“. . . Snow?” Jo squeaked, finally. If her legs had gone soft before, the display had pulverized them. She wobbled against the wall, feeling tired, drained, as though she had somehow taken actual part in the ritual she’d just witnessed.

  He did not move.

  “Snow?” Jo tried again, making her way to him. “Snow, are you—”

  “Don’t,” he rasped, stopping her in her tracks. Jo noticed that he only seemed to gain the strength to speak, or move, the second she was about to cross the threshold of the circle. “Don’t come near me.”

  “What? Don’t be silly, are you all right?”

  “Go!” He shouted, without looking at her. His left hand thrust out from where it had been curled against his chest. Jo followed the point of his finger to where the Door back to the Society had magically reappeared. “I shouldn’t have. I let you get too close. I don’t know why I thought —”

  “You invited me!” She was not about to let him push her away. “Let me help you back.”

  “Jo, I—” Snow’s face shot up. His hair hung limply, slicked with sweat to his face, clinging in tendrils. His lips, usually red, were void of color, ghostly. His eyes . . . his eyes were the most alarming part of him. Their steely color had all but vanished, blanching into the white that was being infringed upon by gnarly, bloodshot veins.

  He had said he died there, and now, as she looked at the corpse of a man, Jo believed it.

  “You fear me,” he whispered.

  “There is no reality in which I’d fear you,” Jo replied with more confidence than she felt.

  Jo crossed over to him. Snow leaned away, swaying slightly, like a panicked animal. There was hurt and fear and all the weariness of seeing and consuming countless worlds.

  “Let me help you back,” she repeated, kneeling next to him.

  “Why do you not run?” He stared through her with those monstrous eyes.

  “Are you my enemy?”

  “Not in any lifetime.” It sounded like a vow and echoed her own words so strangely.

  “Then I have nothing to run from.” Jo took his hand, sliding it toward her. The moment his palm left the ground, Snow tilted; Jo had to press her side into his, quickly slinging the appendage over her shoulders for stability.

  Her thighs screamed in protest as she hoisted them upright. Snow’s head hung heavily, barely coming up long enough to pin the code back into the Door. They were ushered back through, him nearly stumbling again as the sound of pressurization echoed through the briefing room.

  “We’re almost there,” she encouraged.

  “We are not,” he wheezed.

  “Do you even know how to not be a pain?” Jo laughed at her own forced levity. From the corners of her eyes, she could’ve sworn she saw a smile playing on his lips.

  Be it fate or luck, they ran into no one else on the way back through the mansion. Both recreation rooms were void of watches. Her back ached and her legs wobbled, but Jo wasn’t going to let the man down. He didn’t really deserve her loyalty, a logical part of her mind insisted. But Jo couldn’t forget what she’d seen.

  “Here’s far enough.” Snow raised his head, outstretching a shaking hand to support himself against the wall. He glanced toward his door at the end of the hall, his eyes drifting left to the mysterious black door at its side.

  “It’s right—”

  “Here’s far enough,” he repeated, looking down at her warily.

  Jo looked back to the last two doorways at the end of the hall. She put her hands on her hips, opened her mouth, and then Snow stole the last words.

  “Leave me here, for both of our sakes.”

  Jo opened her mouth to fire back. There was a strong urge to put the man in his place. But no retort came.

  Instead, Jo’s feet pulled her away. She felt his eyes on her as she traversed the length of the hall. She didn’t look back once the whole walk to her room. It wasn’t even until she was behind her own closed door that a deep sense of overwhelming dread collapsed on her, dropping her to her knees.

  Black Door

  In the month that passed after Snow’s unexpected reveal of his magic, surprisingly little changed.

  Perhaps it was because she seemed to be acting like nothing happened. Jo had neither seen nor spoken a single word to Snow. She knew where to find him, in theory. But every day came and went, and she was no closer to finding the motivation (courage) to seek him out. It was as if speaking of that night alone would reveal a truth she wasn’t yet ready to handle.

