Week 17

October 27

Nothing.

October 28

I stepped out of the elevator, into a warm, yellow room with lacy white curtains over a large window. Examination of the window showed a trompe l’oeil of a blue sky over a green ocean complete with a sandy beach and over-wheeling seagulls. A false breeze was provided by vents at the side of the window frame, scented with salt and fish. The bed was huge and fluffy with a white bedspread patterned cobalt blue weeping willows and bridges over a placid pond. A painted white ladder with three steps led up to the tall bed, and there was a white bedside table complete with a lamp and small, rectangular package. I thought it was a small box until I picked it up. It was a book, a real one made out of paper that flipped open at the side. I’d seen pictures of real books, in my recycling class. In the olden days, before computers, people used to chop down trees and cut and slice them and put words on them. The idea had always seemed barbaric to me, especially since I didn’t particularly enjoy reading, but I’d never touched a real book before.

“The Midnight Club” by Christopher Pike. The cover showed five people, a bit older than me, gathered around a crystal ball. The faces were up lit so that the shadows played eerily upon their faces. I turned the book over, and read the description.

Rotterdam Home, a hospice where teenagers with terminal illnesses went to die, was home to the Midnight Club--a group of five young men and women who met at midnight and told stories of intrigue and horror. One night they made a pact that the first of them to die would make every effort to contact the others . . . from beyond the grave.

Yikes. The story seemed a bit inappropriate, considering the location. “Did you put this here?” I asked the computer.

“It was left here by a previous tenant,” the computer answered.

“What happened to everyone who was here when the rift happened?” I asked. “Did they all die?” I looked around, imagining a hospital full of dead, rotting corpses – not that I’d seen any so far.

“Most people left the way you came in. There were twenty losses of life, but 8 of those were terminal cases, and many of those patients died after long term care, after the rift. Twelve people who were actually in the hospital, were killed by the landslide that came in through the entrance or by flying implements.”

“What happened to the people who died?”

“When possible, we conferred with relatives. Some were organ donors and were harvested. The rest were cremated.”

The hospital in my mind emptied of screaming and dead bodies. I breathed a bit better, coming back to the bright yellow room. A stuffed white rabbit lay on the pillow on the bed. I picked it up and climbed up the steps to the bed. “What happens if someone can’t climb the steps,” I asked, lying down, the rabbit tucked safely into the crook of my arm.

“The height is purely for aesthetics,” the computer replied. “It can be lowered if necessary. I have examined your bump. The skin did not break and the bump is small, but I have sent a healing salve into your skin.

I sat up. “How did you do that?” I asked. I reached up and felt the bump on the back of my head. I felt no pain, and only then realized that the thundercloud that had been lying over my brain, fogging my vision, had abated. The back of my head was dry and warm. My fingertips tingles a bit when I touched it, but nothing came away.

“You are familiar with the aesthetics of putting the scanner in the pillow, but the technology for this hospital is more advanced than the technology in your hospitals.”

“How is that possible,” I asked. “The technology in this hospital is four thousand years old. We should have surpassed you by now.”

If a disembodied voice could have smiled into that silence, this one would have. “We are not prepared to reveal that to you at this juncture.”

I was twelve, I heard that a lot. I let it go. Over the years, I visited the hospital often. Eventually I found use for the library. That odd, tree-paged book that I found next to the bed, I took with me, to prove that my experience there had been real. I loved the story, and went back for more. That experience jump-started my love for literature, and when I went to college, the place where I learned the most accurate history was in the university under that igloo. The other rooms in the hospital were just as pretty, but I stayed in the yellow room, whenever I visited overnight. I almost felt like it was mine, and the other rooms belonged to other people. I wanted to show the igloo to other people, but the computer requested that I not.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Winter is not ready for this technology yet,” the computer said.

“But you opened in the 30th century – how were they ready, and we’re not?”

“We were able to conceal much of the strength of our technology at the time, but we would not be able to do that now.”

I thought that there was more to it, but I let it go. I liked having the coolest hideout in the world. The cafeteria made fantastic food – real food, not tablets. The library had real books as well as ones on computer. Often, when I would see people sick with something that could not be cured with modern medicine, I would feel guilty, keeping LUSH to myself, but I was young, and LUSH had all the answers. If LUSH wanted its power to remain secret, I would respect that. However, in those specific cases, LUSH would often give me a salve or a pill to deliver to that specific recipient. This eased my guilt, and I pushed the though of the millions of people that I could be helping, aside.

