--13--
Trey felt his mouth move again. His lips formed a word.
“Username?” he asked.
Anthem looked sheepishly at him and nibbled the stub of a green fingernail. “You’re going to laugh at me.”
Trey stared at her. Gaped at her.
“What—?” she said, suddenly touching her face, her nose, to make sure that she didn’t have anything on her. “What?”
Trey sniffed. He could taste tears in his mouth, in the back of his throat. And there was a smell in the air. Ozone and sulfur. He shook his head, trying to capture the thought that was just there, just on the edge. But . . . no, it was gone.
Weird. It felt important. It felt big.
But it was gone, whatever it was.
He took Anthem’s hand and studied her fingers. There was blood caked in the edges. He glanced at the keyboard and saw the chocolate-colored stains. Faint, but there.
“You got blood on the keys,” he said. “You have to be careful.”
“Why?”
“Because this is magic and you’re supposed to be careful.”
Anthem gave him a sideways look. “Oh, very funny.”
“No,” he said, “not really.”
“What’s it matter? I’ll clean the keyboard.”
“It matters,” he said, and then for reasons he could not quite understand, at least not at the moment, he said, “We have to do it right is all.”
“Do what right?”
“All of it,” said Trey. “The spells. Entering them, everything. We need to get them right. Everything has to be right.”
“I know, I know . . . or the program won’t collate the right way and—”
“No,” he said softly. “Because this stuff is important. To . . . um . . . people.”
Anthem studied his face for a long moment, then she nodded.
“Okay,” she said and got up to get some computer wipes.
Trey sat there, staring at the hazy outline of his reflection. He could see his features, but somehow, in some indefinable way, he looked different.
Or, at least he believed he did.