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“I was born in 1911, and turned forty years old in 1951.”
“How is that possible?”
The easy answer was to twinkle my fingers and saymagic,then leave her hanging. But, I liked Imogen. If I was going to be able to keep her around for whatever dangers this mission would bring, I needed to loosen up a little and make an effort to be friendly. “I died. My essence was held in stasis.”
“Youdied?”
“Yes. Upon my essence being released, I was reborn.”
“How?”
“I’m a phoenix.”
“That’s crazy,” she said. “So you knew all along everything would work out. You can die and be reborn. That’s so amazing.”
I knew everything would work out? No, absolutely not. I had died in fear and pain. I’d died like anyone else, assuming my end would be final. My death haunted my dreams to this day. It paralyzed me on my mission to take down the soup. I was very much not over my death, no matter how much I wanted to be.
Imogen was smiling at me, waiting for my confirmation that her assumption was correct. I smiled back, made a noncommittal noise, and let her believe the lie.
“So you’re not forty, you’re one hundred thirty? That must be so cool, seeing the world change so much, all the while staying young and hot. I think forty is a great age. Sure, things get a little droopier, but the giving-zero-ducks what other people think makes up for it.”
Change wasn’t always for the better. Modern amenities had come at a cost. I was baffled by all the choices available in not only entertainment and snack goods, but in modes of transportation and availability of travel. These people of the future didn’t seem to appreciate any of it, numbed to their ability to choose anything and everything at any time. They worked more hours and enjoyed what they had less even though theyhad so much more. The sense of doom had changed from war to climate, every generation expecting some sort of catastrophe. I wouldn’t say it was better or worse, only…different.
As to the second part of what Imogen had said, I could at least agree to that. “I, too, am fond of forty.”
After transferring airplanes from large to medium at a stop mid-route, we landed at the only airport in the small eastern European country of Roldaria.
As we exited the plane into the terminal, I was surprised by how small the building was. Aside from a handful of employees and the other passengers from our flight, the airport was virtually empty.
Imogen said, “You go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
“Why?” I asked.
She squished her lips together and pointed toward the restroom.
“All right. I’ll see if I can grab our bags.” I hurried toward luggage retrieval, leaving Imogen behind.
I captured my canary yellow bag from the circling belt, then reached for Imogen’s rainbow bag as well. But the top of her bag swelled, causing me to pause. Was there something alive in there? The bag remained bloated, with no further movement. I grabbed the handle and set it beside me so we would not have to wait for the belt to go around again. As I waited for her to catch up, the bag still did not deflate, meaning she must have packed something that had expanded rather than something living. Perhaps she’d brought a self-inflating beach ball. To each her own. If it didn’t affect the mission, I didn’t care what she’d packed.
As the minutes passed, I waited by the luggage claim tapping my foot.
Imogen should have caught up, even if she had moved as slowly as a box turtle. I looked past the few other people milling about, but saw no sign of her.
The delay made me itchy. The entire point of traveling by airplane was to arrive early, which we had. But any advantage that had bought us would dwindle the longer she dawdled.
Toting our luggage along, I headed for the restrooms. I opened the door to the ladies’ room and paused for a moment to choose kind words. If the flight had caused her stomach trouble, she likely wouldn’t appreciate me prodding. Then again, she seemed to be unable or unwilling to hurry to do anything. I couldn’t tell which, but that was fine. She was my insurance policy, well worth waiting for.
“Imogen?” I called. “Everything all right in there?”
The only occupied stall door opened. The woman who stepped out was tall and thin with scowling eyes. She was definitely not Imogen. If Imogen wasn’t in the restroom, where had she gone?
Perhaps we had crossed paths yet somehow missed each other.
I headed back toward the luggage retrieval and did a quick scan of the area. She wasn’t here.
I rolled my stiff shoulders, let out a long breath, then headed toward the exit. If she wasn’t waiting out front, I didn’t know where else I could look. Under a bench? Behind a potted plant?
As I stepped outside, the humidity hit me first. It was so heavy and thick that it coated my lungs and my skin in a sheen of unpleasant moistness. The overcast sky did little to dull the summer heat. But the rolling green hills made a pleasant view, or would have, if not for the blanket of gray clouds muting everything. I had never been to Roldaria, but at first glance it reminded me a bit of Scotland.