I never told another soul about the place until I took Zahina there. At first, I told myself that I just wanted to show her the igloo. But I hadn’t seen LUSH in half a year, and I missed my old home. Besides, the igloo is surrounded by this incredible, dying forest, this time of year. When I first visited, it was winter, but now it is autumn, and the trees are crisp with red and gold leaves that reach into an achingly blue sky. In autumn, actually, the rest of the year, the igloo is a small, stone cave.

Zahina ran for it, as soon as she saw it. “Wait,” I called out. Whenever I’m away for a long enough time, I worry that a bear will have made a den of it, or something. “Let me check it out first,” I said. Zahina stepped back reluctantly. I peeked inside, but the cave was empty, even of a litter of leaves. I entered, reverently, as though I stepped onto hallowed ground. “Hi LUSH,” I whispered. “I brought a friend but I won’t take her inside if you don’t want me to.” I thought I heard a hum of approval, but it may have just been Zahina’s impatient feet scrambling against the fallen leaves.

October 29

I had another session with the queen today. She approves of my innovations regarding the real food movement. Winterians are real-food eaters, at least during public ceremonies, although the “edibles” aren’t quite…I’ll just say that nobody leaves hungry, and not because they’re full. But eating is active, it’s visceral, it reminds you of the animals parts you’re partaking of. She also approves of Stan and Todd, in general, not in particular. Hiring my own chefs shows both cunning and high maintenance. You can’t ignore someone who demands special treatment. She wants me to do more of that. She wants me to throw a ball at least once a month.

“Are you nuts,” I said. “Why would I do that? First of all, I hate getting all dressed up just to stand around and talk to everyone about nothing -- and second of all, parties are a frivolous waste of time -- “ I paused as her glare started to bore through my forehead. “What?”

“You’re missing the point, again,” she said. “Politics take place at parties. You may be talking about nothing, but it’s how you say what you say, who you say it to, and who you don’t -- that makes the party. Also, you’re missing another golden opportunity to find your allies, and keep an eye on your enemies. You’re doing what you did during the opening ceremony; you’re being bored, when you should be engaged. You need to be watching, you need to be listening, you need to be creating an atmosphere that inflates people’s awe of you, without frightening them more than they already are. Invite peasants to your parties.”

“Peasants?”

She waved a hand. “I know, it’s an old fashioned word. Invite commoners, but important ones -- farmers, architects, novelists -- the most highly successful ones, of course. They’ll make your parties much more interesting, even to you, and if you include people of every background, then you will get a much better temperature reading from that kind of crowd, than from the inbred socialites you see every day at court.” She paused for a moment. “How are your guests doing?”

I blinked. “Fine, I guess.”

She raised a brow. “You guess? Really? Aren’t you interested? After all, this is the first visit to Winter that Summerians have made in four thousand years.”

It was my turn to raise a brow. “That’s not really true, though, is it?”

Her face betrayed no emotion, which was a dead giveaway. I didn’t actually care if she knew what I meant -- if she didn’t, she’d find out, and if she did, now she knew I did. Let her wipe her supercilious butt with that wad of information. “Even so,” she said, slowly. “Most of the people with you think that they are the first Summerian visitors to Winter in thousands of years. Don’t you think you would learn something from their behavior?”

“Why don’t you tell me something,” I challenged. “Tell me why I shouldn’t be bored with a bunch of poseurs talking about things so far above my head that I don’t even understand what they’re saying half the time.”

Seraphine laughed one of her real laughs, hearty yet feminine, with real amusement sparkling in her eyes.”Oh, honey,” she said. “What makes you think they know what they’re talking about? They talk like that to show how impressive they are, not how intelligent. Truly intelligent people watch. If you’re at a party and some stuffy bore is ranting on about “the people” versus “the rest of us”, they are either stupid, wanting to seem smart, or they are smart, wanting to seem stupid. It all depends on the crowd they’re playing to. But the people to watch, are the watchers. The people you want to talk to, are the listeners. Be observant. Know who is doing what, and why.”

