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  Martin nodded twice, slowly, and looked like he meant to say more, but stopped himself. He headed for the front door, but paused. He looked back at her.

  “What happened? Do you mind my asking?” Martin shook his head. “Never mind. It’s none of my business. I’m sorry.”

  It wasn’t his business, but his instant apology softened any retort she might have given. “We were in a bad car accident,” she said. “Kevin was driving. I was permanently injured. Kevin was unable to deal with the consequences of what happened…and…the marriage ended. I’m told it happens a lot like that.”

  Martin looked out the front door to the ramp at the side of the porch, and more astutely, at the door itself. His eyes took in the brightly lit hall, the scuff-marked walls from where, clumsy and angry, she’d banged the arms of the wheelchair. It had only been a few times. She hadn’t been in the chair long, but it had been long enough.

  “What happened?” he asked again, quietly.

  “He fell asleep at the wheel. We ran into a tractor-trailer parked on the side of the road. He suffered a concussion and walked away from the car. I…didn’t.”

  He waited.

  She lifted her chin. “My left leg was crushed beyond repair in several places. They had to remove it just above the knee.”

  Martin looked, as she’d known he would, immediately toward her leg and the foot showing beneath the hem of her long skirt. Then he looked up at her. “They did an excellent job fitting your prosthesis.”

  A doctor would say something like that, she thought. It wasn’t the worst reaction she’d ever had. “I did my share of limping around until I found something that worked. But I’m happy with it, now.”

  As happy as she could be.

  Martin nodded again, like he understood something she hadn’t explained. “You’re right. Lots of marriages don’t last when something like that happens.”

  This wasn’t what she expected him to say, and her stomach twisted like a fist had clutched it. Before she could respond, not that she knew what she was going to say, Martin spoke again.

  “He was a fool, Tovah.”

  She still didn’t know what to say, so only nodded as he had a moment before. “I know.”

  “And it’s better to know that early on, when you still have time to live your life, than waiting until later.”

  This was still somehow so intimate an observation, so unexpected, she could only stand with her mouth parted to speak but with nothing to say.

  While she gaped, he leaned in to take her hand, shaking it firmly as he barely brushed her cheek with a kiss. “Thanks for dinner. Good night,” said Martin, suddenly cheery, and left her standing in the doorway.

  “Good night,” she managed after he’d already reached his car.

  Tovah, hand cupped over her cheek like she meant to hold his kiss there, watched him drive away. She wasn’t sure if she should squee or be insulted he’d kissed her the way a dutiful nephew busses a maiden aunt; the heat from his lips was still too distracting.

  Max appeared at her side, pushing his shaggy head into the palm of her hand. “Hey, boy. Where’d you disappear to?”

  Max woofed once, low. She scratched his ears and shut the door. Martin had kissed her. Kissed! Her!

  Okay. It was a squee.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Breathless, Tovah pushed off the ground, her attention focused on the jutting rock of the mountainside. She hit the stone with a bone-jarring thud, teetered and nearly fell, but pinwheeled her arms and managed to keep her balance. She grabbed the rock and squatted, heart pounding, and looked down to the ground, which seemed twice as far away as it had been a moment ago. It probably was. Tovah didn’t have quite enough control to keep all the details in line unless she was paying specific attention to them.

  She searched for a handhold and found one, her fingers digging into the side of the mountain as her feet pushed into other cracks. Small pebbles broke away and fell past her. She moved another step, gained another inch. Dirt sifted into her hair and down the back of her collar, itching, but she didn’t bother shaping it away.

  She was going to find something real even if it killed her.

  “Nice jump,” said Spider from the rock in front of her. Eight crimson legs matched the wee rubies of his eyes, gleaming. Today he was about the size of a tarantula, with the same rounded, furry body segments, but the coloration was different. “When you gonna learn to fly?”

  Tovah wiped sweat from her brow, realizing even as she did there was no reason for her to sweat. No need for exertion, for the thumping of her heart or her body to feel weariness. It was habit to represent this way. Easier to concentrate on what was going on around her if she didn’t have to think about changing what felt most natural to her body.

  “I don’t need to learn to fly.”

  Spiders couldn’t roll their eyes, but this one did. “Oh, and you really need to climb a mountain?”

  “Hey. I don’t see you soaring through the air with the greatest of ease.” Tovah settled herself onto her butt, her back pressed up against the mountainside. Her feet dangled into nothingness. Apparently the ground below had become some sort of sea. Water misted her cheeks and the sound of waves rushed around her ears.

  Spiders couldn’t flip a bird, either, but this one managed. “I’m a spider, doll. I don’t need to fly.”

  She laughed, peering over the edge. “I got up here. That’s good.”

  “Now you gotta get down. You gonna jump?” Spider scuttled to the edge and looked over. His body pulsed with every breath. In real life, the sight of a spider that size would have made her squeal in disgust. Here she reached out a hand to pet him as she would a kitten. Spider’s mandibles clattered. “You hitting on me?”

  Tovah chuckled. “You want me to?”

  Spider inched closer, his eight legs working seamlessly. The pattern on his legs shifted as he moved, becoming darker. His eyes, still red, reflected her face. At the feathery touch of one leg on her bare skin, Tovah shivered. Spider made a low chuffing noise, a laugh.

  “Sorry,” Tovah said. “It’s the whole arachnid thing.”

  His head bobbed. “Yeah, yeah, grosses you out. I know.”

  Tovah had never asked Spider why he represented that way, instead of more like his human form. She thought it might be rude, but she did wonder.

  “You seen Ben?”

  “No.” Let him make of that what he would.

  “How come?”

  Tovah glanced at him. “Ben and I…we don’t get along, Spider.”

  He scoffed. “Bullshit.”

  Tovah didn’t bother arguing about it. Ignoring how it felt for her not to see or talk to Ben might not be the best way to deal with the fight, but it was the easiest. Sometimes, you just had to walk away and keep walking away.

  “Tovahleh, don’t be like that.”

  “Like what?” she snapped, hating that Spider knew how to push her buttons. “We don’t get along. That’s the truth. Ben is what he is and I am what I am. Not everyone is destined to be BFF.”

  “If I knew what that meant,” Spider said, “I might agree.”

  “Best Friends Forever,” she told him. “Which Ben and I are not.”

  She stood on the ledge and stretched, flexing her muscles. She looked at the mountain looming so high above her. She wanted to be sure she’d shaped it with enough hand and foot-holds, but not so many it wasn’t a challenge to climb. The advantage to doing this in the Ephemeros was that here she didn’t need special equipment, just her own hands and feet. If she fell, she only had to shape a soft landing.

  She gained a few more inches before he spoke again.

  “You’re wrong about him, you know. Ben,” Spider added, as if she couldn’t guess.

  “I don’t think so.” She inched higher.

  “I’m just saying maybe you should give him another chance.”

  She stopped for a moment to glare. “Oh. Sure. Make it my fault? Spider, it’s okay. Not everyone has to like e