Page 88 of Tidal Creatures

“How do you open these gates?” asks Roger.

“We have keys,” says Chang’e. The conversation leaps from place to place like a rabbit on hot cement, never staying still long enough for her to feel like she has her bearings. “We use them to tell the gate who’s coming.”

“Uh-huh. Does everyone have their own key?”

“No. We share them around.”

“So where do they come from?”

“Hecate,” says Artemis. “She doesn’t manifest often—she’s associated with the moon, but for some reason she’s not generally considered a goddess of the moon, and I guess that keeps most of the people who still believe in her from lumping her in with the rest of us. But when she does manifest, she’s the goddess of entries and of keys. She makes the keys we use to open the gates, and then we pass them around, because they’re physical things, and when they’re lost, they’re gone.”

“Could the alchemists be killing Lunars to try and get one of these keys?”

“Wouldn’t work,” says Chang’e. “There are only two keys in Berkeley right now. The one I brought with me when I moved here, and the one that was already here when I arrived.”

“How did you get one?” asks Máni. “Why didn’t I know you had your own key? Shouldn’t someone have told me?”

“First, no one told you because most people don’t know. I play it pretty close to the vest,” says Chang’e. “I think most people who have their own key do it that way, for the sake of not having people get careless about the gates. As to how I got it, it was given to me by a Chang’e who was tired of doing her job. She’d been incarnate for so long that she’d buried her husband and all three of their children, and the youngest of her grandchildren was about a year away from going into assisted living. She was tired of crossing the sky. She was ready to go home to her version of the Moon and walk in the peach orchards forever.”

“And where did she get it?”

“Hecate, I presume,” says Artemis. She reaches into her pocket and produces a perfectly normal-looking key that gleams like mercury, surface glittering like it’s been infused with pearlescent glitter. It’s a solid object, but something about it looks like liquid, like it could burst and flow away at any moment. “That’s where I got mine.”

“How old are you?” asks Máni again.

Artemis shrugs. “Older than I like to admit. Old enough that I probably knew the Chang’e you’re talking about. Was her human host’s name Grace?”

When Chang’e nods, looking stricken, Artemis smiles.

“I always liked Grace. She was friendly; even welcoming, and she never objected to new people washing up on her patch. She used to make this spiced peach jam that was absolutely to die for, except for the part where if you ate it, you’d live forever.” She looks to Roger. “We get the keys from Hecate, and then we pass them along until she comes back again.”

“Who owns the other key here in Berkeley? The one you all use?”

“I think you know the answer to that one.”

Roger sighs, deeply. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess I probably do.”

Mare Vaporum

TIMELINE: AUGUST 18, 2017. THREE DAYS TO THE ECLIPSE.

They walk in a silent line along the sidewalks between the house and campus, a mismatched group that has no business moving in concert but moves in concert all the same. Roger and Dodger take the lead, the professor and the disappearing genius, cutting through the late-afternoon crowds like an arrow through air. Chang’e and Kelpie come after them, the Lunar and the cuckoo walking in uneasy time. They are followed by Máni and Erin, and at the back walks Artemis, a few feet behind the rest of them, giving Kelpie her space as best as she can without putting too much space between herself and the group.

The sky is still bright, the sun riding high, even as the moon shows her face through the clouds, a pale disk hanging in the afternoon sky. Chang’e hesitates as they reach the campus, grimacing.

“There are going to be so many people around this time of day,” she says. “There’s no way we can open a gate without being seen.”

“Will people even notice us walking into a wall?” asks Erin. “They generally ignore that sort of thing unless you go out of your way to draw attention to it.”

“Yes, and I generally help that happen by not drawing attention to it,” says Chang’e. “Walking into a wall in broad daylight is the definition of drawing attention.”

“If you give the actual definition, I will stab you,” says Erin pleasantly to Roger, who sulks exaggeratedly.

“It doesn’t matter,” says Artemis.

“We’re not killing people just because they see something they shouldn’t,” says Chang’e.

“We don’t have to,” says Artemis. “The gate’s not here. Can’t you feel that? There’s no gate on campus right now.”