I sighed. “Like, how. Mind-reading devices were banned two-thousand years ago. Even if I could get my hand on one--”

She raised a hand, interrupting me. It was amazing how much emotion she could show when she wanted to. In front of other people, she could be roughly carved from a block of ice. Alone with me, she’s round and smooth and knowing. “I see your problem,” she said. “You have no confidence in your observations. Think back to the luncheon this afternoon. One of your men, Wanderlust, tried wooing several Winterian ladies. How successful was he?”

I frowned. How could I know how successful he was? I didn’t know any of the ladies he was trying to impress, and any success that he had would be private, only known to him and his conquered, long after the party was over.

“You know how Winter women are wooed,” Seraphine prompted. “Would the tactics that Wanderlust used today, have been appropriate to his audience?”

I shook my head frustrated. Again, it was impossible to know. No matter the society, every Winter woman is different. Some Winterians love the fierceness they are supposed to portray, whilst some women abhor their roles as vicious victimizers. Most fall in between, but I’ve met people from each spectrum, male and female. 

I thought about Wanderlust. He isn’t much different in Winter, than he is in Summer. Wanderlust is an actor. He is rarely dignified. He is often exaggerated -- either an extreme, swaggering gangster, or a foppish peacock, and he changes from one to the other with no seeming distress. Then he’ll break character and laugh, and you’ll have to laugh with him, because you realize that neither character is him. There are Summer women who find him all but irresistible, and some that dislike his lack of dignity. He is also incredibly insecure, as shown by his inability to commit to one woman, which makes some women want to nurture and change him, and some women want to kill, or at least ignore him.

I shook my head, trying to find the eloquence to express my observations and failing. “He’d most likely be equally successful here, as at home,” I said with a shrug. “Probably his most likable aspect is his ability to make you feel, that no matter what you look like or what your social standing is, that he has a personal connection to you. It’s just pure charisma. And there are some women who would be put off by his personality, but Winter women are just like Summer women.” I watched Seraphine’s face for some reaction to this heresy and shrugged again. “They’re just raised to praise different qualities.”

Seraphine was quiet, thoughtful. She turned away from me, showing a surprising vulnerability, and unexpected measure of trust. I stood, uneasy, certain that my observations were correct, but not certain that she would interpret things similarly to me. Finally, she nodded. She looked at me, with her full personality looking out of the queen-lined eyes. Her face was soft, but her posture was as erect as ever. “It is good that you have been able to come to that conclusion,” she said. “Many people, rulers included, are capable of making the distinction between culture and individual humanity.”

She shook her head, turning away again. Finally she turned back, back to business, that watchfulness once more in her eyes. “Now, tell me who Wanderlust was successful with, and who he wasn’t.” She smiled at my blank stare. “This is something you will be able to tell me after dinner, for certain.” She grinned wider at my sigh.

October 30

I had another session with Seraphine tonight after dinner. “So, tell me,” she said. “Who was Wanderlust successful with?” 

I’d sat through court and watched the goings on, like a good queen, rather than a bored queen, and I was kind of glad that I did. The pageantry of the Winter court is quite different from that of the Summer court. The Winter king and queen like to say things like, “off with their head” or “you must donate two organs of your choosing to the offended party”. These are metaphors, of course, but judging from the countenances of the Summerian visitors, they didn’t realize this. I think that Wanderlust did, of all people. I guess it’s not that surprising; he is the best actor of the group, and therefore one of the most observant. 

I think the grins of the Winterian elite, gave it away. Some people smiled guiltily, as if embarrassed at the idea that this would be taken seriously. Some smiled, glad to have their reputations further built by the observations of horrified witnesses – Winterian language is full of imagery and it’s like poetry in many ways. I watched Wanderlust take all of this in, thoughtfully. Oddly enough, if the king and queen hadn’t hammed it up more than usual, he may not have noticed – it was the reactions to the unusual viciousness that gave them away. I would have thought their her mightiness would have been aware that this might be the reaction, although to be sure, most of the party did indeed buy the presentation. Only Wanderlust, my husband, and my mother-in-law seemed unmoved. 

I was glad that Zahina was not allowed to attend, but she was a bit sulky later. She didn’t want to go anywhere with me this afternoon, so I went to visit LUSH alone. “Hi LUSH,” I said quietly as I crawled into the cave. 

