Bananas, nuts, chocolate chips: what was not to like? Zoe took it out of the freezer greedily.
But then she opened the lid: there was only a spoonful or two left at the bottom of the pint.
Robert was tall and skinny and awkward and wore glasses with shockingly blue frames. Zoe thought he looked better in pajamas than he did in regular clothes. All of his clothes were, without exception, two sizes too big for his body. But his pajamas fit him snugly. This was probably because his mother had bought them for him in elementary school. They were dark purple with lots of little yellow stars and crescent moons, sort of like a robe a wizard might wear. Zoe looked him over.
She heard the doorbell ring through the thick oak front doors. The doorbell's melody sounded like a question and an answer.
Doorbell
Ding, dong, ding, dong?
Ding, dong, ding, dong.
She stood there for a full minute, and wondered what kind of question a doorbell would ask to itself and actually know the answer. Then she became frustrated. Where was Robert? It was obvious that he was home and awake—there was light coming from the house. Zoe wondered what she was interrupting as she stood there on the deck.
And then he kissed her.
Or tried to. Zoe should have seen it coming from the lull in his fingers moving through her hair. It was a bad proposition from the beginning—the angle was all wrong, Robert had to double over to face Zoe's face—and he ended up just bumping his chin against her nose.
His breath smelled overly sweet, like caramel. She pushed him away and sat up off of his lap.
Zoe
Robert—
They were facing each other for only a second before Robert dove at her again. This time his lips touched hers, and she was so surprised that he would attempt it a second time that she squeaked like a mouse.
Then she pushed him off. She pushed him so roughly that he tumbled off of the couch. She stood up, and he just sat there on the floor, facing the TV. Even in the weird glow of the screen, Zoe could see his face was bright red.
Robert
I'm sorry....
Zoe
It's okay, Robert. I just—you know. You're like my little brother.
Robert had no response to this, except to look down at the floor.
Zoe
I'm sorry ... that was a horrible thing to say. That's not how I think of you. I'm just messed up right now. You know? You're my best friend. I can't make out with my best friend.
Robert
It's okay. I'm sorry too.
Zoe
Okay. No hard feelings?
Robert
Okay.
He didn't sit up or look at her as he talked. He just stared at the floor, a thin, blank sillhoute against the TV. Neither of them said anything. Zoe sat back down on the couch gingerly. But after waiting for Robert to move for a full minute, she stood back up.
Zoe
Um. I think I'm going to go back home now....
Robert
Okay.
Zoe slowly put on her sweatshirt. Even though she felt suffocatingly awkward in his house now, part of her wanted to stay, to make sure that Robert was alright. But she could see that he didn't want her to be there.
Zoe
I mean—you're probably right. About my mom calling the cops if I'm not there in the morning.
Her shoes squeaked softly across the hardwood floor towards the foyer. At the front door, she stood there and looked back at the darkened room with the light from the TV. She stood there for a while, staring at the color of the light. Was he still sitting there?
Screaming voices
Can I play with madness?
He said you're blind! Too blind to see!
Robert had turned on VH1. The heavy metal song throbbed with the light from the TV. Zoe figured he was okay—or at least, okay enough for her to leave. She opened the door and walked out to the night.
Zoe didn't want to tell him what happened, but she felt like she owed him an explanation.
Zoe
My mom found out me and Elise drank my dad's gin. She flipped out. She took away my computer and grounded me for a year.
Zoe let that hang in the air while she wondered whether to tell him the rest of the story. She decided against it.
Robert
Your mom sucks.
Zoe
Yeah.
She leaned her head on his bony shoulder and looked at the TV. Now the robot and the cat girl were fighting as friends against a common enemy: a group of mutants or demons. It was hard to tell what they were. One had tentacles for arms.
Zoe
Can you play with my hair?
Robert obeyed. Zoe loved it when he played with her hair. She had dated two boys, but neither of them knew how to do it. Her hair was thick and had a lot of knots in it, but Robert could somehow unravel the knots as he stroked her hair without pulling on her scalp.
Robert
Why were you drinking with Elise though?
Zoe
I don't know. We were bored. She is boring, you know.
Robert
I thought you said you weren't going to drink anymore, though.
Zoe
I know, I know. I didn't even have fun.
