Page 50 of Torn

She extends her hand. “Let’s be calamitous, and deplorable, and profound together.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the granules of his eyes alight. As he folds his fingers with hers, bolts of lightning catapult up her arm.

From morning until evening, they tour the city via rooftops and sidewalks and paseos, wandering from parks to urban villages. Everywhere, there’s starlight and moonlight, trees dotted with twinkle strings, and pavilions of star lanterns.

At first, getting Anger to unravel is more laborious than extracting teeth. Not that Merry has ever yanked on a molar, but mortals use that metaphor a lot. It’s like he wants to give in but has no idea how, motivated yet reluctant to try. His attitude is vexing, but she gets him to snicker at himself.

It’s a juxtaposition, a double standard that makes him seem more human than he knows. It’s a Study in Angers.

And it’s a Study in Merrys, considering how often he challenges her perspectives, how often she experiences epiphanies of the mental and bodily sort. She does the unexpected, snapping at him or clenching her thighs whenever his eyes swallow her, when he thinks she’s not looking.

Over time, his shoulders lose their tension, and his voice loses its strain. Their excursions massage the kinks out of him, the conversations growing increasingly fluid. Anger relaxes, and he becomes talkative, even impulsive.

She narrates like a docent, walking backward in front of him while they stroll across a bridge lined with telescopes. “This city was founded by a band of rebel astronomers. They wanted to prove the sky had its own sorcery as well as a system, and while they didn’t succeed, technically they were right, though few believed them.”

“The collision of magic and science,” Anger articulates. “Imagine that detonation. They weren’t far off the mark.”

“I wouldn’t call it a collision or detonation. I’d call it a marriage.”

“You would.”

She smacks his shoulder while he mirthfully tries to dodge it. Collapsing against the bridge’s arch, she regards the heavens carbonated with stars. “Magic is a wonder, and science is a fact. But their majesty doesn’t exist exclusively, because they’re equally dazzling and inspirational. They’re timeless and infinite, which means they remain mysterious.

“This place began with exiles of the stars, right from the beginning. They prayed to the galaxy, and studied its composition, and measured its light from atop the buildings—that last part is how they discovered the city’s radiance.” She boosts herself atop the balustrade. “The stars are luminous in deserts and mountains, but as cities go, this is the metropolis where they shine the brightest, more than any other. Over the centuries, it’s been the home of planetary theorists, and the dreamers and wishers who’ve pilgrimaged here and tried to catch lunar light in jars.

“Do you know, it’s said that one of the founding astronomers went blind from staring at a southern star for too long?” She glances toward the opulent cupola of a cathedral bell tower, illuminated by spotlights. “And what do you know? It’s the lucky hour!”

Anger bounds beside her, his physique blocking the view. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh, come on! I’ve always wanted to know—”

“That’s because you’re fanciful.”

“I’m a visionary.”

“Try it, and you won’t have any vision left.”

She parries, “Does that mean you believe the story?”

He takes up the gauntlet. They locate that midnight star and peer at it, laughing when their eyes water.

After that, they cavort through the Carnival of Stars, and she challenges him to a virtual arcade game, the one where combatants race across the galaxy. Per custom, she gives a play-by-play while he huffs and puffs atop the pulsating floor.

“I smell victory! Merry for the win!” she chirps over the dings, which indicate the score. “Wait, we’ve got Anger coming up the rear.”

“Do not use that phrase,” he warns, making her guffaw while they hurdle in place.

She cups her ear. “What’s that? Uh-oh, it sounds like the rage god is losing steam. And Merry gains another league. This is unprecedented, my gods and goddesses!”

“Let me remind you,” he pants. “This is just a game.”

She puts on a thick, rolling accent from no origin in particular, booming like a Titan.“You dare to belittle the Soul of Sport? It is never just a gaaaaame.”

Anger keels over, his shoulders shaking with humor.

He recovers fast, denies that he was snickering, and demands a rematch. A few rounds later, Merry’s exultant and jumping in place when she conquers the Saturn obstacle course, relishing Anger’s surly expression because he’s a sore loser.

All in all, it’s a resplendent first date. Actually, Merry realizes that she hasn’t been thinking of it in courtship terms at all. Rather, it’s just the two of them drifting, doing nothing and everything, which is better.

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