“Greetings, Winter, queen of Summer,” LUSH intoned.

I sighed. “Very funny. Use your normal voice.” I crawled into the elevator and sat back. It opened up into my old, sunny room. I’d left the Christopher Pike book on my nightstand, the way it was when I first arrived. Whenever I go away, I try to take all of my stuff with me. Though I’ve been visiting for over a decade, I never quite lose the feeling that I am somewhere I shouldn’t be caught. Besides, LUSH has everything. Food, clothing (SHOP!), information. 

LUSH in my own modern-day godmother, although I should say “futuristic” godmother, because the technology here is not available to the rest of the world. If I want a new dress, I just hop on the elevator to the fourth floor down. I’m sized by a computer, machines create the fabric I need, and the style I want, to fit me perfectly. When I’m done with the garment, I bring it back to be recycled. My family is middle-class, and I worked as a clerk before I became queen, so I have to modify my garments to suit my station in order to mask my usage of Lush, but it’s all worth it. The richest people on all four planets do not have the technology to be able to do this. It’s a little frightening when I think about it, sometimes.

“Did you miss me?” I asked, plopping down on my yellow comforter. Although I’ve been gone for six months, there is no waterdust on every surface. I had my own apartment, but I sold it before I moved, and all of my stuff is sitting in ice chests in my room at home. Then again, the hospital doesn’t seem to be made out of ice or any material that I’m familiar with, although it can certainly simulate stone and wood when appropriate.

There’s a painting on the wall of a girl in a peach dress, leaning her head against a marble pillar. As I watched, she turned and walked toward the viewer until her face and torso filled the frame. “More than I would miss air were I to suddenly stop breathing,” the girl in the painting said.

I still marvel at a computer’s ability to use sarcasm but according to studies, Lush assures me, it helps make the interaction feel more natural. I did laugh, that was a new one. I sat up and swung my legs off the bed, facing the painting. “Is that a new lipstick?”

She fluffed her hair. “Indeed.” 

I sighed. “Everyone’s getting a makeover.”

She blinked. “People change every day, all day long. If you’d stayed in Winter these last few months, you would have evolved from who you were then into someone newer.” She shrugged. “Although, I will say that the changes you have made have been quite dramatic in a short amount of time.” She observed me for a moment. “Your diagnostics show that you are trouble,” she said, with a shrewd gaze. “Dish.”

I laughed at the odd combination of computer-speak and the old fashioned command to gossip. Then I sighed. “I have homework, and the thing I was so glad about in leaving school was no more homework.”

Lush leaned her head against the frame, watching me with one eye. “Anything I can help with?”

“Not really.” I sighed and lay back. “I have to figure out who Wanderlust was successful in wooing, so that I can report back to my queen after dinner.”

“Wanderlust is one of the courtiers you brought with you from Summer,” Lush said. “He and the queen were both at court along with the rest of your entourage. Would you like to see the replay?”

I sat up. “Excuse me?”

“The courtroom is televised,” she said. “I have a recording of the event.”

I gasped. “You’re a genius.” 

Lush moved toward the middle of the frame again, and shrugged. “Yes, well.” She disappeared, and a scene from this afternoon appeared in the frame. There was the king and queen, and my husband. I looked for Wanderlust, but – I reached out and circled a section of the screen. “Zoom in on this, will you?”

“Certainly,” said Lush. “And who are we looking at?”

“Hon,” I breathed.

Of course, I couldn’t concentrate on that for too long, so I set to having Lush prepare a file on Hon for me for the next time I visit. I viewed the tapes, and Lush helped me a bit, with the analysis of Wanderlust and his many women at the Winter court.

“Three women, as far as I could tell, with the background work done for more,” I answered Seraphine. I listed the ladies, and she nodded approvingly.

“I hadn’t thought of that one,” she said, thoughtfully. “She is supposedly quite attached to someone at the moment. I’ll look into that.” She gazed at me, for a moment, with her blankest stare. The her face revealed itself from behind her mask. “I may be able to make a friend of you yet,” she said.

