SAM

  A river of green pulled me in, faster and faster. Flowing in a tide I could not stop. It grew. Streams joined, and I was carried away—

  I jerked awake, flicked the hover lantern on low, and scribbled the dream in my notebook without waking Cora. Once the light was off, I curled around her, anchoring myself in the feel of her neck against my nose.

  The green river of light beckoned me.

  “Sorry, Sam,” Cora whispered, clicking on the lamp and jotting something down.

  I dozed.

  “Wanna hear it?”

  “Yep,” I whispered and handed her my journal so she could read about the green river pulling me in.

  I played middle C on the piano, holding just the one note. Only, it didn’t fade.

  It grew.

  It filled me, and I thought I’d burst with the power of that single note. Musical scores ripped through my hair, and notes poured from my pores. I was made of music, and I could not stop it.

  I laughed and wept for the joy of it, and nothing could stop the song.

  Once the lights were out, we curled into each other and slept, unbothered by dreams again.

  “We’re late,” Cora moaned.

  “Don’t care,” I mumbled against her chest, kissing my way down. And down. Her gasp was my reward.

  “Sam,” she begged. Just like always. I grinned against her thigh, tongue snaking out. She writhed.

  Hold on, love, it’s about to get good, I didn’t say. My mouth was too busy, fingers joining.

  “Sam,” and this time, it wasn’t a plea, it was pure joy.

  After the way she’d set me on fire, I wanted to give her more. Come again for me, love.

  "Fuck, Sam!"

  Mm. Hmm. That’s it, Cora. My tongue didn’t stop. I pushed harder, giving her that edge she needed. She ground against me, my name on repeat. Her fingers twisted my hair, and when she broke, it was my favorite song.

  I’d never get enough of her.

  She pulled me to her heaving chest. “Dear god, Sam. We need more dreams about music and green rivers if this is how it goes after."

  "Hey!” I mock complained. “We haven’t gotten boring yet, have we?"

  “Never. Oh. . . are you into repeats? My valkyrie costume has bits and pieces. . ."

  “I managed to leave you a few feathers,” I laughed. “But I don’t think my Celtic goddess get-up will make it through another round of ropes."

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Isn’t that the point?” she snickered. “Um, we’re still late for The Cabin.”

  "It's a holiday,” I sighed contentedly against her skin. "Who needs to be on time?"

  “Whoa,” Cora said, stepping out of the porter, and I agreed. The Cabin was as impressive as we’d been told. Curved roof, complete with a skylight, porch, floor-to-ceiling windows, and powdered with snow.

  It was everything you'd want in a Thanksgiving getaway.

  The deep snow in the hills blanketed the world in quiet, the only sound a trickle of the creek that wasn’t completely frozen over. Our boots crunched as we made our way inside to where our friends waited.

  Once we’d hung up our coats, we found the requisite candlestick over the fireplace mantle and pressed a kiss to it, paying homage to the Sloan family—builders of The Cabin and Five Spheres.

  Then we got swarmed.

  “Sam!” Filly called, running down the hall towards me. Bloom, the animals, and Trina, Tyne’s niece, followed.

  “Welcome to the chaos, Sam!” Rhoda said as she and Tyne carried boxes towards a spruce tree strung with colorful lights. It took up not a small amount of space next to a window.

  “No way! Do we get to decorate a Christmas tree?” Cora asked.

  “Well, it is Thanksgiving, even if no one here has ever heard of it. So, you with me? We keep Earthen traditions alive every winter like this?” Rhoda said.

  “What’s in the boxes?” I wanted to know.

  Rhoda clapped, “Come on, come on! We’ve got work to do while Pitch finishes supper.”

  Whatever was cooking in the kitchen smelled amazing, and the rest of us got started threading garlands of red and purple popcorn. The kids colored snow- and gingerbread-man paper cut-outs with crayons for handmade decorations. The mirkas ran around the shelves installed all around the cabin near the ceilings for expressly that purpose, and Bloom’s bunny nestled in a blanket under the tree.

  Cora nudged me with an elbow, “Take a mental picture, Sam; this is a postcard-worthy first Thanksgiving for us!”

  I laughed, “Totally. Can’t get cozier than this.”

  A buzzer sounded in the kitchen, and Nanna’s voice soon followed. “Wash hands, everybody. Dinner’s ready!”

  The spread on the table was impressive. Colorful salad, fruit that was art, and multiple casserole dishes. Mashed potatoes. Slices of something orange, baked, and sprinkled with cinnamon. The local vegetables were excellent substitutes for our familiar favorites from back home, but the main dish was something special.

  Pitch spooned a helping onto my plate as Tyne explained, “It’s called ‘Miracle Bake.’”

  “Let’s find out what miracles taste like. . . Not turkey!” Nanna cheered.

  Good.

  That’s what miracles tasted like. It was pasta with a meaty sauce. Like ground beef, but not. And a very spicy, creamy mushroom base. Every now and then, there were tart veggies of some sort—

  Tyne interrupted my thoughts, “Sam, it’s a fruit called markiz. Doesn’t taste good plain, but in this? Spectacular.”

  He was right. The oniony-shroomy-creamy sauce balanced out the tartness, and the whole dish was topped with a mild, provolone-like cheese baked brown. It was heaven.

  “I need this recipe!” Rhoda moaned. “This is even better than Taste of The Sea Pie!”

  “If you can get it out of him, babe, you’ll be the first. Otherwise, enjoy it while it lasts. Oh, and if you’re around, Encore serves it once a year on Pitch’s birthday,” Tyne smirked.

  “Well, I hope that’s soon,” Nanna said. “Because I need to have this again.”

  “Me too,” Cora agreed.

  “When’s your birthday, Pitch?” I asked my grinning friend.

  “He’s a winter baby, and his twenty-fourth birthday is coming up in a few weeks. Special day that one.” Tyne looked straight at me, saying, “On Earth this year, it’s January 13, 2860.”

  The room fell silent. Dinner forgotten.

  “The day the Ayela Arcana Sanctuary opens,” Cora said flatly.

  Everything narrowed.

  Miracle Bake.

  Served on Pitch’s birthday.

  Ryst Nova’s 150th birthday.

  January 13, 2860.

  Thanksgiving Day on Earth today.

  This morning, Discordant published the chapter where Janelynn fired me.

  HC’s “Murder Pizza” short? 897 billion views.

  “Mafia Moms?” 641 billion views.

  Discordant? 587 billion views.

  The candle on the mantle.

  The stack of printed papers on the kitchen cabinet.

  A pot boiling on the stove.

  The fire crackling.

  One snowflake landing on the window.

  A green river of light pulling me in.

  Music notes spinning from Cora’s pores.

  She hummed next to me, and I recognized the song. Pitch had sent it to me weeks ago. “The Sound of Love.” I hummed the harmony.

  Tyne nodded, “That’s about right.”

  “I saw the pages in the kitchen, Pitch,” Nanna began, unaware of my disquiet. “Does this mean we get to read more of Unknown Cosmos this weekend?”

  Pitch smiled, nodding.

  I shook myself off, returning to the here and now. To family, friends, and familiar traditions from our home world.

  Later that night, we dove into the new stories Pitch brought us, and finally, the plot holes from Book 4 got filled in.

  Pitch. The earthquakes. Two more people whose stories had been suspiciously absent. Rhoda’s favorite couple.

  All of it was in those pages.