The Leveller - Julia Durango Page 0,46

we can do right now, Nixy, so we might as well do something useful. Our brains need rest. And besides, look over there,” he says, lowering himself into a recliner and pulling me down beside him.

The setting sun has made a picture in the sky, striping the horizon like a silk scarf of delicious colors: lemon meringue, orange sherbet, tangerine, blood orange, and pomegranate. Wyn pulls a blanket over us and we lie there for a while in silence. I try to focus on the beauty of the sunset and let myself relax. Wyn is right, of course. Our plan to turn the tables on our captors failed miserably and now we have to think of a new one. Only I’m too tired. Too worried.

I think of my mom then with a small pang. I remember when I was younger, I was a total worrywart over every little thing. Jill would always tell me the best way to solve a problem was to sleep on it. “We work a lot of things out in our sleep,” she would say, tucking me under the covers. “Sleep is the brain’s nightshift, and we’d best let it do its job.” I used to imagine that my own brain’s night crew was a bunch of sudsy bubbles, scouring my brain of all the bad, troublesome thoughts so I’d have a nice, clean, worry-free brain the next morning. Maybe I can summon the bubbles tonight.

I take a quick peek at Wyn. He is staring into the sunset, his face solemn and still, his mouth slightly turned down at the corners.

He turns to look at me. “Think you can sleep for a bit?” he asks, taking my hand in his.

“Sure,” I say, squeezing his hand in return.

But before I close my eyes, I lean toward him. At the exact same moment, he moves closer to me. And I’m not certain how this is happening or why, but all of a sudden I am kissing Wyn Salvador.

And while I know that none of this is real, the smell of the tropics and the sound of the ocean and the feel of the breeze and his lips—so soft, how are they so soft?— convince my brain that it is very, very real.

And this is wrong, and we are in serious danger, and we should be trying right now to find another way to escape but for a moment I can’t think, I don’t want to think, and although I wanted to pulverize Wyn Salvador almost forty-eight hours ago, kissing him right now is very, very surprisingly good.

And as long as I am doing it, I don’t have to think at all.

When I wake up hours later, we’re still holding hands, though Wyn’s grip has loosened somewhat, his face soft and shadowy in the moonlight. I study him, poring over the contours and details now that he’s sleeping: the strong dark shape of his eyebrows, the soft curls of hair along his forehead, the long lashes that would be the envy of any cover girl, the slight dimples in his cheeks, the square of his jaw. The only flaw on his face, the only thing keeping it from perfection, is the way his mouth turns down at the corners again. Even in sleep Wyn is troubled, searching for answers.

Like I am.

I leave my hand in his and stare up at the night sky. I know the answer is inside me somewhere, I just need to find it. If I dreamed while I was asleep, I don’t recall, but I do feel more clear-headed now, more focused. The bubbles did their work.

I go over the chain of events again, one by one:

1. Diego Salvador says that Wyn has barricaded himself inside the MEEP and left behind a suicide note.

2. The barricade is a type of maze, which several people before me fail to get through.

3. Once I conquer the maze, I enter Wyn’s Havana via a portal in the Floridita.

4. I find Wyn (or he finds me), and he claims that he is trapped in the MEEP.

5. He denies both creating the maze and leaving behind the suicide note.

6. The portal in the Floridita disappears. Wyn’s original portal is also gone.

7. Wyn claims there are human players in the MEEP with us. We capture one of them, who turns out to be Kora Lee, Diego Salvador’s personal assistant.

8. Kora claims to be working for the Legionnaires, an anonymous group determined to shut down the MEEP.

9. Kora also claims “they will