October 31

One of the most humbling things someone can do to you, is to cover their eyes with their hands and groan. It has that effect of both making you want to smack them for making you feel so inadequate, and to shake them until they tell you what you’ve done wrong. Seraphine straightened and pulled her hands away from her eyes. “Okay,” she said, moving her arms in a shoving motion, as though she could push away all of the things that I was doing wrong. I stood there, cheeks and earlobes a tingle with frustrated humiliation. She met my clueless gaze and sighed, half impatient half pitying. “Okay,” she said again. “You have to believe in what you’re saying.”

She pulled herself erect and stared straight ahead. “The future of our races rests on this one principle,” she intoned monotonously. She stopped and relaxed her shoulders, shaking her head. “Who is going to buy that?”

I looked away. I haven’t cried in months, but at that moment, I could feel the sting of salt heating the backs of my eyeballs, and hated Seraphine with all my might. Which wasn’t much, at the moment. Lucky for her.

She sighed. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad,” she said. She took my hand. “Really.” 

I pulled away from her. “What do you want me to do?” She couldn’t possibly want more from me at that moment. My voice was rife with personality. “I’m not -- I don’t --” I stopped and growled my frustration.

“You’re not a performer,” she said, understandingly.

I looked at her, grateful that she finally got it.

She shook her head, not without sympathy. “You are now,” she said. “From now on, it’s not about what you want or who you are. It’s about the people that you represent.” She grinned encouragingly. “So don’t think about it as you, up there in front of all those people, emoting like crazy. Think of it as every one of them inside you, speaking through you.”

I looked at her askance. “That sounds like Summer thinking to me.” It was an old Winterian insult, but it seemed like I heard it for the first time as I said it aloud. I flushed.

She grinned again. “Lucky for you, you’re Summerian now.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes.

She laughed. “That’s perfect. Exactly what I’m looking for. Just show that personality during your speeches, and you’ll be fine.

This time I laughed. “I don’t know how appropriate it is for the queen to roll her eyes.”

She stuck out her tongue and shrugged. Then she smiled. “It’s the personality I want, not the behavior. “Okay, try it again.”

I groaned, tilting my head up and resting my gaze on the haze of rainbows dancing around the ceiling. “People of Summer and Winter, now is the time for us to unite blah blah blah,” I barely more than mumbled.

“Better,” Seraphine said approvingly. 

I lowered my head to glower at her and then we both laughed.

Fortunately, Zahina was still smarting from a bad call to her grandmother or was still sulking from yesterday so I’d managed to sneak out to visit Lush earlier in the day, to review the court recording. I’d prepared some things to say about Wanderlust, but Seraphine took me by surprise.

“What is the matter with your cousin?” she asked.

“What? Which cousin?”

“The scowled with the ice-blonde hair.”

“Staejha? What about her?”

Seraphine frowned. “She creeps me out. Why does she always look around like she’s up to something?”

I hadn’t noticed. “That’s just how she is,” I said, covering my lack of observation. “Don’t you want to talk about Wanderlust?”

Seraphine made a face. “Why, did anything new happen?” She saw my frustration and sighed, her hands flying in the air before landing at her sides. “You can’t just watch one person,” she said. “You have to observe everybody.” She glared at me. “Is your cousin really always like that, or is something up?”

I blew out a breath. “I don’t know,” I said, frustration, creeping into my voice. “She’s always been a bitch. What difference does it make?”

Seraphine’s gaze narrowed and locked onto mine. “Your lack of observational skills are frightening,” she said. “They would be, even if you weren’t a queen, but considering your position, I’m about to be struck down by terror.” She glared at me. “Tell me what you know about your cousin.”

I frowned, tearing my gaze from hers. I paced away from her, trying to focus on Staejha. “She’s a bitch. She’s just a nasty, selfish piece of work.”

“Give me examples.” Seraphine’s voice was all business.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I only really knew here when we were young.”

Seraphine was quiet long enough for me to become uncomfortable. I turned to find her watched me, with eyes that weren’t angry or judging, but watchful. “I understand what your problem is,” she said. “You don’t trust your own judgment. What happened to you--” she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.” She rolled her eyes. “It does matter, but it’s not relevant at the moment.” Her gaze softened and she took a few steps toward me. She led me to the steps and we sat down, side by side. “Tell me what you know about her,” she said. “Never mind what you don’t know, or what you should know, or what someone else knows -- what do you know?”

I hesitated, not certain of what to say. I could say a lot, but nothing that I thought was relevant.

