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12

I was having the weirdest dream.

I was sitting on a big couch in a coffee shop I’d never been to. I think my mind had pulled it out of an old sitcom.

Sitting next to me was that cute pop singer, Honey Childes. She wore this little black leather number. Something I think she’d worn in a video.

She was explaining the finer points of acoustics and portals, and the importance of precise pronunciation.

Might have been fine. Might have been enjoyable. Except that instead of her usual long, blonde ponytail, she had lime green fur, everywhere I could see.

No one came or went through the glass doors of the coffee shop, either. This steady stream of customers just popped in and out through temporary portals.

And they were all people I knew, from kindergarten, though college and beyond. I think I even saw Jolly and Red show up together, ordering giant glasses of iced tea.

This nebbishy guy behind the counter finally called my order, which didn’t make sense because I already had a cup of coffee. Huge, steaming thing. Took two hands to hold.

Made even less sense, really, because I didn’t drink coffee.

And yet, I could hear that guy loud and clear.

“Wakey wakey juice for Scott Eagleson! Scott Eagleson. Wakey wakey juice for Scott Eagleson!”

I set down the cup I was already holding.

I got up, but my body was moving too slowly. And the ground was shaking, like a sub-4.0 earthquake — enough to notice, but not enough to care about. Not for a California native like me.

And the guy kept hollering at me, while the quake started ratcheting up the Richter scale. Every step was shaky now. I could even hear the ground trembling, under the sound of the counterman’s voice.

“Wakey wakey juice for Scott! Wakey wakey for Scott! Wakey wakey, Scott! Wakey wakey, Scott!”

But it wasn’t the nebbishy guy from the sitcom holding out a cup of coffee to me. It was a Kodiak bear. Smelled like it just ran all the way here from Nova Scotia or something.

And the top of the coffee swirled mocha brown energy like a portal…

My eyelids snapped open.

A mass of gray tentacles! Smelling like that dream-bear! Practically right above me!

I found myself reaching for power without knowing how I was doing it…

And then the world began to resolve itself.

Those weren’t tentacles.

Even in the pre-dawn gloom of my room with the curtains drawn, I could tell that was hair. Gray hair.

Wild, gray hair.

Which meant the odor wasn’t coming from any Kodiak bear.

Which made the skinny person underneath that hair—

“Vasco?” I rumbled through a dry mouth. “Why are you in my room?”

Vasco twisted on my nightstand lamp.

Cold glare and harsh reality.

Vasco was indeed standing beside my bed. But his jeans were black and almost new, and his flannel shirt was a solid forest green. Buttoned up this time, with just a hint of white collar poking out from beneath it. His duffel bag sat on the floor beside him.

“What time is it?” Vasco asked.

“Time to get up!” Magellan barked happily, from somewhere nearby.

“I was asking Scott,” Vasco said as I sat up.

Then realized I was naked. I usually do sleep naked, but I don’t usually expect to wake up to the sight of an old man and his dog.

I pulled the covers up.

“How should I—” The question died on my lips. Of course I knew the answer. I could feel time flowing all about me. “Five twenty-two—”

I shook my head. “Vasco? Why are you in my room at five twenty-two in the morning?”

“Told you we’d get an early start. Smell like you showered last night, so throw on some clothes. I’ll make the coffee.”

“I don’t have coffee,” I called as he and Magellan left the room. “Make tea.”

“Cretin,” he called back.

I closed the door so I could at least pretend to have some privacy while I dressed.

How should I dress for my first day as an investigatory Locksmith?

I decided to take a cue from Vasco, on that front.

Good, strong blue jeans. White athletic socks. No flannel shirt for me, though. Instead, I went with a short-sleeved silk button up, done in twilight blue.

Stuck with my sneakers. Good all-around shoes, sneakers. I could wear them in any restaurant or museum in Portland without anyone batting an eye, but if I had to fight or run, I knew I could count on them.

By the time I reached the kitchen, the coffee was ready. Smelled rich and dark and entirely unappetizing.

“How can you drink that stuff?” I asked, ignoring entirely that there was now a small, six-cup coffee maker on my counter.

“Coffee is one of this world’s great delights,” Vasco said. “A gustatory contribution unrivaled by any drinks offered in the west.”

I grabbed a black cup with a red chaos symbol out of a cabinet, filled it with water, and shoved it in the microwave to heat while I grabbed a tea ball pre-filled with blackberry tea.

Vasco frowned at me.

“You have a teapot right there.” He pointed at it, in its place on the stove.

“And if I wanted more than one cup, I’d use it,” I said, rummaging around in the fridge for the breakfast of champions: cold, leftover pizza.

