through with it, you know. I still will.”
“That doesn’t make it better, Jo,” I answer without turning. “In fact, that’s the problem.” The bed twitches as she flinches.
“You heard them, Meda. We’re losing. The world is losing. We have to do something.”
“Did it ever occur to you that, no, we don’t? That we are already doing enough and it’s not our damn responsibility?”
I expect her to snap back, but her answer is solemn. “No.”
“Well you don’t have to bring me down with you.”
“You give me too much credit.” A little of her starch returns. “We both know I couldn’t take you anywhere you weren’t willing to go.” She takes a wavering breath. “Focus on the bright side. What you’re doing now, it could save the world. I know that means something to you, no matter what you say.”
I don’t lift my head out of the pillow and I don’t answer. The silence stretches, taut and twisted like scar tissue. I realize she’s holding her breath. Waiting.
I release my own and turn my head on the pillow. “No. The bright side is that you’re my maid of honor and I’m going to saddle you with an ass-bow the world will never forget.”
She releases her breath in a short, relieved laugh. “It’s not that kind of ceremony.”
“Dream-killer.”
She shifts a little on the bed. “They . . . they want to do it as soon as possible.”
“Before I change my mind, they mean.”
“Maybe.”
“How soon is soon?”
She clears her throat in a way that answers.
“Now?”
She shrugs, sheepish. “The world’s not going to save itself.”
I slam my head a few times into the pillow, muttering curses. Then allow myself to be hauled to my feet. Chi was called on assignment a few hours before dawn, so while he isn’t waiting for us in the common room, the Sarge is. She stands when I enter, but slowly, and I’m reminded suddenly of how old she is. She doesn’t smile, but I think there’s a hint of approval in her light blue eye, though I can’t be certain as I’ve never seen it there before.
I flick a look at Jo and raise my eyebrows. Why is she here ?
Jo gives a tiny shrug.
“Melange,” the Sarge says in needless acknowledgment. With a curt motion she waves me to precede her through the door and falls into step next to me, slowing her clipped military stride to match my slouchy, reluctant one. “You’re about to get married.” She clears her throat uncomfortably. “And as you no longer have a mother, I feel it’s my duty to explain what to expect.”
What to expect? She can’t mean…
She clears her throat again. “Now, it’s been quite some time since I’ve done it.” She scratches the back of her head. “Years and years, really, but—’
My look of absolute, utter horror cuts her off.
She sees my expression and her face takes on an equally horrified one. Under different circumstances I would laugh to see the severe, emotionless Sarge turn such a brilliant shade of red, but the threat of a sex talk from the Sarge is too terrifying to allow levity.
Fortunately she holds up her hand. “No. No. Oh, God, no, this isn’t that talk.”
I’m weak with relief.
“The spell.” She pulls herself under control, her military mask falling back into place. “I want to walk you through what to expect with the spell .” Something occurs to her and she looks at me sideways, affronted. “Really, Melange, years ?”
Before I can decide whether I want to faint, vomit, or cry, she launches into an explanation of what is going to happen as we trot down the stairs, which I only half pay attention to. I imagine I listen as well as any death row inmate on the way to execution.
There’s a carefully non-denominational church on the premises, but the wedding isn’t going to be held there. Instead they’ve selected a windowless interior classroom. Probably because they’re unconvinced the bride and groom won’t burst into flames upon crossing the church’s
“That doesn’t make it better, Jo,” I answer without turning. “In fact, that’s the problem.” The bed twitches as she flinches.
“You heard them, Meda. We’re losing. The world is losing. We have to do something.”
“Did it ever occur to you that, no, we don’t? That we are already doing enough and it’s not our damn responsibility?”
I expect her to snap back, but her answer is solemn. “No.”
“Well you don’t have to bring me down with you.”
“You give me too much credit.” A little of her starch returns. “We both know I couldn’t take you anywhere you weren’t willing to go.” She takes a wavering breath. “Focus on the bright side. What you’re doing now, it could save the world. I know that means something to you, no matter what you say.”
I don’t lift my head out of the pillow and I don’t answer. The silence stretches, taut and twisted like scar tissue. I realize she’s holding her breath. Waiting.
I release my own and turn my head on the pillow. “No. The bright side is that you’re my maid of honor and I’m going to saddle you with an ass-bow the world will never forget.”
She releases her breath in a short, relieved laugh. “It’s not that kind of ceremony.”
“Dream-killer.”
She shifts a little on the bed. “They . . . they want to do it as soon as possible.”
“Before I change my mind, they mean.”
“Maybe.”
“How soon is soon?”
She clears her throat in a way that answers.
“Now?”
She shrugs, sheepish. “The world’s not going to save itself.”
I slam my head a few times into the pillow, muttering curses. Then allow myself to be hauled to my feet. Chi was called on assignment a few hours before dawn, so while he isn’t waiting for us in the common room, the Sarge is. She stands when I enter, but slowly, and I’m reminded suddenly of how old she is. She doesn’t smile, but I think there’s a hint of approval in her light blue eye, though I can’t be certain as I’ve never seen it there before.
I flick a look at Jo and raise my eyebrows. Why is she here ?
Jo gives a tiny shrug.
“Melange,” the Sarge says in needless acknowledgment. With a curt motion she waves me to precede her through the door and falls into step next to me, slowing her clipped military stride to match my slouchy, reluctant one. “You’re about to get married.” She clears her throat uncomfortably. “And as you no longer have a mother, I feel it’s my duty to explain what to expect.”
What to expect? She can’t mean…
She clears her throat again. “Now, it’s been quite some time since I’ve done it.” She scratches the back of her head. “Years and years, really, but—’
My look of absolute, utter horror cuts her off.
She sees my expression and her face takes on an equally horrified one. Under different circumstances I would laugh to see the severe, emotionless Sarge turn such a brilliant shade of red, but the threat of a sex talk from the Sarge is too terrifying to allow levity.
Fortunately she holds up her hand. “No. No. Oh, God, no, this isn’t that talk.”
I’m weak with relief.
“The spell.” She pulls herself under control, her military mask falling back into place. “I want to walk you through what to expect with the spell .” Something occurs to her and she looks at me sideways, affronted. “Really, Melange, years ?”
Before I can decide whether I want to faint, vomit, or cry, she launches into an explanation of what is going to happen as we trot down the stairs, which I only half pay attention to. I imagine I listen as well as any death row inmate on the way to execution.
There’s a carefully non-denominational church on the premises, but the wedding isn’t going to be held there. Instead they’ve selected a windowless interior classroom. Probably because they’re unconvinced the bride and groom won’t burst into flames upon crossing the church’s
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