“Just start with something small,” Seraphine suggested. “Even if you don’t think it’s relevant. Start with her eye color, if you want.”

I thought for a moment, and my mind focused on this incident that had happened with I was ten, she around thirteen or so. It was just a small thing, and I didn’t want to seem petty, so I thought it better not to mention it. But the more I tried to think of something else, the more I could only focus on that thing. I better just say it and get it over with, I thought. Then I can move on to a different memory or something.

“I had just turned ten,” I said. “She and her family were staying with us because her father was out of work and her mother had just run off with some guy, again. Nobody was home. Her father had an interview appointment, my dad was at work, and mom was babysitting next door.” I paused again. Just a stupid little incident. Why even talk about it? Jeez, I thought, disgusted with myself. Just get it out and move on to a different story. 

“My father used to have this really impressive collection of razors. He really only used one, but the collection was an heirloom, and I think he pulled the whole thing out every day to remind him of his father and his grandfather, more than anything else. So one day, I don’t know if it was Staejha’s idea or mine, but we decided that we wanted to shave, so that we could start our day and go off and do business like our fathers. So we got out my father’s collection of razors. Now, you know that scarification is something that Winterians do early on in childhood, to get used to the idea, and stuff. But my parents thought the practice was barbaric and I used to wear prosthetic scars. Staejha knew this, but she had thirteen real scars, one for each year, and she thought I should have at least one real one too.” I stopped talking, remembering for a moment, instead.

“Did you struggle,” Seraphine asked, quietly.

I shuddered. “I didn’t want -- I wasn’t sure, you know? Everyone I looked at had real scars, or so I thought, so I didn’t think it should be a big deal. I didn’t want her to know that I didn’t want a real scar.” I stared at the three horizontal lines that cut across the inside of my wrist.

“Her father got the job, but I don’t think my mother would have let them stay anyway. Staejha was mad that I told, but I didn’t know why it was supposed to be a secret. The next time I saw her, she said it was a mistake to have done that. She said we should have made the cuts vertical, rather than horizontal.”

Seraphine breathed out, audibly. “Was she trying to kill you, initially?”

I stood, taking a few quick, directionless steps. “I don’t know,” I said. “She was old enough to know, but I don’t think she hated me that much at that point.”

“Did you ever figure out why she hated you at all?” When Seraphine looked up at me, resignation mixed with regret.

I shook my head and tried to smile.

November 1

I’m so tired I’d fall down if I weren’t already sitting. I woke up this morning to a tap-tap-tapping on my door. “What,” I half-groaned, half-screamed. The door cracked open, and Zahina poked her head in. 

“Can I come in?”

“Of course.” I moaned and tried to sit up. The sun was only beginning to brighten the morning sky; the brilliant colors of the sunrise were still an hour away. I fell back, and waited for Zahina to come to me. 

She approached cautiously. I started to wonder if her attitude the past couple of days was more than a pet. Sleep fog seeped from my mind through my ears, into the atmosphere. “What’s the matter?” I succeeded in sitting up this time. I held out my arms, and Zahina allowed me to pull her up to sit on the icy bed. 

“Do you really cut off someone’s head if you’re mad at them?” she asked, squishing the barrier between the ice bed and my skin.

I blinked as a little bit more fog seeped out. “No,” I mumbled. “Why would you think that?”

“I saw you on the TV,” she said. “The Winter queen said to cut off someone’s head.”

I sighed, trying to think about how to explain this to a six-year-old. “Okay,” I said. “You know how your teacher likes that Sally girl instead of you because Sally talks all sweet to the teacher, and is mean to some of the kids?”

Zahina thought for a moment. “Uh-huh.”

“A lot of people in Summer think it’s better to seem nice and to be mean, but most Winterians want to seem mean, and really be nice in secret. So when the queen says ‘off with his head’, she doesn’t actually have anyone’s head chopped off. Usually. It’s just an expression, like ‘ya’ll come back now’ -- except mean.”

She seemed to mull this over. “That’s why you dress scary and frown all the time?”

“Yep.” 

“How come everyone doesn’t just seem nice and be nice?”