Robert hit a snag in Zoe's hair. He twirled the strand around his finger gently and spent a moment working it out.
Robert
But if it's not fun, why do you keep doing it?
Zoe
Because all the cool kids are doing it.
Robert
Hey. Don't be sarcastic.
Zoe set the ice cream on the end table and lay her head down on Robert's lap, facing the TV. This afforded him a better position for his hair-playing.
Zoe
I don't know why I did it. We were bored.
Robert
Don't you think it's weird that you drink when you're bored?
Zoe
I've only drank twice.
Robert
Yeah, but—
Zoe waited for him to finish his thought. But he continued to twist her hair in silence.
Zoe
But what?
Robert
Aren't you worried that you're, like, susceptible to alcoholism? Because of your dad?
Zoe
I don't know. I've never really thought about it. I'm pretty sure you have to drink more than twice in your life to become an alcoholic, Robert.
Robert
Alright, I'll drop it.
The cartoon, whatever it was, was over. It had ended in the middle of a battle. The demons were about to summon an even bigger demon to the battlefield, and then the credits rolled to the tune of a sacharrine Japanese pop song.
Robert
It's just that I worry about you, you know. I mean—I care about you.
Zoe
I know. I worry about you too, Bobby boy.
Robert nudged her with his knee. He hated being called Bobby. Zoe grinned at the TV.
Robert
What do you mean you worry about me? What about?
Zoe
Well. Why do you think I always try to go shopping with you? You're never going to get a girlfriend if you let your mom buy your clothes.
Robert
Zoe....
Chocolate chocolate chip ice cream, caramel-flavored ice cream, and a caramel core. And it was full? Jackpot.
Zoe
Can I have some ice cream?
She heard more roaring and operatic music from the living room, but no answer. She took that as a yes. Spoon in hand, she took her treasure back to the couch.
Robert
Ooh, give me some.
Zoe fed him like a baby so he didn't have to put down the controller.
Robert
More caramel!
Zoe
Are you almost done killing that thing?
Robert
Well, sort of ... alright, I'll pause it.
The music and action stopped and once again the room was lit by the static pause screen.
Zoe
You don't have to. I like watching.
Robert
It's alright. I want to hear what's up with you.
Zoe leaned back against her cushion. In actuality, she didn't feel like telling Robert her story. She couldn't think of a way to tell him without mentioning that she had been drinking. And Robert was vehemently against drinking.
Zoe
I just needed to get away from my mom.
Robert
Did you guys fight again?
Zoe
Yeah.
Robert
I'm sorry....
Zoe
Do you think it would be okay if I slept here tonight?
Robert
Yeah, sure. But isn't your mom going to notice that you're gone tomorrow morning?
Zoe
Who cares.
Robert
Zoe—what if she calls the cops?
Zoe put more ice cream in her mouth and shrugged her shoulders
Robert
Whatever. What were you fighting about anyway?
Zoe
I don't know. Can we watch something?
Robert slunked off the couch and hit a switch on the TV. The Cartoon Network came on. A girl with cat ears and a tail was screaming at what looked like an indifferent robot. Robert sat back down next to her.
Robert
Come on, tell me what's wrong.
Robert's kitchen was huge, and its dark wood paneling was sort of foreboding in the middle of the night, but Zoe knew her way around it pretty well. She was over at Robert's house so often that it felt like a second home to her. Zoe certainly liked Robert's mother a lot more than her own.
The freezer had not one, not two, not three, but four kinds of Ben and Jerry's ice cream: Phish Food, Cherry Garcia, Chunky Monkey, and Karamel Sutra.
Zoe took her shoes off in the foyer and closed the door behind her. She could see the blue glow from the big TV in the family room.
Robert
Is everything okay?
Zoe
I didn't wake you up?
Robert
Nah.
Zoe
What were you doing in there? Watching porn?
Robert
Shutup. I just got a new game.
Zoe
Dork. Can I watch?
Robert
Yeah, sure. I was in the middle of it.
Robert led Zoe into the darkened living room. It was illuminated only by the glowing pause screen on the big TV. Robert's video game system and all its wires were sprawled out on the floor like a mess of black snakes. They both plopped down on his parents' exceedingly plush sofa.
Robert
Let me finish this part and save, and then I'll talk to you.
