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“Fine. What about Stockholm?”
“It’s very dark in the winter, and March is still cold,” I warn her. “Perhaps Stockholm another time. Didn’t you want to go to a beach? You sent me a picture from…”
“Santorini. I didn’t think you’d actually want to go there. It’s really expensive.”
“I have money saved. I can afford it.” When she says nothing more, I add, “I want to spend my money with you.” She still looks uncomfortable and looks away from the screen. “Ivy, look at me.” When her eyes meet mine, I say, “I’ll book two rooms. I care for you a great deal, but I won’t rush anything. Part of the reason I’ve been holding back about going on holiday is that I’m not ready to be physical, and I didn’t want you to take that as a sign I wasn’t interested. Because, make no mistake, I am very interested in you.”
Her shoulders relax.
“Is that what was bothering you all of a sudden?”
“Yes, I really like you too, but… Santorini is very romantic…”
I hold up my hand, “You don’t owe me any explanations. When it’s too soon, it’s too soon, and I want to savor every morsel of every stage of our relationship. I don’t want to rush anything.” I stop short of saying, ‘Because we have the rest of our lives.’
“So,” she says, “please be careful on your next mission and come back to me.”
“I will, but you don’t need to worry. This is our fate, Ivy. The universe wouldn’t let me die before we lived it.” It’s very difficult for me not to talk about the goddesses as they are a part of my every breath in the Empire. However, I know that Ivy believes in a different religion. When I brought up neo-paganism, which is what our resident anthropologist suggested I say to describe Alliance religion, she seemed somewhat alarmed and then asked if I sacrificed goats. I have sacrificed vons which I suppose look like goats, but I told her, ‘No, I haven’t sacrificed goats.’ Since then, I have tried to skirt around my beliefs by saying ‘the universe’ rather than ‘the goddesses.’
Reluctantly, we say our long goodbyes, and then I end the call. I bring out some of my Known Jewelry and pick a silver bracelet with dark ka-colored stones. This is my prized piece. I put it back in its black wooden box and close the clasp. I lay my hand over the smooth wood, considering, and then, after a few minutes, make a decision.
I get out a piece of paper and very carefully write in English,
Ivy,
Wear this every day, walk in the sunshine, and I will return to you.
Sem
Then I put the note and black box in a larger box and look up how to send something by courier. I write her address on the package and decide to quickly go down to the planet. I said I was in Outer Mongolia, so I land in Ulaanbaatar. I find a reputable international shipping company and send the package to her. She should have it by the day after tomorrow.
I wish I could have given it to her myself, but that’s impossible right now. How can I explain being in New Orleans an hour after I said I was in Outer Mongolia?
Fourteen
Ivy
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
It’s six o’clock in the morning. I throw on my robe and see who is at my front door. I check the peephole. It’s a delivery man.
I put the chain on but don’t open the door all the way. “Yes?”
“I have a delivery for Miss Ivy Jefferies from Sem Svensson from Ulann somewhere in Mongolia.”
“That’s me.”
“I need you to sign for this,” the delivery man says, handing me a tablet to sign through the door.
When I give him the tablet back, he gives me the small package. “Thank you,” I say as he walks away with a casual wave without looking back.
I close and relock the door and then bring the package into the kitchen. I grab my scissors and open it. Inside is a black box with a silver clasp. There’s some writing on the box, but I don’t recognize it. It must be just for decoration, I think. But on the off chance it’s something satanic, I check the internet.
I’ve obviously watched way too many horror movies in my life because while I’m searching images for these markings on the box, I keep thinking about all the movies I’ve seen where an innocent woman begins wearing or using something given to her without knowing there’s a curse on the object. Even in the Brady Bunch, someone got a curse while they were in Hawaii. If it can happen to that fictional family, it can happen to anyone.
My searches turn up nothing relevant. I run my fingers over the smooth markings. It really must just be art. Then I open the firm silver clasp. Inside is a folded piece of paper. It’s from Sem. His writing is so immaculate I hold it up to the light to see if it’s actually handwritten. It is. There’s an unevenness in the strokes that tells me he actually wrote this. Then I look at the bracelet. I take it out. It’s exquisite. A weighty silver bangle with seven blue jewels in it. They aren’t sapphires or anything like that, but still beautiful solid stones. I put the bracelet on my left hand and push it up so that it’s tight on my forearm. I like the way it feels cold against my skin, and I hold my arm out, admiring it.
“I won’t take it off,” I say out loud to the box and Sem’s note to me. A wave of anxiety washes over me. But what if he never comes back?
