watching, Antonica squeezed her backside. She squealed like a brainless weasel and slapped his hand away. Maselli’s luck turned when a tall, dark figure approached. Aron.

  Antonica slipped his hand away from Hanna’s ass when he recognised Aron. He stepped away until the crowd had swallowed him up. Aron glanced in Antonica’s direction for a second, then asked Hanna something. He did not look annoyed, just exhausted. Hanna jerked her head up, pointing to the tower Maselli was hiding in.

  “We’re going to the bank,” said Aron, when the two met at the factory entrance. They walked as fast as the crowd would allow. The awe of seeing the soldiers had dissipated. People were snapping back into motion, which meant lots of heads turned to Folk Bank. It didn’t matter if you were in a hurry to get to the bank. Others would always arrive before you, and you would always wait in line.

  “Fifty each,” Aron said when Maselli asked what they’d made last night. The answer stung both of them. “A few friends lent us some money. We have enough.”

  But something was wrong. The Folk Bank was louder than usual, too many voices overlapping. A crowd pressed against the tinted windows.

  “We won’t say it again,” a voice barked from inside. “Go home.”

  “We won’t!” a worker shouted. “We can’t live like this!”

  “We’re closed,” the voice repeated. “Everything will be back to normal soon.”

  “Tomorrow,” Maselli muttered. “Right?”

  “Anyone who takes a shot of ascension is paid ten thousand kliqs,” Aron told him. “You saw how many soldiers came today. The government must keep its promises. We have to compromise.”

  “You don’t sound angry,” Maselli said. “It’s our money they’re paying them with.”

  “I’m not angry,” said Aron. “We can’t do anything about it.”

  The mob thought otherwise. They rattled the doors, pressed their faces to the glass, screamed at the clerks inside. It wouldn’t be long before officers arrived, and even then, Maselli wasn’t sure how it would end. He had never seen anything like this.

  Ezra lay in bed, facing another day of disappointment. Mari and Aron sat at her side, offering vague promises to make her better. Later, their parents argued in their room, unaware of how loud they were. Through it all, Jeromy knelt by Ezra’s bed, sobbing. She slipped a veined arm from under her coverlet and brushed a tear from his cheek. Exhausted, he fell asleep, leaving Ezra alone with Maselli.

  She smiled at him. He frowned at her. She took his hand. He pulled it back. Ezra’s breath whistled as she forced herself upright. She patted the space beside her legs. He sat, staring at the blank wall.

  “There’s a strange land beyond the Living World, where no one must ever go.”

  “Captain Masel set sail for that strange land. He and his hardy crew, aboard his ship, The Seceree.”

  “I joined Captain Masel and his hardy crew, and we set sail on The Seceree, to the land beyond the sea.”

  “You battled sea monsters and wild creatures, but it never stopped you from sailing on.”

  “Until I realised the monsters weren’t trying to kill us. They were protecting us from crossing into the land beyond the Living World.”

  “Because once you get there, it’s over. No one leaves the Living World and returns. The monsters love you very much, and they’ll keep you safe in the waters.”

  “You’re ugly, Maselli.”

  “I love you too, Ezra.”

  Jacket on, hat pulled low against the cold, Maselli stepped outside. He had barely closed his door when he met Conrad. Relaxed in his wheelchair, Conrad peered over the balustrade at the open compound below.

  “Hanna didn’t come home after work today. I was sitting here, minding my own business, when I saw her pass by. She was with that friend of yours. I saw them enter Block Six—the room you took my money to decorate. They’ve been in there for hours.”

  Block Six. Maselli knocked until his knuckles ached. The locks turned. Hinges creaked. When the door opened, Franka waved Maselli inside.