Zoe
Okay.
Robert took hold of his controller and unpaused the game. Zoe watched on the TV. A small boy with a glowing sword was climbing up the body of a gigantic monster made out of stone and fur. The boy was trying to stab the monster in its forehead, but the monster kept on shaking and twisting, so the boy couldn't get a good enough hold.
Zoe
Which one are you, the monster or the little boy?
Robert
I'm the dude with the sword.
Zoe
Why are you trying to stab that monster in its head?
Robert
I'm trying to save my girlfriend.
The boy on the TV finally landed a hit. He plunged his sword straight down into the creature's furry head. The monster screamed and roared, and its eyes lit up in shock.
Zoe
You're hurting it!
Robert
Well, yeah.
Zoe
Don't you feel bad?
Robert
Grrrr! Be quiet! This part is really hard!
Zoe
Do you have any food?
Robert
Yeah, help yourself.
Zoe knew exactly where to go: her best friend Robert's house. His lived with his mom, and she was away on business for the whole week. It was only ten minutes away, and it was secluded, so she wouldn't have to worry about cops on the roads looking for truant teenagers.
Zoe pedaled her bike carefully down the street. It was almost pitch-black. The main roads had white lines that shimmered faintly with moonlight. Eventually these gave way to narrow, black roads curving through woodland. Somehow, Zoe remembered the path to her friends house, the dips and bends and twists of the roads.
Robert's house was a huge two-story wooden affair situated in a clearing in the woods. Most of the house was dark. The few lights on glowed amber through the windows, casting shadows from the thin trees that surrounded the house. The clearing was close to the dunes that bordered the lake, and the wind from the water streamed through the gaps in the trees.
Zoe parked her bike against Robert's front deck and rang the doorbell.
One of the thick double-doors swung open. Robert stood there in his pajamas.
Robert
Zoe?
Zoe
Hi Robert. Can I come in?
Zoe
Robert....
Zoe winced as she said the name.
Robert was Zoe's best friend and she loved him more than anyone she knew. He was skinny and awkward and wore glasses with blue frames, and whenever he approached an automatic sliding door, he extended his hand and flicked his wrist, forcing the door open like a Jedi.
Robert was Zoe's only friend who knew about her dad's drinking problem and he was her only friend who disapproved of drinking altogether—although he was especially disapproving of Zoe's drinking. She got flustered as she wondered how she was going to tell Robert the reason she was going to run away, because he was so judgmental.
Zoe
You're such an idiot. You're such an idiot!
She was speaking to herself, about herself. She realized in a flash that talking to Robert about her problem wasn't even an option right now, because just two days ago, Robert had kissed her—or tried to kiss her. They were draped over each other on Robert's couch after trading backrubs, watching late night cartoons, just as they always did when they hung out. The kiss was a botched attempt from the start—a bad angle of approach—and they only ended up bumping chins before Zoe pushed him away. And just like that, their friendship dissolved. She didn't even have to try to avoid him the next two days at school, because he was doing such a good job of avoiding her.
Zoe's mind raced. She could go over there. She could use this night as the catalyst to renew their friendship. She would even tell Robert the truth about her drinking and would take whatever judgment he hammered out.
But she couldn't. She felt too terrible about what happened that the prospect of seeing Robert's sad face was frightening. She should have known that he would fall for her from the start. Zoe did not think she was pretty—she thought she had a plain face and hair and she hated her huge legs—but she knew she was the right level of prettiness to attract boys like Robert—boys who were too awkward and scared to approach prettier or more popular girls. And she should have known that, in Robert's mind, her touching him and hugging him and wrestling with him always held a promise of something more than platonic friendship. When she thought of seeing Robert, she saw a side of herself that she hated, and she felt like a tease, a whore. She knew she would have to face it eventually, because the thought of losing Robert's friendship forever was much more terrible than facing him. But tonight was not the night.
An explosion threw Zoe to the ground. She was blinded and deafened, and her entire body echoed with the sizzling white flash.
Her ears buzzed as she drew herself to her feet. Even though her hair was soaked, it crackled with static.
Zoe
Hello....
She heard her own voice faintly—she wasn't deaf.
She opened and closed her eyes. At first all she could see was the cloudy afterimage of a streak of white lightning.
