Before he had a chance to buzz in, heavy mechanisms slid and chunked inside the door, and it swung away from him, and light flooded into the corridor, and she was there. She gave a little yelp, and in an instant her arms were around his neck.
“What are you doing here? Did you just get in? Does Twitch know you’re here?” Her perfume hit him: gentle, faint, but like a sledgehammer of memory. Like rain and moonlight on the ocean. And he was suddenly conscious of all the sweat and grime thick on his skin.
“Heya, Miss Mol.”
He dropped his hand on the middle of her back, gave her half a squeeze. Careful to avoid the jack and steel housing at the base of her spine. She pulled back, beaming.
“Don’t you ‘Miss Mol’ me! What are you doing here?”
“Passing through.” He tried to smile. It came out broken.
“Well, get in here. You bring anything with you?”
“Yeah, more than usual. Couple of guests this time.”
“Oh,” she said, obviously surprised. “OK. Well bring ’em on up. You need help with your gear?”
“No, I got it. You sure it’s alright?”
Her expression went flat, like he’d insulted her. She swatted his shoulder.
“Go get your gear and your friends. You see Twitch yet? I think he was heading out…”
“Yeah, on the way in.”
“Good. That means he won’t be gone all day. You sure I can’t help you with anything?”
“You’re helping me now,” he said, and winked at her involuntarily. “Be right back.”
She nodded and as he turned and headed back down the stairs, he could feel her watching him. When he was about halfway to the bottom, he heard the little whirs and clicks of her walking back into the upstairs apartment. The sound of the servos and micro-hydraulics that made her lifeless legs useful. The sound that broke his heart, every time.
He found Cass and Wren where he’d left them. Cass hadn’t touched her drink. Wren’s was empty.
“Hey,” Cass said when she saw him. Her expression shifted. “You OK?”
He nodded. “Mol’s waiting upstairs.”
“Mol is…?”
“A sweetheart. jCharles’s wife.”
He grabbed his pack, swung it up on a shoulder. Reached down and took Cass’s in a hand. Paused. Nodded towards Wren. “He ever seen a nerve-rig before?”
Cass thought, shook her head. “Not that I know of.”
“It gonna be a problem?”
“Full rig?”
“Half. Just the lower.”
Cass nodded, understanding. Something in her eyes said more than Three wanted them to. He had the disquieting sense that she was starting to get a read on him. She looked down at Wren, still sitting in her lap. Spoke quietly.
“Wren, the person we’re going to see upstairs has a special machine. To help her walk. It might look a little strange, but we don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, OK? So we’re not going to stare at her, or ask her about it, OK?”
“Is she sick?”
Cass looked up to Three. He shook his head.
“No. She got hurt. A long time ago.”
A long time ago. As clear as yesterday.
“OK.”
Three hoisted their packs, shook Cass off when she tried to help.
“This way.”
He led them back up the stairs, letting the burden of all the gear focus his mind on something other than Mol. The first few minutes were always the hardest.
She’d left the door cracked open, so Three nudged it with the top of his head and leaned in.
“We’re back.”
He heard her moving around in the back room.
“Just throw your stuff anywhere,” she called. “I’ll be there in a sec.”
Three pushed in, slung the packs in an out-of-the-way corner by the door. Glanced around the apartment. Pretty much the same. The door opened right into the main room; a large, comfortable space that somehow seemed wider inside than the building had looked on the outside. It was warmly decorated, with oversized furniture. Old, dark woods. A kitchen was off to one side, and the other side led to the back room where Mol was now, which Three knew had a storage area in addition to jCharles and Mol’s bedroom.
“What are those?” Wren asked, looking at the one oddity in the apartment, across the room. jCharles’s life’s work, obsession, and personal treasure all in one, stacked on shelves that ran nearly the entire height and length of one wall.
“Books.”
Collected, scavenged, rescued, and restored. Ancient works, last known copies in existence. Masterpieces standing alongside some of the worst specimens of the written word ever penned by man. All worth saving, as far as jCharles was concerned.
“What do they do?”
“They’re full of words, baby,” Cass answered. “Stories and things. From a long time ago.”
He moved closer, touched the spine of a cracked leather-bound volume.
“Let’s not touch them, sweetheart,” Cass said.
“Oh, it’s alright,” Mol answered, coming in from the back. “They’re meant to be touched.”
She walked over to Cass with her hand extended. “I’m Mol.”
“Cass. This is my son, Wren.”
Wren turned away from the books, moved closer to his mother.
“Hi, Cass. Hello, Wren.” She knelt with some difficulty down to Wren’s level. “My goodness if you aren’t the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Any chance you’re an angel?”
“No, ma’am,” he said quietly.
“Ma’am? Now I’m sure you’re an angel. Your mama must be quite a woman to be raising an angel. That is no easy task.” She glanced up at Cass. “You might want to keep him away from that one, though.” She nodded at Three, with a smile. “No telling what he’ll teach him when you’re not looking.”
“I don’t like what he’s been teaching him when I am looking,” Cass replied with a shrug, smiling back. “But he’s been taking care of us so far.”
“Yeah, he’ll do that too.”
Both women were looking at him now, and Three was suddenly uncomfortable. It was strange seeing them there, in the same place, right next to each other. Three’s carefully separated worlds colliding. He glanced away, surveying the apartment again for no real reason. Changed the subject.
“Twitch stayin’ out of trouble?”
“Have you met him?” Mol answered, lightly sarcastic. She struggled back up to her feet, and Three reflexively reached out to take her hand. She accepted the help, her hand warm and strong in his. Her blue eyes sparkled up at him. Even at her full height, she was nearly a foot shorter. Her voice dropped, tone warm and reassuring. “He’s fine, Three. We’re fine.”
Mol’s eyes held his steady gaze for a moment. Strong. But concerned. She looked away, to Cass and Wren.
“You make yourselves right at home. Bedroom and bathroom are back there. If you want to take a shower or anything, you let me know. Sleep, whatever you want. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”
Three realized he was still holding her hand. He let go, busied himself taking off his coat and harness.
“Thank you,” Cass said. “This is really kind of you.”
“Selfish, really. Place like Greenstone, we don’t get a lot of chances to host company. Have to milk it when we can.”
Three noticed Cass was standing with the fingertips of one hand pressed in on the arm of a chair. Subtly keeping her balance.
“It’s alright if you wanna lie down, Cass,” he said. “Been hard goin’.”
Her eyes flicked to his. He knew she’d never admit it, but she needed it. He nodded.