Free Salamaine's Curse by V. L. Burgess Page A

and asked, “Do you have something like this in your world?”
    Tom took another sip. It was more than good. It was warm and sweet and strangely comforting. He nodded. “Hot chocolate.”
    Porter’s pale brows knit together. “Does it taste like this?”
    â€œNo. It’s …” He searched his mind, groping for a way to describe the taste of hot chocolate to someone who’d never tried it before. “It’s sweet and smooth, but kind of darker, with more of an edge to it. And sometimes there are marshmallows on top.”
    His words made no sense, but he couldn’t come up with any better way to describe the drink. Porter nodded politely and looked away, his expression once again carefully guarded. In that instant, Tom understood they’d both reached the same conclusion. Trying to connect after so many years was futile. The gulf between them was simply too wide.

    Porter set down his mug. “You get ‘em all?”
    â€œYeah.” Tom visualized the scavenger he’d scraped off into sea. An ugly, hideous thing with sunken gray skin, tangled tufts of hair protruding from its skull, and jagged yellow teeth. He couldn’t tell if it had been male or female.
    â€œThere aren’t any scavengers in your world?” Porter asked.
    â€œNo.”
    Tom thought about mentioning the zombies he’d seen in horror films, but everybody knew those weren’t
real.
Not like here. And scavenger hunts? A silly party game where teams ran door-to-door looking for things like tiny paper umbrellas, a pair of dice, or a purple shoelace. Random things like that.
    Once again he was struck by how parallel their worlds seemed, only his had been put through a filter of safety, with all the ugliness and danger rubbed away.
    Porter stretched back in his hammock, his hands tucked behind his head, staring up at the low ceiling. “Earlier tonight— you don’t have to be like that, you know.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œLike it’s all up to you to be the hero. Rushing in like you’re the only one who can save us.”
    â€œThat’s not what I did.”
    His brother let out a sharp breath that indicated, better than any words could have, he didn’t agree. Thick silence hung between them. Porter was the first to break it.
    â€œIt’s too late, anyway. You wasted your time coming here. We’ve already lost. No map can change that—especially not a cursed one.”
    Tom looked at him. “What happened? How did everything get so bad?”
    â€œIt just … did.”
    â€œAnd the scavengers? What are they? Where did they come from?”
    Porter continued to stare at the ceiling. Though he didn’t say a word, his expression changed, becoming harder, more closed off than usual. He rolled over, presenting his back to Tom.
    â€œIt’s late,” he said. “You can ask your questions in the morning.”
    Tom noted that he didn’t say he would answer them, only that he could ask them. A minor distinction, but an important one.
    A few moments later he heard Porter’s breath change, and knew from the rise and fall of his shoulders he had fallen asleep. Tom wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep at all. He was exhausted physically, but his thoughts were racing. As he set down his mug and stretched out in his hammock, his fingers brushed the folly’s rattle he’d stuffed in his pocket. Incredibly, he’d forgotten all about it.
    He drew it out and held it up, admiring its pinkish-orange glow. It was hot, but not burning, just warm enough to fill his hand with dry heat. He watched it throb in a steady rhythm, somehow matching the cycle of his pulse, beat for beat. Almost as though it was directly connected to his heart.
    A wish,
he thought. He could wish for anything …
    He blinked heavily. The combined effects of the warm drink and softly swaying hammock were rocking him to sleep. He tucked the