“Too much open space,” Sam muttered, shivering in the winter wind. “Make sure your pistol is on.”
I checked the switch and nodded. “Give me your SED.” I clutched both SEDs in my left hand, leaving us free to fire our pistols unhindered. Still, I hoped I didn’t have to use mine. “That man back at Stef’s house. Did you kill him?”
Sam’s eyes were shadowed. “Would it make you think any differently of me?”
Reincarnation made it almost pointless to kill someone. They would just be reborn, and they would seek vengeance. No one liked dying, because it hurt, and whatever you were doing—romances, projects, or exploring—had to pause while you waited to be reborn, and then waited to grow up. But they always came back, at least until recently.
According to our friend Cris, when Janan ascended, he wouldn’t bother reincarnating people. That meant with only three months until Janan’s ascension, death would be death. No one who died now would be reincarnated; there was no time for them to be reborn. If Mat was dead in the washroom, he was dead forever.
As far as thinking differently of Sam, though? “No,” I whispered. My whole body quaked with cold. “I know you’re protecting me.”
“I would do anything to protect you.” He kissed my cheek. “Let’s go.”
Together, we crossed the market field, scanning all directions for movement. The temple burned so brightly, and the space was so wide and empty. Crossing here felt like asking for someone to shoot us.
But we made our way across the rubble-strewn field, and nothing happened. No attacks, no earthquakes. Our shoes crunched and wind hissed along the streets, but otherwise the world was silent.
At the library entrance, Sam tucked his pistol under his left elbow, then hauled open the door. With one last look over my shoulder—the field remained empty—I ducked under Sam’s arm and into the library. He followed, letting the door swing shut behind us, casting us into complete darkness.
“Careful.” Sam’s voice seemed loud in the stillness. “Things might have shifted during the earthquake. There could be books on the floor.”
I tapped one of the SEDs to life. The white light extended only a short way, but it was enough to let me find a stained-glass lamp and switch it on.
The earthquake had indeed been hard on the library. Books were sprawled on the floor. Bookcases and chairs had toppled over. A lamp had crashed against the hardwood, leaving a rainbow of glass shards. Papers lay across everything, like a shroud. I couldn’t see the upper levels clearly, but no doubt the eleven other floors were just as damaged.
Sam picked his way through the mess. “Will you send a message to Stef and let her know that we arrived safely? And maybe find out what her plan is?”
I set my pistol and Sam’s SED on the table and sent the note from mine. The library was warm, especially coming in from the midwinter night, but my skin still ached with cold, and I couldn’t stop shivering. “Next time we get chased out of our own house in the middle of the night,” I said, “I’ll be wearing more than a nightgown.”
Sam grunted agreement as he dragged a table in front of the door. It swung outward, so the table wouldn’t keep the door from opening, but it would certainly slow anyone, should they rush in to attack us.
By the time we covered all the entrances, Stef had replied.
Lidea, Geral, and Orrin are on their way to you.
I relayed the information to Sam and responded.
What about everyone else?
She didn’t answer immediately. I sighed and dropped the SED back onto the table. “How’s your hand?”
Sam shrugged. “It’s going to hurt for a while, but I don’t think it’s bleeding anymore.”
“We can walk to the hospital wing.” I picked up a few books and put them on a table. “See about getting your hand stronger medicine.”
Sam helped pick up a few more things from the floor, leaving a clear space around one of the cushiony chairs with a blanket draped over the back. I wanted nothing more than to sink into it, but . . .
“Let’s just visit a washroom and get cleaned up,” Sam said. “Then come back here. My hand will be fine.”
A few minutes later, we returned from the washroom with clean faces and combed hair. Before I could suggest curling up in the big chair, though, a low rumble sounded outside. “What’s that?”
“Sounds like a labor drone. A plow, maybe, to move the debris.”
Now the market field and streets would be clear. Better late than never. “I suppose we’re lucky they’re still working after the earthquake. Will the drones clear the roads outside Heart, too?”
“They should.”
That was good. Our trip out of Heart and Range would have been much more difficult without roads.