  Despite the new information, the new conflicting emotions she felt towards their “king,” Jo felt just as welcome and respected by her team as ever and immersed herself in that. She drank coffee with Nico in the mornings and jokingly flirted with Wayne to distract him from kicking her ass in billiards. She watched Samson tinker and accompanied Takako to target practice, and sometimes, on really quiet days, she’d read in comfortable silence with Eslar, trying not so subtly to catch glimpses of the odd runic script that filled his manuscripts.

  Samson’s cooking prowess was unmatched and a constant source of delight. It didn’t matter that she didn’t need to eat. With him around, Jo certainly wanted to.

  The first breakfast he’d made for her had been nothing short of five-star brilliance. Bacon and eggs, the world’s fluffiest pancakes, waffles, and French toast, pastries of nearly every variety, even some homemade cereal with grains and fruits.

  It had been grander than any breakfast Jo had ever eaten, and she’d made it a point to tell him so. Samson had blinked at her in surprise before smiling a small, embarrassed smile and offering his own thanks.

  It only had gotten better from there.

  Today was an equally lavish spread. Not only had Samson laid out a slew of meats and cheeses to choose from, various vegetables and chips, but he’d also baked an obscene number of different breads. Ciabatta, Rye, Sourdough, and some Jo had never even heard of—maneesh, lavash, piadine.

  Once she’d filled her plate with all the delicious makings of the perfect Philly Cheese Steak, Jo scanned the available seats at the kitchen table. Luckily, there was an open spot next to the great chef in question, and Jo took it hastily, bouncing a little in her seat as she settled by his side.

  Though Samson still seemed a bit uncomfortable by her now countless attempts at conversation, he’d eased quite a bit over the last few weeks, no longer shying away from her attention. Well, not entirely anyway.

  Jo took a bite, savoring and swallowing, before jumping in this time.

  “Once again, you blow me away, Sam,” she said, taking another bite and reveling in how the ingredients blended together in a way that was almost supernaturally perfect. Which was only a little ironic, considering.

  “I didn’t do much.” Samson shrugged, though a pink tint had begun to creep up from his neck, his lips quirking up in a poorly contained half-smile.

  “Well, then,” Jo said through a mouthful before swallowing and trying again, offering up an apologetic smile. “I look forward to seeing what you come up with when you really give it your all.” To Jo’s immense satisfaction, Samson actually snorted at that, a barely audible huff of laughter that had her heart soaring. Mission accomplished.

  As Jo ate, she glanced around the table. She listened as Nico debated the deliciousness of the Italian sub over the Rueben with Wayne. She watched as Eslar picked at his hoagie with one hand while keeping a book propped open on his knee with the other. Even Takako had picked up a conversation with Samson—though the man’s usual closed-off demeanor made it hard to tell what it was about. Pan and Snow were nowhere to be found, but that was normal, even for team meals.

  She was supposed to go shooting with Takako later today, and Nico had offered to teach her about the famous artists of his time (which, Jo suspected, would take a long time given her general apathy toward history). While she hadn’t had much one-on-one interaction with Eslar since the wish from the hospital in Canada, she could still feel a silent camaraderie there; when no one else had stood up for, believed in her, Eslar had. And that really did something for morale.

  Wayne and she still had their rapport following the wish. Occasional flirtations that’d escalate into some overt implications, but never anything more.

  In fact, right here, surrounded by the rest of her team, Philly Cheese Steak dripping oil onto her plate, it felt like everything was falling together naturally, in a way she would have never expected weeks ago. In many ways, it felt like something clicking into place, like acceptance, and a place she’d been meant to be all along.

  Maybe, just maybe, things would be all right here.

  Now if only she could manage to wrap her head around the still-pressing enigma that was Snow.

  Jo shook her head, distracting herself not for the first time by forcing her mind to shift to something else.

  “Hey, Sam?” Jo said suddenly, putting down her sandwich and glancing to her right. Samson glanced back, eyes less nervous and more curious, which Jo had learned to accept for the triumph it was.