It had happened so suddenly, she had to remind herself to breath as she gulped in her surroundings—
The screaming wind....
The bellicose sky....
Her bike....
As she considered this philosophical question, it started raining. Then it started pouring, and lightning flashed and thundered in the distance over the lake, reflecting off its surface in bright streaks. Before Zoe could even push herself off the ground she was soaked from head to toe.
Had she fallen asleep? The sky hadn't been cloudy when she rode here.
She felt like she was drowning and freezing at the same time. She hoisted her bookbag and ran to her bike. Her metal bike—
Zoe's first instinct was to ride to her friend Robert's house. But this plan was no good.
The backroads by her house, on the other hand, were far less travelled. And so that is where Zoe went. She struggled up the hills and zoomed down the slopes. Zoe lived near the dunes bordering the lake, and most of the backroads eventually led to the beach. Good, she thought. The lake was as good a place as any to run away and clear her head.
It was almost pitch-black. The main roads had white lines that faintly reflected the moonlight, but eventually these gave way to narrow, black roads curving through woodland. Somehow, Zoe remembered the path to the beach, the dips and bends of the roads. The sillhouttes of the trees gave way to a huge, sighing expanse of blackness. The road ended and a sand dune sloped down towards the water, black and grey in the moonlight.
She rode her bike straight down the sandy slope. Her hoodie flipped back in the lake's wind, and her exposed hair whipped around her face. She skidded a few yards from the water's edge. It was even colder here, but luckily she packed many layers of sweaters and sweatshirts. She had never been to the beach alone, or at night. It seemed so much vaster to her now, like how she imagined the ocean must look. Or outer space.
Zoe
I wonder what will happen to me...
Zoe spoke to herself aloud as she lay on the sand. Then, after considering for a moment:
Zoe
Who cares.
In the end, she thought, her and her problems were amazingly unimportant. Somewhere in Iraq a starving 14 year old girl would find her whole family dead under the smoking debris of her house. Zoe wondered if this girl would feel sorry for herself or feel the need to complain to her friends.
Zoe closed her eyes, opened them, and closed them again. There was so little difference between the two states. Both were vast black spaces, and the droning sound of the water was the same as the white noise inside her head. Was she drifting off to sleep? Or was she becoming one with the outside world?
Zoe obeyed. Back in her room, she closed her door, sat on her bed and rubbed her face.
It took a while to register how much trouble she was in. She wished she could go online and find her friends for some support. She winced when the impossibility of this ran into her like a brick wall. How could she have been so stupid to trust Elise's idea about the water? She was mad at her mother, but she was mad at herself too, for her carelessness.
And there was that tinge of guilt. She had never spoke so openly about her father, not even to her friends, let alone to the poor woman married to him. She hadn't even known for sure if her father was cheating on her mother, but it seemed to be a lucky guess in retrospect, judging from the shattered expression on her mother's face. When she was younger, Zoe thought that nothing she could say or do could hurt her parents. She knew this was not the case now, but she never had any idea how much she had the power to harm them. All it took was a little bit of truth.
Zoe found herself throwing clothes into her bookbag even before she consciously decided to run away. Looking at her bag half-stuffed with sweaters and hoodies, she decided that it was, in fact, a good idea. She needed some time, some space, to work out her conflicting emotions. She was trapped here in her room, with no computer and no phone. She was trapped in this house, in this relationship with her mother that she had just now irrevocably ruined. She needed some place to breathe.
An hour had already passed since the encounter. When she was sure her mother was fast asleep, Zoe opened her window and climbed out. The aluminum siding stung her fingers with cold. Her house was a split-level, and she had climbed out her window a few times before, but she never remembered it being this cold. She rubbed her hands together when she touched ground and pulled her hoodie tightly around her head.
She tiptoed onto the front porch, grabbed her red bike, and rode off into the night.
Zoe thought that the YMCA part of her punishment was funny for being so random and vague. But she was smirking more at the previous comment about her father.
Mother
What do you think is funny?
Zoe
I don't think it's funny—
Zoe should have stopped right there, but then she continued knowing full well that she shouldn't, that she was treading dangerous waters already and that this would be taking the plunge—
Zoe
—I just think it's kind of sad ... that you expect him to come home anytime soon. Or sober enough to take apart my computer. Isn't he cheating on you, anyway?
