But, now, he found himself longing for the docks shifting beneath his feet and the cold bite of wind on his cheeks, the sound of the crowd chanting around him. He looked around this bar, and all he could think about was how he’d brought Dorothy here, the way her eyes had gone wide when she’d first stepped into this room.

He wondered if she would’ve spoken to him, if she’d seen him standing on the docks just now.

And then he hated himself for wondering.

And then he hated himself a little more because, to be honest, he would’ve been perfectly satisfied if she’d walked past him without a word, as long as he got to see her face.

It was kind of ironic, if he thought about it. For the last year Quinn Fox’s face had haunted him. Or, rather, the darkness under her hood had haunted him. The absence of a face. He’d scowled and turned away whenever it flashed on his television screen.

Now, it was all he could think about.

He wanted to laugh. Or scream. He wanted to kiss her again. His lips burned with the wanting.

He glanced at the door, his knee jumping below the table. Could he go to her now? Would she see him?

“What did you think of that tremor?” Zora had a glass of water sitting in front of her, and she was absently tracing the lip with one finger.

Ash blinked, refocusing his attention on her. “Tremor?”

“There was a tremor when the Black Crow entered the anil, and another one when they returned.” Zora frowned. “You didn’t notice?”

“There are always tremors,” Ash said. “There was one when Chandie and I were coming back from Mac’s the other day.”

“Nearly drowned us,” Chandra added, slurping.

Willis had another cocktail napkin in front of him, and he was folding it into something that had fins. He lifted his eyes. “Did you think it was something else?”

“No. Ugh, I don’t know.” Zora took a pencil out from behind her ear and tapped it against her bottom lip. “It just seemed weird to me.”

Ash felt guilt twist through his gut. This was what he should be thinking about. Tremors and earthquakes and saving the world. Not Dorothy’s lips. Heat shot up the backs of his ears. What was wrong with him?

“Another?” Willis asked, nodding at his now-empty glass.

Ash dropped his eyes to his textbook. The numbers looked like gibberish, but he doubted another drink was going to get him any closer to understanding what they meant.

He was feeling restless. He needed a change of scenery. He needed to go somewhere that didn’t remind him of Dorothy.

He pushed back his chair, tucking the textbook under his arm. “I’m going to take a walk,” he told his friends. “Clear my head. I’ll see you all back at the school.”

21

Dorothy

NOVEMBER 7, 2077, NEW SEATTLE

“Friends, do not attempt to adjust your television,” Dorothy said, blinking into the glare of spotlights in the Fairmont basement. “Our broadcast has taken over every channel.