She was small, the top of her head reaching just above his shoulder. Her hair was brown, with slight curving, just touching her shoulders. Her face, framed by it, was rounded, except for a slightly pointed chin. Her eyes were large and round and brown. She wore a dress, perhaps in deference to his problem with the blue jeans, and she never sat in that particular position when wearing it. But now she was standing, nicely proportioned, small of chin, breast, waist, and hip but well balanced and extremely feminine.
But appearance was only one aspect of a person. Colene had shown great patience, teaching him her language, and good judgment in the food and clothing she had brought for him, and had been responsible about things like emptying the privy pot. She had wanted him kept out of sight, and though it made him a virtual prisoner here, he felt she was correct in her judgment about this. She had made it as comfortable for him as was feasible. Her personality was nice; she laughed often, and was direct in her dealings with him. She was generous, going to the trouble and discomfort of sharing her warmth with him at night despite the risk of discovery.
Yet still he could not answer, for there was more than all of this in the question. Feelings were bidirectional things, and if hers were not there, his could not be either. There was one more thing he had to know.
“May I handle you?” he inquired.
“You want to have sex with me?” Now she was guarded.
“I must give that a qualified answer. I do find you desirable, but that is not my intent at the moment.”
“You may handle me,” she said, understanding that this was not a casual thing. He had to do this in order to determine the answer to her question. How he felt about her depended in considerable part how she felt about him.
He put his arms around her back, drawing her in close. Her body yielded to him, and she lifted her face. He knew that magic did not work here, but perhaps just a bit of his peculiar power could be invoked. His power to relate to the emotions of others: to receive and return their joy. Perhaps, with the closest and most evocative contact, he could know.
He kissed her: just a touching of his lips to hers.
CHAPTER 3—KEY
SHE knew it had not been long externally, but internally it was as if she had stepped across realities, or Modes as Darius put it. Then she was sobbing against his shoulder, and it wasn’t disappointment but relief: now she knew how he really felt about her—and he knew how she felt about him. She had not really believed in electricity between people, or in instant knowing. Not until now.
Soon enough she pulled herself together. She had learned to make quick recoveries. She drew him down, and they sat side by side, leaning against the back wall of the shed, her right fingers interlaced with his left fingers.
“So it’s love,” she said matter-of-factly. She had to tackle it this way, as if it were something she had observed from afar, that didn’t concern her, because that was the only way she could handle it at the moment. “We have to talk.”
“We have talked,” he said.
“Not this way. You can’t marry me here, because I’m underage and you’ll die soon anyway. But you can—”
“No. Your love suffices.”
She laughed. She did that often with him, and now she knew why. “I wouldn’t tell, Darius. I’m good at keeping secrets, honest. You’ve been a real gentleman, and I like that a lot. But that’s not it. You can tell me exactly how to get to your reality.”
“But even if I could return, and take you there, there would be no certainty—”
“I know. If we went there, and you couldn’t marry me, I’d be your servant. The forms don’t matter. Now I know how you feel. I want to go with you, Darius. Just tell me how.”
He seemed surprised. He thought this kind of discussion was useless. He might be right, but she had a notion. “I must have the key. That, in my hand, becomes the signal. Then Pwer will revert me to my reality, together with what I hold.”
“So if you are holding me, I’m there too.”
“Yes.”
“How do you activate the key? Is there a button on it?”
“No. My mind does it. I touch it to my forehead and make my desire.”
“You make a wish!” she exclaimed. “That makes sense!”
“Yes. No one else can activate it. It is attuned to me. It amplifies my wish to return, and that signal crosses the realities, and the Chip responds. I need it, and it needs me. Separate, we both are useless.”
She squeezed his fingers reassuringly. “So if you could recover that key—”
“I could return. But it’s lost.”
“But if I found it for you—”
His fingers stiffened against hers. “If you could do that—”
“I can’t promise, Darius, but I’ll try.”
“You give me hope! If I had that key, I would take you with me.”
“That’s the idea, you know.”
His face turned to her. “But you don’t believe.”
“I believe you love.”
“That is enough, I think.” They leaned together and kissed. Again she felt the magic tingle of passion, intimacy, and commitment. All that she lacked in her own poor life she had found in Darius. She knew.
She spent the afternoon stocking supplies. She had some money of her own, and she used it to buy groceries at the only store within walking distance that was open on Sunday. She piled them into the shed. “These are canned goods,” she explained. “You open them with this can opener. They may not taste good cold, but they’ll feed you.”
“But why are you doing this?” he asked.
She faced him seriously. “This is Sunday. Tomorrow I go back to school. I think I know how to find your key. But getting it may be tricky. If I don’t come back, I don’t want you to starve. Stay here as long as you can, and when you can’t, well, you’ll just have to go out. But I’ll try to get back here okay. This is just in case.”
“Just in case what?” he demanded, alarmed.
She shook her head. “Darius, it’s been beautiful here with you. You have made me believe in human decency again. But out there’s the real world. It’s not all that nice. Please don’t ask me to tell you any more.”
“If I ask, you will tell?”
“Yes. But please don’t.”
“Then I ask you only to be careful.”
“Thank you.” She kissed him. She liked doing that. Not only did it make her feel good, it made her feel good about it. He was a good man, and he welcomed her kisses, and he asked no more than that. It was love fulfilled. For now. Until she had the chance to prove her love, in a way he might not understand if he knew.
MONDAY, school day, Colene headed out to the bus with her books. Her attendance the past two weeks had been spotty; she had pleaded illness, then sneaked out to be with Darius. But she had done her homework, because she didn’t want to bring any unnecessary suspicion on herself. She had done it with Darius, teaching him words and explaining things as she went along, and it had actually been pleasant.
The thing about Darius was this: he might be crazy, or he might be lying, making up a story about a magic land so he wouldn’t have to say where he really was from. But she liked his story, and the meticulous detail of it, and she liked him, with his archaic ways and respect for her body. It was fun having a man to herself. Since she had found him, she had not sliced her wrists. Her skin was healing over; she could probably take off her wrist wraps now, and the scars would not be fresh enough to attract attention.
In fact, all the time she had known him, she had been very like a normal girl. She had laughed, meaning it, liking his confusions, liking his company, liking him. When at last he had kissed her, she had become a normal woman. A woman in love.