Slap.
It was a vicious, backhanded, very loud slap. Her mother swung so hard that she missed Zoe's cheek, landing squarely on her jaw instead. It surprised Zoe more than it hurt her, though after a few moments it started to smart horribly and her lip felt numb. The girl stood there with her mouth open.
Mother
Get out of my sight.
Zoe considered her answer for a while.
Zoe
I guess ... I wouldn't.
Mother
What kind of smart-aleck answer is that?
Zoe
Your question didn't make sense. I didn't do anything, Mom! Why would I want to punish myself if I didn't do anything to deserve it?
Her mother started walking. She marched up the stairs towards Zoe's room. Zoe followed her, keeping her distance and wondering if she should even bother maintaining her innocence at this point.
Mother
I'm not sure what is worse, Zoe—the thought of you drinking alcohol, or the thought of you lying through your teeth about it. I didn't raise my daughter to be a deceitful little drunk.
Zoe
But Mom—
Her mother ignored her. She went straight to Zoe's desk and began unhooking her computer. The woman had no idea what she was doing and it was almost painful for Zoe to watch. With a stray elbow, her mother knocked over a stack of papers onto the floor. She didn't seem to notice. Finally, she managed to unplug the monitor and lift it off of the desk, nearly falling backwards over a pile of Zoe's dirty clothes. It was not a large monitor, but her mother was so frail that she had to limp to carry it out of the room.
Zoe
I need that for homework.
Mother
You can write it longhand.
Her mother wasn't stopping, so Zoe had to trail after her down the hall towards her parents' bedroom.
Zoe
You don't understand. I need the internet, and something to type on.
Mother
You can stay after school and use the computer room there.
There was no use telling her mother that the computer room wasn't open after school.
Her mother heaved the monitor onto her immaculately-made king-sized bed. It bounced and flipped over on its side.
Mother
Your father will be in later to take the rest of your computer. Meanwhile, you can forget about going out, for a year. And starting next week, you're going to go to the YMCA after school for a special program.
Zoe couldn't help but smirk.
Mother
I'm sorry, Zoe, but do you find something funny about all this? Please tell me.
Zoe recognized the bottle as soon as she looked at it. It was a bottle of gin.
She immediately looked at the linoleum floor and said nothing.
Mother
Well?
Her mother had noticed Zoe looking at the bottle, and she had to struggle to maintain her placid face. She had set the trap and was clearly expecting some satisfaction.
Zoe
Well what?
Mother
Were you drinking your father's gin last weekend, when Elise was over?
Zoe
Of course not.
Mother
Then why is that bottle filled with water?
Zoe shuffled her feet. It had seemed like a good idea at the time—water and gin looked the same, after all—but she should have known her father would notice the switcheroo eventually.
Mother
Are you going to answer my question?
Zoe
Mom, I don't even know what you're talking about. We weren't drinking.
Mother
Well, your father is the one who called it to my attention. Are you suggesting your father filled his own gin bottle up with water?
Zoe shrugged her shoulders.
Mother
Why in the world would your father do that?
Zoe
I don't know ... don't a lot of alcoholics try to cover it up?
Mother
Your father is not an alcoholic.
Zoe had to stifle a laugh.
Mother
You think this is funny?
Zoe
No.
Mother
What are we going to do about this, Zoe?
Zoe
I don't know.
Mother
If you were in my position, how would you punish yourself?
Were they letters from school? Zoe ransacked her memory. She was confident she hadn't done anything wrong. She had cheated on a history test, but that was months ago. Had her teacher just found out about it? Zoe doubted that her teacher would send a letter, even if he did found out. She kept on looking around the kitchen for clues, all the while careful not to betray any signs of guiltiness.
The bowl was crusted over with bright orange Velveeta sauce—the kind of crustiness that you couldn't just put in the dishwasher and hope for the best. Someone would have to scrub that off. Zoe wondered if she was in trouble for failing to put her dishes away.
She looked at her mother for a clue. But she could tell from her mother's face that her trouble was of a more epic nature. She continued looking around the kitchen.
The Adventures of a Girl Named Zoe, Who Saw Herself Seeing Herself In a Fulgurite, In a Fulgurite
Mother's Voice
Zoe?