“No,” Vasco said, closing the box as I opened it.

I growled at him.

Magellan whined disapproval.

“Look,” Vasco said. “One thing you need to remember from your lessons. Everything is related.”

I did remember that. But I narrowed my eyes at Vasco all the same.

“Bad enough that you’re microwave-heating tea water. The slow rise to boiling of a stove teapot has a different and superior effect on both the water and the taste of the tea.”

I started to open the pizza box again. Vasco closed it firmly and kept his hand on the box this time.

“Pizza is fine once in a while,” he said. “Back to back meals, though, will influence you in ways you don’t expect. Save your cold pizza for dinner tonight. Have something different now. Preferably featuring vegetables and fruits.”

He lifted both his hand and an eyebrow.

“Fine,” I said, shaking my head as I tossed my leftover pizza back in the fridge. “I don’t have—”

I stopped talking, because I’d turned back to see two Denver omelets sitting on the breakfast bar. Both had cucumber slices on the plate, and little bowls of fruit.

The plates and the bowls were brown stoneware that definitely did not come out of my cabinets, which were full of thrifty store dishes and cutlery.

The smell only reached me now. After I’d seen them. Which meant…

What did that mean?

Vasco smiled at me.

The microwave dinged.

“Something you’d like to ask?” Vasco teased as he started into his omelet.

“Fine,” I said, throwing the tea ball into my cup hard enough to splash water on the counter. “Where did the coffee maker come from? And the coffee? And these Denver omelets? And these dishes?”

Vasco leaned down and patted his duffel bag. Shoved a forkful of omelet into his mouth.

I started to deny that. Felt the word “no” forming in my mouth, ready to go on to say that there was no way he pulled hot food out of a duffel bag.

Except that he didn’t.

The lesson was coming back to me right in that instant. Alustiria. The tall, slender elf woman with the long, platinum hair, tinged with hints of blue…

“The pocket,” I said. A shiver of realization flowed over me.

“Exactly,” Vasco said. “Each of us has a personal dimension, tied to who we are. Its coordinates are as innate and basic as our fingerprints or our DNA. No two could share the same. And I assume Alustiria taught you to find and access your own?”

“Yeah. We only did that a couple of times, for illustration though.”

“No doubt.” Vasco sipped his coffee. Pointed at my omelet. “Don’t let it get cold.”

I started to dig in, and I had to admit that it tasted wonderful. A little heavy on the salt for my taste, but still, quite good.

And the little dish of fruit — slices of apple and orange and persimmon, along with a mixture of berries — tasted even better. As though all of it were fresh-picked.

As I ate, Vasco continued.

“The pocket isn’t just an emergency hideaway. It’s a great place to store anything you might need, from a few extra bucks to a coffee maker, for example.”

“But food,” I said, swallowing a mouthful of omelet and sipping some blackberry tea before continuing. “How can you keep food in there without it going bad? Or at least cold? Alustiria said that time in the pocket is tied to our natural rhythms, so it will always flow at the same rate as the world we’re from.”

“Well,” Vasco said, drawing the word out. “I may have applied a couple of other tricks to keep it breakfast-ready. I cooked them about an hour ago.”

Magellan chipped in his thoughts.

“I got to eat the extra ham!”

“And some cheddar,” Vasco said, shaking his head. “I spoil that dog.”

“You’re the best!” Magellan barked out. “The best!”

“But why the duffel bag?” I asked.

Vasco chuckled. “Suppose you need to pull something out of your pocket, but you’re in a public place.”

“Oh,” I said. “It’s a prop.”

“Pretty much. Take a closer look.”

Yesterday I wouldn’t have known what that meant, beyond the literal.

Today I knew that by asking me to take a closer look, Vasco was telling me to look beyond my normal senses.

And now that I could do that, I could tell that within the duffel bag played a series of energies that I now thought of as magic. I couldn’t quite gauge what these did, but realization slapped me in the face.

“My shirt,” I said. “That wasn’t a replacement. You … how did you manage to grab my shirt and repair it without my noticing?”

“You were more than a little distracted yesterday. I could have walked a five hundred pound gorilla right in front of you without your noticing, if I’d timed it right.”

I looked down at Magellan.

“He didn’t, did he?”

“That would be telling,” Magellan barked.

Vasco laughed.

I pushed forward my empty plate. Must have been hungrier than I thought. I knocked back the last of my blackberry tea, set down my cup with authority.

“Ready to go then?” Vasco asked.

A frenzy of nerves whirled through my guts. But I had a smile on my face.

“Let’s do this.”

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