“The university post office is right here,” Remi says, placing a marker on the map. “It’s not too far from the train station, and well away from the coast. The worst of the hurricane has moved on, and it wasn’t a bad one, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Shouldn’t be, but probably will be, now that they’ve said it. Way to jinx us. We were lucky the train wasn’t canceled due to the weather, but that luck will probably balance out with something awful later.
Angry rain lashes at the windows as the train pulls to a smooth stop at Jattapore Station, fat droplets that fall harder than anything we ever get in Kyrkarta. It’s nearly as opaque as fog.
“How are we supposed to get anywhere in this mess?” I ask, expecting to be completely ignored. Ania deigns to provide an overly knowledgeable response, though, as she leads us off the train.
“Jattapore has a rail system we can use,” she says. “The flooding and wind are too bad for anything else. They only started having hurricane problems recently, when the ocean started heating up, so they mostly aren’t built to handle it. The rail is the only thing that still runs consistently.”
“I bet the wind makes RidePods fun,” Jaesin says with a grimace. He can jump off buildings and do backflips in boost shoes, but put him in a bumpy RidePod and he turns totally green.
Once we’re on the platform, the others halt in place with their luggage, taking in the humid, salty air, the crowded train station, and the sheets of water pouring from the sky just beyond the edge of the platform ceiling. The architecture around us is different from the buildings in Kyrkarta, more ornamented, and somehow conjuring the swell and fade of the ocean just beyond. My hands itch to climb all over this building, to explore its hidden back hallways and secret rooftop doorways. Maybe some other time.
I catch Remi looking at me, gray eyes a perfect match for the roiling clouds above, but they quickly glance away. They know me so well, though, that they probably read my thoughts.
I don’t want to be curious about this city, though. I don’t want to feel that need, to run through its abandoned buildings, go everywhere I’m not supposed to go, let everything else fall away other than the next stair, the next rooftop, the next flying leap. It feels like cheating on my home to think it, but even in a strange, unfamiliar city, the thrill of exploration would be glorious.
Pointless to imagine now.
“Come on,” I say, waving the others after me. I spotted a sign that said RAILWAY, with a little train icon next to it. Don’t need to know my way around this city to get that. I lead the way up to the raised platform, never once glancing behind me.
That’s the biggest benefit of being in the lead: you never see all the glares directed at your back.
The University of Jattapore campus is beautiful, waterlogged though it is. The trees (so many more of them than in Kyrkarta) sparkle with hanging droplets of rain, glimmering in the few tentative rays of sun that dare to peek through the angry clouds overhead. The storm is moving on, leaving behind fallen branches, storm drains clogged with leaves, and calf-high water in low-lying areas. The university buildings stand proud and unaffected above it all, built of bright metals and stone carved in beautiful curling waves, and bustling with people even in the wake of the powerful storm. According to the net, it was the lowest category of hurricane, though I don’t exactly have the context to judge. It’s earthquakes and oranges. Or something.
We stop for a quick bite at a café called Speedy’s right as they’re pulling their little red awning back out from its storm-tucked position. Two employees bicker back and forth as they retrieve tumbled tables and chairs from across the bricked courtyard, complaining about some other guy who was supposed to bring everything inside before the wind picked up. I guess the people of Jattapore and Kyrkarta do have one thing in common: we’ve all had to figure out how to structure our lives around disaster.
We order our food, then commandeer one of the outside tables to wait for it. I spend an uncomfortable few minutes trying to watch Remi without looking like I’m watching Remi, scanning for any sign of how they’re feeling after our fight. I get nothing, though. It’s like the fight never happened and I don’t exist. They’re totally normal, except for the fact that they won’t look at me. Eventually they ditch us to run to the bathroom, which of course leaves me sitting around with Mom and Dad. Great.
I manage to endure a whole thirty seconds of strained silence before I crack. Playing nice, making jokes, apologizing—it doesn’t matter what I try, so screw it. Not trying anymore.
“So, this is Jattapore!” I say. “Gotta say, not really feeling it so far. Not impressed at all. You sure you wanna live here?”
The way Ania’s and Jaesin’s expressions darken gives me a vindictive little thrill. Wanna shut me out of the family completely? Fine. But I’m not gonna just lie back and make it easy for you.
“Awfully soggy, for one,” I say. “And what the hell are those obnoxious birds circling up there? Do they ever stop screaming?”
Jaesin closes his eyes and tips his head back with a sigh. I silently hope for a bird to poop on his face.
“This is fun, though,” I continue, because I’m on a roll and can’t stop myself. “The three of us here like this. It’s just like when you two were dating! Lots of obnoxious tension, the two of you being all huffy and superior, and me as the third wheel, just hanging out over here while you two take yourselves suuuuper seriously and roll your eyes a lot.”
Ania huffs an irritated sigh.
“I know what you’re doing, Diz, and I’m not going to let it—” she begins, but Remi walks back out to join us, their arms laden with bags of food. The smell of buttery biscuits and charred veggies shuts Ania right up, and we quickly divvy up the food to scarf as we walk. It’s probably better that I shove a biscuit in my face and stop talking.
Everything is fine.
We throw our wrappers in the trash receptacle outside the student union building, then slip through the entrance, into the chill of a building air-conditioned for computers, not humans. A bored student wrapped in a thick hoodie sits at the front desk with her feet up on the counter, obviously zoned in to some kind of deck game, so we walk straight past her and follow signs for the post office.
We round a corner and spot the post office window set into a long lobby wall. The others head straight for it. I hang back a bit and let them handle the talking. With my track record the past few days, I wouldn’t be surprised if I managed to blow up the post office or something with my mere presence. Jaesin takes the lead, the envelope clutched in his hand, and marches straight up to the clerk at the window.
I turn away to toss my drink in the recycler, then turn back just in time to see the clerk walk away from the window where the others stand waiting. A moment later, the guy comes out a side entrance, out of their line of sight, and stalks back toward them . . . with one fist brimming over with firaz.
“Look out!” I cry, and the others whirl around just in time to see the clerk round the corner and lift his fireball.
In the blink of an eye, Remi steals the maz straight from his hand and wraps it around their own, cocking their arm back like they’re ready to throw a flaming punch. Jaesin beats them to it, seizing the guy by the collar of his shirt and slamming him into the wall. Ania recovers from her shock quickly enough to scan the empty courtyard for witnesses, then starts in on a quick concealment weave. I run to Jaesin’s side and look the clerk over. His name tag reads VAN, and his expression is hard. Not with anger or violence, though. With determination. This guy has a cause to fight for. Means we’re on the right track, I’d guess, one step closer to the elusive Professor Silva.