Zoe, who was in her room talking to her friends on the internet, knew right away that she was in trouble. It was all in the inflection. If her mother had screamed her name, that meant she was just calling her. But the forced, calm pronunciation spelled uncertain doom.
Zoe put on her best blank face and walked down the stairs, one by one, taking her time. Her mother was standing in the middle of the kitchen, wearing a similar blank face.
Zoe
Yes?
Mother
Is there something you'd like to tell me, Zoe?
Zoe did a quick scan of the kitchen. There was a bowl of overripe fruit on the counter, along with a bowl of half-eaten macaroni and cheese. On the counter behind her mother, she could make out some opened letters, a bottle, a glass, and a book.
Zoe woke up and knew instantly that the events of the last night were not a dream. She never remembered her dreams, but she clearly remembered everything that had happened to her, right up until she put down the glass and crawled into bed, dumbstruck.
She had always wondered how crazy people must feel. Now she knew. It was actually quite exhilirating. She hadn't decided who to tell (if anyone) but she was so confident that she wasn't dreaming, that something truly extraordinarily happened, that the mundane details of who would believe her seemed trivial. She didn't yet feel confident enough to deal with the glass object, safely hidden under her shirt on her desk. But she at least felt confident enough in her apparent insanity to face the world.
She got dressed and skipped down the stairs. Halfway down she remembered that she lost her bike. She'd have to catch the bus to school. Oh well, she thought. She could handle it.
Downstairs, her mother was cooking breakfast. Upon further examination, she was cooking breakfast for someone sitting in the breakfast nook, drinking coffee and reading the paper. It was her father.
Zoe
Dad?
He looked up. When had he come home? He wore a ratty bathrobe, but he was clean-shaven for a change.
Dad
What do you want, kiddo? Surprised to see me?
Zoe
Well....
Zoe didn't press the point. Stranger things had happened, after all.
Her mother was completely ignoring her. It was for the best, Zoe decided. Her father didn't give any indication that he cared about her stealing his gin, or talking back to her mother—predictably. He never confronted Zoe about anything.
Dad
Do you have school today?
What a stupid question, Zoe thought. Of course she did, it was Wednesday.
Zoe
Yeah. I have to catch the bus. So—bye.
Dad
Bye.
The woods were quiet. The only sounds came from the bubbling creek and a few birds chirping. There were no butterflies, no sounds of battle, no police sirens. In fact, the subdivision wasn't even there anymore. Beyond the stand of trees was an empty field.
Zoe sat down. The dirt was soft and cold. Where was she now? The creek looked the same—or so she thought. She hadn't gotten a good look at it.
Grey had said she was supposed to catch a train. Where was this train supposed to be? The closest train station in her town—if that was even where she was—was downtown, a long ways away.
That couldn't be what Grey had meant. He would have mentioned having to walk to a train station. And what sort of train station would have a train that led to an Amethyst Castle?
A red fox regarded her from a distance. It held its bushy tail up in the air and sniffed. Suddenly Zoe felt very vulnerable. She had done something wrong, she was sure of it. She wasn't supposed to be here, she was supposed to be near a train track. She was lost. And that fox looked suspicious—was it an aurisha too? Was she being hunted?
Envision yourself near a winding track... Zoe held up her fulgurite to the light. The last two times she had looked through it, she felt as though her vision was being pulled. She had went along with it; she was too surprised to try to tug at the current. But now she thought it might be possible to push her vision another way, to paddle against the current and look for something in particular—like a train track. Could that be what Grey meant?
She held the fulgurite up to her eye again, determined not to take the path of least resistance. She breathed in and out, concentrating. For a third time she saw the pattern of nothingness and being. She pushed her consciousness as it was pulled, and felt the momentum of the vision give a little. Train tracks she thought. And then something locked in her mind, and the vision was off again—galaxies, stars, planets, a blue planet, like earth, with the same continents. And yet somehow she knew this planet was very different from her own. She was looking for something—a train track, in the shape of the creek—and then she saw it, zooming through the clouds. A curve of glimmering train tracks in a forest, and a girl standing next to them, looking through a fulgurite.
