Wattys shortlist 2021. One morning the sun rises a few hours early, striking levitating skyscrapers in Soliara ahead of schedule. People in the streets stop to look up at the sky and then down at their watches. Most of them, puzzled but disbelieving...
"Ah, merde. I'm dead, aren't I?" The woman with the fire hair had lowered the object she had pointed at Leander, and he did not know why its lowering made him feel relief. Ancient instinct told his body that what she held must be a weapon.
Now her posture had lost its fight. The small woman looked resigned. Clearing his throat and wondering whether his voice would work, he observed her body language, how she hunched down and panted, and determined that it would be safe to speak to her.
He said, his voice a bit growly, "I believe you mean me. I'm dead. Aren't I?"
She laughed. A throaty laugh for one so small. "Yes, it looks as if you're dead." Her accent was unfamiliar and blunt, like that of a peasant. "Listen, you look pretty strong." She breathed heavily. "Could you bring that couch over here?" Hunched over, arms hanging low at her sides, she nodded with her head to indicate within her dwelling.
A puzzled brow furrow and silent response prompted her to lift an apparently exhausted arm to point to the divan. "The sofa?" she said, her back still exerting pressure on the door.
He knew that word. "Ah, you want me to. . ." He trailed off as a searing heat began to build to a pain in every fraction of his nerve endings. Stooping to pull the sofa from one end, he said, "This may scratch the flooring. . ."
"These people have guns and they're about to shoot the door out, once they gain access to the building. Which they will, because they've buzzed every unit in the building, and someone's going to buzz the murderous bastards in faster than you can say Amazon." Already he was dragging the weighty sofa and she got out of the way, saying, "Sorry, I should explain. Amazon is a company that delivers packages, and my neighbors like receiving packages, so they will allow entry to anyone claiming to be sent from the great masters of two-day shipping."
Hands on her knees, she took a moment like a puppet, then straightened. "I'm Alma, by the way. What else would you like to know about this world before I go?"
This woman, this Alma, backed away from the door, searching the room with desperate eyes. After a moment she seemed to stop herself, close her eyes, take a steadying breath, and relax. When she returned to movement, it was to go to the kitchen, lift his stew bowl, and have a taste. With his spoon.
"Seriously," she said, "now is the time to pick my brain. If you're here it means I'm not getting out of this one. Probably because I took the unit with no fire escape because it was $300 a month less rent. Good chairo, you should eat it. The recipe's Bolivian." Passing him the bowl, she left that same spoon she had eaten with cradled amidst the meat. "Curtesy of my ex," she went on, her speech becoming interminable.
He did eat, listening to her ramble on. The chairo had enticing spices, more flavoring than he had imagined, and a bit of heat. The good kind.
"In fact, you eat — forget about questions. You wouldn't know what to ask anyway. This world is called Earth. Planet Earth, actually. You're in the United States of America. San Francisco, California. Zipcode 94115. Oh, hold on, I forgot. I made up a study guide ages ago."
Still speaking, Alma went to the desk and began opening and slamming drawers as fists began to pound on the front entrance. "Things here run on electricity. Important word, electricity. I know I wondered when I first got here. Hey, come away from the door, they're about to start shooting. So, here's what I recommend you do."
Leander came around the kitchen counter as she handed him a heavy tome. "Take this, and go hide in a closet until they're gone. When they leave, I'll be dead, and you need to report the murder or it'll look bad. If you don't know what a phone is, which I'm guessing you don't, given your confused vibe, you should go out into the hallway and yell, 'Somebody call 911! Alma's dead! Alma in 602!' You got that?"
"Yes," he nodded, baffled at her meaning.
"Repeat it," said Alma.
"Somebody call . . . 9 . . . 1-1. Alma in 6-0-2 has been murdered."
"Very good. You're sharp. Now this: 'My phone is dead. Help. Call the police. My phone is dead.'"
Raising a brow, he repeated it as explosions tore up the front door. His eardrums rang from the noise's force.
Into the hand that didn't hold the hefty tome, Alma placed her small compact weapon. "You take this and hide. Pretend you're my boyfriend — that's like a husband but not — and the landlord might let you take over the lease. At least you can say here. And of course," she said as she pushed him back into a grand wardrobe in the wall filled with clothing, "the universe always provides. My ex-boyfriend's clothes are still here. You'll look great in his jacket."
As she shoved him behind hanging shirts and began to slam the door, he slammed out the hand that held the tome in his fist and blocked it. "Stop." He held up the gun in offering. "Can we not prevent your murder? I swear, I'm very good in combat."
"That's sweet. First time, right?" More deafening bangs punctuated her words. "You haven't understood. It's always like this. Before you die, a replacement turns up. That's you, right? Tell me you did just wake up here after dying in another world."
"Yes, that is how I came here."
"So this is how destiny works. Fun, right? There's no stopping it, not if you're here. I swear there's usually more time — you know, to hang out, explain the mechanics of this place, catch you up on modern science and technology, and the complex culture of America in this our Lord's year of Two Thousand and Twelve. Or maybe it just seems that way.
"Now, you seem like the hero type, but I need you to hide in the closet the whole time while the damsel suffers an excruciating death by multiple shot wounds courtesy of a gang I had been investigating. When you come out, I need you to avenge me. Get each and every one of them locked away for multiple life sentences. It's all in the file. Actually, there's more on the computer, but take a few days to figure out what that means."
The firing had stopped and Leander imagined a hand unlocking and opening a door through a hole near the door handle. The couch had to be pushed out of the way, accounting for the scraping sound.
Alma heard it too, so she said, "My cue. I'm off to explore other realms in the multiverse. Don't mourn for me."
As she closed the door in his face, this time Leander let her. No searing fire for his inaction this time. A sign he did what the universe wanted him to do. Leander felt he understood, vaguely, what Alma wanted. Her time was up, but she had someone she could count on to finish the job: El Rey Leander, ruler of Lans Isilit.
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Author's Announcement: Leander's Star in the Constellations is going on hold for a bit. It isn't coming along as fast as I wanted, but I'm very excited about where it's heading!
Stay tuned, and thanks for reading! This new Leander chapter is like an intermission connecting Detective Fog and Stars Rise. The series can be read in any order, and the stories don't spoil each other, they simply add more information and extra angles.
The next chapter starts a book called Frost and Fog. This story connects to Leander's story directly. It takes place in San Francisco, too, a few years before Leander arrives. And the best news: The book is almost complete, so I will update fast! New chapters every Friday. Thanks for reading💖
Please leave a star if you can reach the star button. Peace and love to everyone reading.
