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.“Okay, four hundred and fifty-nine.But if you’re not a big girl by now, we have no interest in dragging you there.We’ll help you as much as we can, in any way we can, as long as you’re doing your share.If you want to skate through, this place isn’t for you.”“Uh-huh,” I said.River laughed, and then she came over and hugged me, leaning down to where I sat on the bed.She felt warm, solid, and comforting.I couldn’t remember the last time a hug had felt like that.Awkwardly, I hugged her back, patting a little with one hand.“I don’t mean to scare you off,” she said.“I want you to stay.But I don’t want you to work out immature bullshit here, either.You know?”I nodded.“Uh-huh.” No scintillating words were popping into my brain.Now, more than ever, I had no idea what I was doing here.Maybe I had been overreacting to everything.This had all been a laughable mistake.At least, I was sure I would laugh about it someday.Decades from now.The time I tried to escape, ha ha ha.I mean, maybe I wasn’t so bad, after all.Then I remembered the cabbie, his face starkly outlined by the streetlight, and how I had just walked away, and something inside me crumpled.“How old are you?” I asked, without meaning to.She paused in the doorway.“Well, older than you,” she said ruefully, brushing some strands of hair off her face.“Like, how old?” I don’t know why I cared—maybe I didn’t want someone younger than me acting like she had it all together.Her eyes met mine.“I was born in 718 in Genoa, in the kingdom of Italy.” She smiled.“It hasn’t changed all that much.”“Oh.” I nodded, and then she smiled one last time and left, closing the door behind her.I was glad I hadn’t blurted out my first reaction, which was, “Goddamn, you’re old.”I fell back on my bed, incredibly tired.I so didn’t belong here.This place radiated calm, peace, patterns of life and change and sameness, all at once.I was a whirling Japanese throwing star, careening through the world.I was trouble.An icy despair seemed to seize my chest—this had been such a laughably ridiculous plan, and yet it was the only thing I could think of.Oh, God, I was so screwed.My room was warm.There was a small metal radiator against one wall, and it was working.I pulled off my worn leather jacket and my heavy motorcycle boots, feeling free and weightless and so comfortable.I was wearing a man’s velour pullover, and I tucked it around my neck, reflexively making sure my neck was covered, very cozy.My eyes were drifting heavily shut when there was a tap on the door.“It’s open,” I said, thinking longingly of room service.I’d already noticed that none of the doors had locks.How quaint.The door opened, and the Viking god stood there.I peered at his face from beneath lowered lashes, searching, again troubled by a dim recognition that faded as soon as I tried to pin it down.In one hand he carried my suitcase, which easily weighed more than I did.He set it down in my room.“Here.”“I was going to get it in a minute.” I sat up, feeling self-conscious, knowing what I looked like.There have been times in my life when I’ve been truly beautiful.I have symmetrical features, pretty eyes, a full mouth, high cheekbones, and so on.On the occasions when I have my act together, I know I can look really good.I just hadn’t had my act together, looks-wise, in about forty years.Or so.Now I was acutely, painfully aware that I was junkie-skinny, with rats’-nest hair dyed a garish, fake-looking black.I probably looked as if I’d been embalmed, or had just recovered from cholera.My clothes were whatever items I’d found that didn’t actually have stuff caked on them.In short, I couldn’t have looked much worse.Viking God Person was so striking, with glowy golden skin, and short, perfectly mussed tawny hair, and golden eyes the color of a sherry wine that I’d tasted once in Georgia (again, the country, not the state).He was tall but not pointlessly tall, strong and muscular without it looking like compensation for something else, with masculine features neither too rough nor too pretty.His nose had a slight bump and was a tiny bit crooked, as if it had been broken once, and of course that completed his perfection, in the Japanese wabi sabi view of perfection.Where had I seen his face before? But whatever—he took my breath away.He looked like he just couldn’t be bothered with helping me, which, sadly, only increased his appeal.“What’s your name?” I asked, trying to look unrattled.“Reyn.”Rain? Reign? Rane? “I’m Nastasya.”“I know.”He was unfriendly, unwelcoming.I wondered why he was here.Was everyone here a lost cause, like me? Was anyone else in hiding? I wanted to know this guy’s story.With any luck, it would be worse than my own.“Okay, thanks,” I said shortly, unnerved by his attitude.“River asked me to tell you that dinner is at seven.”He stepped backward and almost silently closed my door.I wanted to ask where one ate dinner but figured he’d probably just tell me to follow my nose.I fell back on the bed, wide-awake again.My heart constricted as I accepted that this wasn’t going to work out.If I’d needed further proof, which I hadn’t, this Reyn guy had provided it.These people were probably all about good works and making the most of their endless lives.I was just trying to escape the darkness that was oozing over everything I touched.I was trying to hide—from Incy, from myself, from my past and my present and even my future.Incy.I shivered again and rubbed my arms up and down my fuzzy sleeves.By now he would be wondering where I was.We rarely went a day without seeing each other, talking to each other.Was he worried? What was everyone thinking? Would they try to find me?I couldn’t go back.That much I felt sure about.And I couldn’t stay here.Okay.A couple of meals, a couple of nights’ sleep, and I’d be gone, baby, gone.It wasn’t like there was that much left of me to save, anyway.CHAPTER 4SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, 1967C ome on, I want a picture of me and you,”Jennifer said, tugging on the sleeve of my caftan.I flicked my long honey-blonde hair over my shoulder.“Of course you do
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