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  She didn’t begin to know where to search for Ben. She knew his face, the smell of him, the weight of his mouth. She knew his first name, but not his last.

  He’d said he was what he’d always been, but what was that? A guide, an Eagle Scout? Even with the vastness of the Internet at her fingertips, she had no way of knowing where to begin, and though she forced herself to sleep every night and looked for him, the Ephemeros had gone dark and silent in the aftermath of what had been done to it. She was afraid to shake it more, afraid it would break for good.

  She didn’t see Martin again until the funeral. Henry Tuckens had no family who seemed willing to come forward to plan the simple service Tovah knew he’d have wanted. There hadn’t been much money to put toward a fancy casket or pay for a lunch after, but then again there hadn’t been many people to feed.

  A hard recent frost and the layer of snow meant Henry would be interred in the cemetery’s mausoleum until warmer weather allowed a grave to be dug, and the brief ceremony took place there rather than at the as-yet nonexistent grave site. Tovah had met Father Halloran a few times at the Sisters of Mercy. Henry had liked him.

  The crowd was small. Ava had made it, and Marco. A frail woman in an oversized coat hung toward the back of the group, chain-smoking. Tovah’s throat closed at the smell of the cigarettes. The woman, who wore Henry’s features with less grace than he had, didn’t linger. Tovah didn’t get to ask who she was.

  Now, the service finished and Henry’s body tucked away inside the vault, the crowd dispersed. Tovah thanked Father Halloran and slipped him an envelope that he took without comment. She turned to make her final goodbyes to her friend, grateful for the privacy she now had in which to weep.

  “Hello, Tovah.”

  At the sound of Martin’s voice, she turned. Martin, shoulders hunched inside a long black wool coat, had his hands shoved into his pockets. The chill wind had blushed his cheeks, and his eyes watered from the sting of it. He blinked at her.

  “Martin.” She didn’t know what else to say. She hadn’t seen him since the night Henry died. She’d seen lights on in his house and heard the putter of his car as he drove away in the mornings, but that was all.

  It felt wrong to cry against him, so she didn’t. Tovah forced her tears back and scrubbed her face with the handful of tissues she was never without these days. Her upper lip had rubbed almost raw. She looked a mess…and didn’t care, which said a lot about how she felt about Martin, if not exactly what.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” she said.

  Martin’s eyes remained shuttered, his face neutral. She didn’t blame him. She’d really taken him for a ride.

  “I had to come,” he said without further explanation.

  She didn’t deserve one, and the way he said it made her feel stupid for doubting him. “Of course. I’m sorry.”

  She was sorry for many things, the dissolution of their friendship not the least. He’d kissed her, and she’d let him. Had even encouraged him, then pushed him away without explanation, and what good reason could she really give him? “There’s someone else” didn’t really fit, did it, when she’d only ever met the other person in a world to which she couldn’t bring herself to return?

  “The service was very nice.” Martin looked around briefly. “I didn’t know Henry was a veteran.”

  “I don’t think he told many people.” Tovah had known only because of Spider. Henry had never mentioned it in the waking world.

  “He could have gone to a veteran’s hospital. Had benefits.” Martin looked around again at the cemetery’s rolling hills, the grass tipped with white. “He could have had better treatment than just a nice plot in a government cemetery.”

  “He had good treatment at the Sisters of Mercy.” Tovah’s quiet vehemence turned Martin’s head. “From you.”

  It was too cold for silence to hang between them, too frigid to stand and share a poignant moment. Neither of them moved. Tovah’s fingertips were getting numb.

  “Thank you,” Martin said at last. “That means a lot.”

  Why couldn’t it be Martin, she thought suddenly, fiercely. Why couldn’t she fall in love with this decent man who took such care of everyone around him and asked for none, himself?

  Why not me? Edward had asked, and she shuddered at the memory.

  “You’re cold. You should get inside.” Martin looked up the slight hill to the parking lot where her car and his sat side by side.

  “Yes. You too.”

  Together they walked up the sidewalk. The slope was just enough that she had to concentrate extra hard on every step. There was no ice, but she could still slip. Martin didn’t offer his arm, and Tovah didn’t ask for it.

  They had spent many moments without speaking and more than a few enmeshed in awkwardness, but it poked her more keenly today. This was her fault, and she didn’t know how to fix it. She didn’t know if she ought to try.

  Deep breath.

  “Would you…like to get some coffee with me?” The question wasn’t a new one, the act of asking it not real bravery.

  Martin looked at her without expression. “No.”

  Tovah flinched.

  Martin had pulled his car into the spot next to hers but in the opposite direction, so opening their drivers’ side doors put them within inches of one another. Martin slid into his seat without effort, while Tovah prepared to do the balancing act required for her to get behind the wheel without falling into her seat. She was glad for the focus, today. It kept her from looking at him.

  Martin’s hand stopped her door before she could close it, and she looked up at him, surprised. She hadn’t noticed him get out of the car. “Martin?”

  “What were you really trying to do?” he asked seriously. Intent. His gaze probed hers. “With Henry,” he added, saving her from guessing if he’d meant with him.

  “It’s complicated, Martin.” Complicated and pointless to try and explain, since Tovah wasn’t certain she’d ever do anything like it again.

  He nodded like her answer hadn’t surprised him. “Tell me, anyway.”

  A burst of wind pushed against him. The frigid sting slapped Tovah even within the shelter of her car. She could imagine how it felt to Martin, but he didn’t flinch. His bare hand gripped the cold metal of her car door. His fingers had turned red.

  “It has to do with…dreams.”

  He lost the neutrality he must have been forcing and pushed away from her car with a grimace she thought was disgust. A low noise burst from his throat. Not quite a laugh.

  “Jesus, Tovah! Do you think I’m an idiot? Is that what you think?” He turned, the blue of his eyes only a rim of color around the vast dark circles of his pupils. “Dreams?”

  She couldn’t get out of the car gracefully, but she struggled to do it anyway. Now it was her turn to grip the car door for support. Martin had turned, his hands linking behind his head like a man trying not to hit something.

  “No, I don’t think that! I never did. I told you it was complicated.”

  “And crazy!” Martin turned.

  Tovah caught a glimpse of blue shirt beneath the black wool coat and swallowed hard against the memory of seeing him for the first time. She didn’t refute his accusation of insanity.

  “You think I don’t know crazy?” Martin continued. “I’m a fucking psychiatrist, for fuck’s sake!”

  She’d never heard him swear, had never imagined such vulgarity from him. “I know that.”

  He whirled to look at her. He raked both hands through his hair, pushing the waves into spikes the wind further mussed. For a moment he pressed both palms to his temples, his teeth gritted, the perfect portrait of a man in pain. Then he took them away and shook himself, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  She couldn’t tell him the truth. Not the exact truth. “Henry was teaching me about lucid dreaming and…and astral projection. Out-of-body experiences.”

  It wasn’t quite a lie