Zoe pulled the fulgurite away from her eye and looked around her. The trees were larger than before, with greener, thicker leaves. The forest stretched out in all directions. The train tracks, she noticed, were not the usual rusty iron and rough wood. Each crossbar was made out of polished hardwood. The rails were gleaming steel with flowery engraving that flowed down their entire length. There was no wind, and even though the tracks rested on a loamy forest floor, neither the wooden planks nor the rails had a speck of dirt on them.
It occured to her that she was not at a train station. How was she supposed to get on the train—if it ever came? The track wound through the forest and quickly disappeared on either side in the thick trees. There was no station in sight.
Zoe
Left or right?
It was a dog. A furry, smiling golden retriever. It was slowly waddling down the aisle. It had a vest of sorts strapped to its back. The vest was lined with pockets that were filled with what looked like chunks of shiny, clear marbles.
The dog stopped at Zoe's booth and looked at her expectantly. Its pink tongue lolled out of its mouth as it panted. It looked so friendly that she almost reached out a hand to pet it.
Mysterious Voice
Hello. Ticket, please?
She jerked her hand away. Did the dog say that? No—it was still looking at her with its mouth open. And the voice seemed to come from all over the place.
Mysterious Voice
Why don't you have a mask?
This time, the disembodied voice had a more suspicious tone. The mirrors on either side of her booth were completely fogged up now.
Zoe
I—I lost it.
Mysterious Voice
Hm. Well, please give your ticket to the conductor.
Zoe looked around.
Zoe
Who is the conductor?
Mysterious Voice
Why, you're looking at her.
The dog in front of Zoe shook its head slightly, as if to acknowledge its position, and continued panting.
Mysterious Voice
Where are you going?
Zoe
The Amethyst Castle.
Mysterious Voice
The Amethyst Castle? Never heard of it.
The dog looked from side to side, and then sat down on its haunches.
Zoe
Umm.
Mysterious Voice
Are you a traveller, or a wanderer?
Zoe
I'm a traveller. I'm travelling to the Amythest Castle.
Moisture dripped from the mirrors. Zoe wiped her forehead.
Mysterious Voice
Is that right?
The voice was more localized now. It seemed to be coming from next to the dog. In fact, Zoe thought she saw a cloud of steam forming there.
Zoe
Yes sir.
The cloud of steam grew larger and larger until it had the vague shape of a person. The train seemed to slow down as the steam coalesced.
Man-shaped Cloud of Steam
Well, I suppose there are lots of places I've never heard of. Perhaps you've gotten on the wrong train?
Zoe
No. I don't think so.
Man-shaped Cloud of Steam
Are you sure? It happens more often then you'd think.
Zoe just shook her head. The train continued to slow down. It was nearing a full stop.
Man-shaped Cloud of Steam
Now look what you've done. Made me manifest and got me distracted from powering the train. That's why I have my dog do the conducting. Now, you'd better decide where you want to go double-quick. Though, if you've got no ticket and no destination, then we'll be stopping anyways, if you catch my meaning.
The creature waved a wispy tendril in the direction of the door.
Man-shaped Cloud of Steam
And my meaning is that you'll be getting off.
Zoe looked around for any sign of what she was expected to do at this point. In the mirrors' reflection, she noticed the masked man with the fez was still looking at her.
Zoe
I don't understand.
She looked at the dog, whose face was more comforting than a human-shaped cloud of steam.
Zoe
I did everything I was told to do. I'm just a harmless traveller—
Masked Man wearing Fez
Excuse me.
The man stood up and walked towards Zoe's booth. He looked at the steam-man.
Masked Man wearing Fez
I apologize, great and noble aurisha, for interupting. But it sounds as if this poor girl is hopelessly stranded. If there is anything I can do to help her, please, let me know.
"Hm," said the aurisha. "Can you can pay for her?"
The masked man shook his head. "I gave your conductor my one and only steam crystal."
"Then perhaps a toy for my dog?"
Again, the masked man shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't have anything like that."
Zoe looked at the dog, who looked back at her expectantly. Then she got an idea.
She picked left. That was the direction her house lay, if her house even existed in this world. She started walking. The leaves crunched noisily under her feet—there was absolutely no other sound in the empty woods.
No sound, that is, except for a faint humming. And then, a faint chugging.