  She probably should have thanked him sooner, she realized. While it had been Wayne’s idea, and while Eslar had played messenger, it had been Samson who had made them for her after all. He deserved just as much thanks as the rest of them.

  “Thank you for making me the mug. And the sopapillas,” she said, making sure Samson could see every ounce of genuine appreciation in her eyes. “I really needed them. And they were perfect.”

  Samson’s face fell from surprised to embarrassed to proud much more quickly than usual, but this time, instead of merely mumbling a quiet apology into his lap, he forced himself to look back up at her.

  His smile was warm and gentle, in many ways the perfect smile for a man like him.

  “We wanted you to know it wasn’t gone,” Samson said, voice soft but more pronounced than Jo remembered ever hearing it.

  “That what wasn’t gone?” Jo asked, subconsciously keeping her voice level with his. It felt like keeping a secret.

  This time, Samson looked back at his lap, shrugging a bit, but his smile stayed firmly in place. “A little taste of home.”

  For a long moment, Jo didn’t know what to say. She watched, stunned, as Samson’s blush faded and he even began eating again, finishing off his own sandwich before rising to take his plate to the sink. Before he could get too far away, Jo called back to him.

  When he looked over his shoulder at her, she could have sworn she saw a different man, one filled with more complexities than she’d given him credit for.

  “Thank you, Samson,” she repeated, heart swelling when he smiled and nodded in response.

  The rest of her meal would go unfinished, apparently.

  For the first time in a month, Snow announced his presence in the kitchen with another quiet, looming arrival. Only this time, when he looked at the crowd at large, his gaze settled on Jo for a brief but warily knowing length of time. His eyes—now back to normal—still held secrets, and Jo found her heart stumbling over itself at the thought that she might be the only one privy to just how many. A fragile, collapsing bridge between them had been crossed, whether or not either of them liked it, and there was no going back.

  “Everyone is to meet me in the briefing room in five,” he said, his voice laced with the stoicism of protocol. But his eyes never left Jo’s, and when he made to leave, it wasn’t without a quick nod in her direction. Jo nodded back, even if he’d already turned away.

  Another wish. Business as usual. Like nothing had happened between them. Jo couldn’t help but frown.

  “Everybody ready?” Eslar closed his book, standing.

  Nico trailed behind, crossing his arms over his chest and giving a nod of mild agreement.

  “We’re not far off of the wave from our last wish. Perhaps this one will go smoothly.” As Eslar said it, he spared a glance in Jo’s direction, offering her a smirk. Jo smiled right back.

  “Mulberry fields,” Takako mumbled as she passed.

  Jo paused, unsure what mulberries had anything to do with anything, but suddenly, Wayne was next to her, whispering in her ear.

  “I think it means knock on wood,” he said, laughing when she swatted at him to back up. “So, what say you to partnering up for this one, eh, dollface?” Wayne asked once the both of them were trailing behind the pack. “A gambler and a hacker—already know we make a good team.”

  Jo scoffed, but even she could hear the lack of venom in it. “We don’t even know what the wish is.”

  Wayne leaned in close again, lips brushing her cheek. “It doesn’t necessarily have to be for the wish.”

  The comment was obviously suggestive, but despite the bubble of heat that settled low in her stomach on instinct at the sound, Jo merely laughed it off.

  “Give it up, old man,” Jo teased.

  “With a dame like you around? Never.” Wayne straightened up, grin stretched wide.

  “Lucky me.” She mirrored his expression.

  As they passed the Four-Way, Jo noticed something out of the corner of her eye, a silver-haired figure walking, not towards the briefing room, but to his own. Just like that, the casual (and harmless) flirtations with Wayne died. Before she could put much thought towards potential consequences, Jo slowed her pace.

  “Dollface?” Wayne called out from a few feet ahead of her, once he noticed she was trailing behind. She almost startled, unaware of where her feet had been starting to carry her. Still, she let them lead the way.

  “I’ll be right there, okay?” Jo called out, hurrying off down the hall. “I just gotta grab something from my room. Save me a seat?”

