“I’m fine,” she assured him. “Just… wait one second, okay? Just one second,” she repeated, nudging him away and turning back to Atlas before realizing, belatedly, that Ezra hadn’t given any indication he’d noticed anyone else standing there.
“Well, Nicolás?” Atlas was asking Nico, looking expectant.
“Oh, it’s Nico, please.” Nico slipped Atlas’ card into his pocket, giving Libby a look of pompous satisfaction as he offered his right hand to be shaken. “When should I expect to meet with you, Mr. Blakely?”
Oh no.
Oh no.
“You’re welcome to call me Atlas, Nico. You may use the card for transport this afternoon,” Atlas replied, turning to Libby. “And as for you, Miss Rhodes, I must say I’m disappointed,” he said, as her mind raced in opposition, “but in any case, it’s been a pleas-”
“I’ll be there,” Libby blurted hastily, and to her fury, Nico’s mouth twitched with expectation, obviously both entertained and unsurprised by her decision. “It’s just an offer, right?” she prompted, approximately half to Nico, half to Atlas, and a sliver of whatever remained to herself. “I can choose to accept or reject it after you explain what it is, can’t I?”
“Certainly,” Atlas confirmed, inclining his head. “I’ll see you both this evening, then.”
“Just one thing,” Libby said, pausing him after a quick glance at Ezra, who was observing them from a distance through narrowed eyes. “My boyfriend can’t see you, can he?” To Atlas’ head shake in confirmation, she asked hesitantly, “Then what does he think we’re doing right now, exactly?”
“Oh, I believe he’s filling in the blanks with something his mind considers reasonable,” Atlas said, and Libby felt herself pale a little, not overly enthralled about what that might be. “Until this afternoon, then,” Atlas added, before disappearing from sight, leaving Nico to shake with silent laughter in his wake.
“What are you snickering at?” Libby hissed, glaring at him, and after a moment to compose himself Nico managed a shrug, winking over her shoulder at Ezra.
“Guess you’ll find out. See you later, Rhodes,” he said, and departed with an ostentatious bow, leaving Libby to wonder if she didn’t, in fact, smell smoke.
REINA
Four Hours Ago
THE DAY REINA MORI WAS BORN there had been a fire blazing nearby. For an urban environment, particularly one so unaccustomed to flame, there was a heightened sense of mortality that day. Fire was so primitive, so archaic a problem; for Tokyo, an epicenter of advancements in both magical and mortal technologies, to suffer something as backwards as the unsophistication of boundless flame was troublingly biblical. Sometimes, when Reina slept, the smell of it crept into her nose and she woke up coughing, retching a little over the side of her bed until the memory of smoke had cleared from her lungs.
The doctors knew she possessed power of the highest medeian caliber right away, exceeding even the trinkets of normal magic, which were rare enough on their own. There wasn’t a lot of natural life to speak of in the high-rise of the hospital, but what did exist—the occasional decorative plants sitting idly in the corners, handfuls of cut-flowers in vases meant for sympathy—had crept towards her infant form like nervous little children, anxious and yearning and fearful of dying.
Reina’s grandmother called her birth a miracle, saying that when Reina took her first breath, the rest of the world sighed back in relief, clinging to the bounty of life she gave them. Reina, on the other hand, considered her first breath to be the beginning of a lifetime’s set of chores.
The truth was that being labeled a naturalist shouldn’t have been such a drain on her as it was. There were other medeian naturalists, many who were born in rural areas of the country, who typically opted to enlist with large agricultural companies; there, they could be paid handsomely for their services in increasing rice production or purifying water. That Reina was considered to be one of them, or that she would be called a naturalist at all, was something of a misnomer. Other medeians asked things of nature, and if they beckoned sweetly or worthily or powerfully enough, nature gave. In Reina’s case, nature was like an irritating sibling, or possibly an incurable addict who happened to be a relative, always popping up to make unreasonable demands.
There was no reason to go to school in Osaka, really, except to get out of Tokyo. Tokyo’s magical university was plenty good, if not perhaps a bit better, but Reina had never been overly thrilled by the prospect of living in the same place into perpetuity. She had searched and searched for experiences like hers—something that was less look what a savior you are and more look what a burden it is to care for so many things—and had found it in mythology, mostly. There, witches, or gods who were perceived to be witches, bore experiences Reina found intensely relatable and, in some cases, desirable: Exile to islands. Six months in the Underworld. The compulsive turning of one’s enemies to something which couldn’t speak. Her teachers encouraged her to practice her naturalism, to take botany and herbology and focus her studies on the minutiae of plants, but Reina wanted the classics. She wanted literature, and more importantly, the freedom it brought to think of something which did not gaze at her with the blank neediness of chlorophyll. When Tokyo pressed a scholarship into her hands, imploring her to study with their leading naturalists, she took up Osaka’s freer curriculum instead.