It sounded like a train, coming from the direction that Zoe was walking towards. Zoe supposed that she shouldn't be surprised. But there was no station! She ran in the direction of the train. If she ran fast enough, she hoped, she could find a station before the train passed her.
She turned behind her and looked. There was a golden flash of light, and a trail of smoke was floating through the canopy. She continued to run. How was she running so fast? She would have been winded if she ran this fast in gym class.
The train was gaining ground behind her. It glided along the tracks as if they were made out of ice. It was an old-fashioned steam engine, painted deep black and covered in baroque gold and silver filigree. The train had five cars, each one painted perfect black and covered in gold and silver filligree, like the engine. She waved her arms at it as the train began to pass her.
Then there was a screeching sound, and orange and blue sparks shot out from the beautifully engraved wheels. The train jerked to a stop. Its last car was only a few yards ahead of Zoe.
All the doors to every car opened at once.
Zoe waited for some sign to approach, for a person to step out of the door and yell all aboard! But none came. The train stood still, its doors wide open. Small clusters of leaves, disturbed by the train's passing, fluttered gently to the ground.
She walked cautiously towards the last car. Its interior was covered in hardwood and more gold and silver patterns. The train had no windows, but through the door she could see that the walls were lined with mirrors.
There were no steps, so she had to pull herself up to get inside the door. She looked around her. She saw thousands of Zoes looking around in the mirrors' infinite reflections; the inside of the carraige looked far vaster than the outside suggested. A crystal chandelier lit the room from above, its light reflecting a thousand versions of itself. Below the mirrors were rows of booths, forward-facing like schoolbus seats. Except these booths looked to be made entirely out of gold and silver, the metals alternating in diagonal bands on each booth in a pattern that evoked zebras, or circus tents.
There was only one other person in this car, someone with wavy black hair wearing a small purple fez. Zoe could only see the top of his head above the back of his gold and silver booth.
The doors closed and the train jerked into motion. Zoe staggered backward and braced herself against one of the booths. She was surprised at how cold and heavy it felt.
She picked a booth on the opposite end of the car from the fez-wearing person to sit in. The seat was incredibly uncomfortable, and there was not very much leg room, even for her.
Was this better than being stranded in a forest? The hall-of-mirrors effect was beginning to disturb her. She looked straight ahead at the back of the booth. There was an elaborate mural engraved into the shiny alternating stripes of gold and silver. The mural pictured what looked like a queen, or perhaps an efeminate king, surrounded by winged angels, sitting on a huge throne made out of all sorts of apparently random things—trees, strange animals and monsters, flame, a meteor, a torn scroll. It was dizzying to look at.
Zoe put her bag against the mirrored wall and lay down sideways. She looked down at her lap so she wouldn't have to look at herself in the opposite mirror.
She noticed she was still holding the glass fulgurite. She turned it around in her hand. Unlike the perfectly smooth mirrors lining the walls, the fulgurite's glass was rough and flecked with sand and dirt. Zoe tried to scrape some off with her fingernail, but apparently the glass had melted around the particles. She decided not to fool around with the fulgurite—maybe those flecks of sand needed to be in their exact positions for the thing to work its magic. Magic? Could that explain what was happening to her? Zoe wondered.
Zoe carefully wrapped the fulgurite in one of her sweatshirts and put it in her backpack. As she did so, she noticed a new reflection in the mirrors. She was so on edge that she instinctively ducked down. Calming herself, she peeked out from behind her seat.
The man with the fez was looking back at her. But she couldn't see his face, because he was wearing a creepy-looking mask. The mask had three eyes, one in the middle of the forehead. Zoe could not tell if whoever was staring at her through mask had three eyes to fit. She shuddered.
The door to car opened. Zoe ducked back around her seat. She didn't see anyone enter the car. The door closed with a hiss and a click. She heard pattering footsteps down the isle, followed by a jangling sound.
Zoe wiped her forehead. The temperature in the car seemed to rise suddenly. Or—was it just getting more humid? The mirrors closest to the door were slightly foggy, and as the footsteps continued, the fogginess spread further down the car.
Zoe's stomatch sank. She felt even more vulnerable than before now. She had nowhere to run or hide. Why did she trust Grey? Was she insane?
She risked peeking out from behind her booth down the isle, and she saw the source of the footsteps.
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