  “Everything’s Jake, doll,” Wayne smirked before turning away, flipping his nickel with one hand as he waved over his shoulder at her with the other. “That seat belongs to you, now.”

  Jo’s chest clenched at the implication. Her seat, her life, a now permanent fixture in the Society. Barely a month ago, that thought would have overwhelmed and suffocated her. But now? Now, she was almost looking forward to what her new life might bring.

  She waited until Wayne was far ahead before sprinting up the staircase opposite her own.

  Snow’s door was in the process of closing and her chest was heaving by the time she made it down the hall, to the unmarked one all the way at the end. The stark white of the wood seemed to glow against the backdrop of the surrounding walls’ warmer tones. It looked almost too pristine to be real.

  She should knock.

  Actually, no. She probably shouldn’t.

  The debate rose and fell within her like an indecisive tide. She wanted to ask him, for the first time since a month ago, exactly what was going on with him, with his magic. She wanted to ask if they were still on good terms, if he truly regretted bringing her there.

  She wanted to see if he was okay.

  That last realization rushed through her with startling fierceness. The last major interaction she’d had with the man was watching him contorted in pain, barely able to stand.

  “Here’s far enough,” he’d said. But what did that mean? Why did he not want her to go any further?

  All those coalescing questions were enough to have Jo lifting her knuckles to white paint and thick wood, rapping twice against Snow’s door.

  The lack of response stretched long enough that Jo began to assume Snow wouldn’t answer. In fact, after a while, she started to wonder if she’d imagined him escaping down the hall. Maybe he was already in the briefing room, waiting for her. Maybe she’d reacted on an impulse that was completely unwarranted.

  Slowly, Jo backed away from the door, shoving her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. This was a mistake. Even if he was in there, it was obvious he didn’t want to talk to anyone, let alone her. He was likely just embarrassed. Men and their stupid pride, right?

  Jo wished she could shrug off the notion that easily.

  But before she could completely turn around, drag her feet back towards the briefing room, Snow’s door cracked open. Jo froze in place. He stared at her with an unreadable expression, posture stiff and silver hair falling just so over his eye. He had an eyebrow raised, gaze searching, waiting. Even painfully composed, aura bordering on irritated, he was still beautiful.

  After what felt like an awkward span of silence, Jo cleared her throat, looking away. “Hey,” she said, instantly hating herself. The breath of sound she heard escape him could have been amusement or annoyance; she chose to believe it was the former.

  “You’re supposed to be in the briefing room,” Snow eventually said. Jo just shrugged.

  “As should you.” And then, because she couldn’t seem to leave well enough alone when it came to the mysterious man, she added, “Are you all right?”

  “As ever.”

  Jo picked at the thread in the pocket of her hoodie. It wasn’t an answer. But she suspected it was the best she was going to get.

  “Do you regret it?” Jo fired off next. It had been a month, sure, but she knew he’d have no problem determining what she meant.

  It was expected, if not a bit disheartening, when Snow finally answered, “Yes.”

  “Then why show me at all?” Jo demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. “And ghosting me after that? I thought you said everything was all right between us.”

  Jo would probably never tire of Snow’s look of baffled shock, the way his eyes widened with more emotion than she was used to seeing on his usually stoic face. But even if it felt like a minor triumph, that didn’t diminish the tension between them, the frustration slowly consuming Jo’s mood. He was certainly driving her mad, because some small part of her loved it.

  Eventually, with a tight sigh and a glance away from Jo’s face, Snow replied, “I have no idea what this ‘ghosting’ might be, as I am not a ghost. But I felt . . . I was hopeful it might change things for you. Show you the true nature of this place—the true nature of your magic. Or, at the very least, make up for any misgivings of mine.”

  That was actually kind of sweet, in its own way. A sweetness reduced substantially by his reactions and following radio silence, but still. In the short time since joining the Society, she’d learned not to expect too much from the man. Plus, if Jo was honest, she could’ve sought him out also. It went both ways.

 

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