I smiled. “That would be idea, wouldn’t it?” I said. “But it’s impossible to be nice all the time, so we just deal with things as they come.” I frowned at her, keeping eye contact. “The thing about Winterians seeming mean but being nice, that’s a secret. It means you can’t repeat it to anyone, for any reason.”

Zahina blinked at me solemnly. If she had been any other six-year-old, I would been worried. “Okay,” she said, and I believed her.

Before I could go back to sleep, Staejha knocked on my door. “Am I interrupting?” she asked.

“The kid had a nightmare,” I said, shoving Zahina off the bed. Zahina let out a little whimper, then turned around and winked at me, before limping out of the room.

Staejha shut the door behind the little girl. “I have to talk to you about something,” she said. 

I glanced down at the three lines on the inside of my wrist, as Staejha approached. I rest the scars against my leg and waited for her to continue.

“I’m sure you don’t even remember,” she said, “It was so long ago. Do you remember your first scarification?”

‘When you slid father’s razor across my wrist three times before I could protest?’ I asked silently. “Vaguely,” I said aloud. “You were there, weren’t you?”

Staejha seemed relieved. “I don’t know if you remember, but you were pretty keen on the idea. The blood kind of freaked you out, but before you started screaming, you were having fun.”

I stared at her. “I remember,” I said, noncommittally.

“Okay,” she said. “I just wasn’t sure if you remembered that correctly. You know, sometimes kids get confused, and events get turned around in their minds. I just wanted to make sure --”

I sent my best fake smile, a sweet Summer smile, in Staejha’s direction. “I understand exactly what you’re getting at,” I said. “And don’t worry. No one would ever get an inaccurate account of that story, at least not from me.”

It’s a good thing for me, and a bad thing for her, that Staejha was so easily convinced. I probably wouldn’t have been able to have her stay, but she made her excused pretty much immediately and left. I don’t really have any intention of sharing the real events with anyone -- I don’t see what good it would do besides make me sound petty to bring up actions that Staejha took as a teenager, actions that are perfectly in keeping with the Winterian lifestyle. But no matter how vicious we want to seem, true viciousness is something to be monitored. You know, it would have been different if Staejha had apologized -- even if for self serving reasons -- because it would have meant that she acknowledged an evil act and regretted it. But I don’t think she regrets that, she’s only worried that I’ll make her look bad. Seraphine is right. I have to keep an eye on that girl. Politics has become a lot more interesting in the past few days, but it’s also become much more frightening.

I swear I saw Hon again tonight at dinner. He was dressed as a Winterian again. I have to visit Lush tomorrow and get her report on him. He moves so fast that I barely see him. I was correct; he is easier to spot in Winter -- but not by much.

My husband seems to be having fun. We have to go back soon, so I need to get him alone, and show him some of my favorite Winter spots. We’ll climb my favorite mountain tomorrow. There’s this cliff that you can climb to, where when you look down, all you see is rainbows. It’s awesome. I can’t wait to show him that.

Adora is doing well, too. It’s fun to see her in a friendlier environment. The Summer men are so intimidated by the Winterians of both genders that they have begun to flirt with Adora in order to try to boost their flailing egos. I don’t know how successful they’ve been, Adora can freeze out the warmest Summerian.

November 2 

I spent most of yesterday trying to come up with convincing reasons Winterians pretend to be so vicious, but when I saw Zahina this morning, she seemed okay. She was actually wearing a necklace made out of replicas of human teeth. I would have thought it was cute, if it wasn’t so disturbing. I was the only one with that qualm. Seraphine seemed to notice her for the first time, and took Zahina on as her pet for the day.

The result of this was that I was able to sneak off and see Lush. “I guess it’s not okay to bring Zahina here,” I said. 

“Why do you say that,” Lush said from her place behind the picture frame. 

“Because when I brought her here, you didn’t say anything. If it had been okay, you would have welcomed her.”

Lush moved to fill the frame, her face peering out at me. “If you’d wanted her to know about this place, you would have told you.”

I was lying on the blue-patterned bedspread. “You said that your presence has to remain a secret.”

“Then why did you bring her here?”

“I don’t know! I guess I thought you could make an exception. You made one for me.”

Lush sighed. “You would like permission to bring her here, is that it?”

“Pretty much.”

She rolled her eyes. “Humans. Why don’t you just say what you mean?”

I flopped back onto the bed. “Computers. Why don’t you just answer the question when you know what I mean…”

She shook her head. “Hold on. Let me consult with my databanks.” She hummed a muzak tune that was as familiar as it was irritating. She moved away from view and it sounded like she was arguing with someone. She returned, after a minute or two. “You can bring her here, but if you do, you’re risking the knowledge of our presence to a six-year-old girl. You’ve never even seriously considered revealing our presence to any individual, people in general or the government certainly, but not an individual. Why do you want Zahina to be a part of this secret?”

Because I need to find something to give her that is as special as her mom, and you’re as close as I can get. “I don’t know,” I said. “She’s a smart kid. If anything happens to me, she’ll be able to carry on what I’m doing here.”

“And what are you doing here that she would be able to carry on?”

I frowned. “You know. Distribute new cures to diseases, create new companies so that people won’t be unemployed.” I felt useless, all of the sudden. Did Lush even need me to do those things? “Stuff like that.”

Lush held up a finger, indicating that I should hold on for a minute. She moved out of frame, and made those arguing noises again. She returned. “Okay,” she said, her voice and face placid. “You can bring her here.”

I wondered what internal argument had gone on for Lush to come up with that answer. “Okay.” I closed my eyes. Why did Lush say yes? Was Lush ready to make her presence known, and she was practicing by showing a kid what she could do? Is that what she’d done with me? Did bringing Zahina here mean that -- “Lush?” I said, without opening my eyes.

“Yes?” I’ll still be able to visit you after Zahina knows about you, right?”

Lush’s snort was more reassuring than her verbiage. “Of course.”

I guess I’ll bring Zahina here tomorrow. We’re leaving the day after, so it’ll be my last chance to show her everything. I’m still not sure it’s the best idea, though. What is a six-year-old going to do in a place like this? And will she be able to keep it a secret? I tried to rest, but my mind kept repeating the same questions. Why am I allowed to bring someone here now, when secrecy was paramount, before now? Is there something about Zahina that Lush knows, which made Lush said yes? I couldn’t sleep, so I grabbed the book from the bedside table. 

The story is about these kids, most of whom were dying, who like to gather at midnight and tell scary stories -- only it turns out that some of the stories are actually about the same kids, only before they were reincarnated. The stories are spiritual memories, though the kids think they‘re just making stuff up. I’d started rereading the book a few days ago, and I felt haunted by the ending that I vaguely remembered. My stomach knotted with that bittersweet which edged each of the character’s stories. 

“So who is this child?” Seraphine asked later. 

I’d been wondering that myself, but I was a little irritated by Seraphine’s tone. “A stowaway,” I said, without much interest in satisfying Seraphine’s curiosity. How funny, I thought. A few days ago, I was nervous just to be in her presence. Now I just want to tell her to mind her own business.

“She’s bright,” Seraphine said.

“She seems to be,” I said, noncommittally.

“I asked her if her mother minds that she is here.”

I dragged myself away from my mental coma. “What’d she say,” I said, keeping my voice even, disinterested.

“She said that her grandmother is more upset than her mother.”

“That’s odd,” I said, trying not to show my growing interest in the conversation.

“Not really,” Seraphine said, watching me.

“No?” Was I sweating? I tried to check my armpits but it was impossible to do so, surreptitiously.

“If you think about it, a grandmother has two generations to worry about, rather than just one.”

“Yes,” I said, “But a grandmother already successfully raised one child, so she wouldn’t be as neurotic about the second child as she was the first time.” Poor Eliava, I thought, as my tongue was on autopilot. As soon as she stopped worrying about her daughter, BAM!

“For small things,” Seraphine mused. “But the girl is a planet away, a forbidden planet, no less, and she snuck on. She’s lucky she wasn’t killed.”

“We wouldn’t have killed her for that,” I said.

“No,” Seraphine agreed. “But we would have made it seem that way. Do you think it’s wise to ignore the fact that she snuck aboard so easily?”

She had inside information, I thought, but aloud all I said was, “What should we do? Have her publicly flawed? That would not do well for Summer/Winter relations.”

Seraphine beamed.

“What?” I said, alarmed. “You don’t like that idea, do you? Because --”

Seraphine laughed. “No,” she said. “You just said ‘Summer’ first, before ‘Winter’”. She grinned. “This is progress.”