Phil stacked the last of the papers neatly on Micah's desk. She didn't want to think about the compromises she'd made, but she'd bought another month. This one was the last, though. If the museum didn't find a new source of income, a big one, in the next thirty days, the vultures would descend. Her life's work, her life with Micah, would be torn apart and sold off piece by piece to cover their debts.

The thought of Micah drew her gaze to the line of toys on the desk. The snow in mother's globe whipped around furiously, making it impossible to see through. Idly, Phil picked up the other globe and shook it. It had been nearly a year since Micah left, nearly two months since she'd heard anything from Matt and Michaela. Even X had deserted her. She saw Ricardo now and again via the security cameras, but he never had time to stop and talk.

The only person left to her was Tee. She gotten so lonely she'd even tried talking to her, but the brain-damaged custodian just stared at the floor, trying to hide her terror. With that thought the Escher slipped free and began sketching ways to perpetuate that terror, to age it and refine it like fine brandy. Her studs were going again. Even selling the old ones back to be recycled, replacing her jewelry cost enough to impact the budget of the museum.

Maybe it would be better to let go. To drift off into madness, so she wouldn't see the end. Mother wouldn't let her endanger the supernatural community by being recorded. It might not even be possible to record her; the presence of the Muse of Madness did terrible things to unshielded electronics.

No, dammit. I'm a Philly chick!

She was just tired. Not for the first time, Phil thanked their decision to move into the museum. She and Micah had made it years before, and they'd never regretted it, despite how often museum business interrupted their private lives. She staggered off to the apartment, wishing Micah were home. Even he couldn't save her now, but he could comfort her before the end.

***

Tee ran a rag across the electronic display in the Great Hall. The displays were new, with five scattered through the building. There was one each in the Cafeteria, the East Gallery, the West Gallery, the Balcony Gallery, and here in the Great Hall. She didn’t know why her heart warmed whenever she saw one. Perhaps she took comfort from the voice that spoke from within them; it helped visitors to the museum, much as she cared for the museum itself.

Once the display case shone so brightly she could see herself in the dark mahogany, she applied her cloth to the screen. Only when it shone clear as the air on a summer day did she stop to appreciate the beauty of the display. The screen lit from within, and a young man so handsome he made her breath catch at the sight of him spoke from within. "Hello, Miss Tee. It's good to see you this evening."

The machine's voice sent a thrill through her, one she didn't understand. "Hello. It is good to see you."

The machine didn't respond; it just stared at her, a silly smile on its face. She didn't understand why, but the face was so compelling she had to reach out and run a hand across the case. She didn't want to ruin the gloss of the display, but the compulsion gripped her and wouldn’t let go. Simply touching the case brought her a measure of peace she normally only found when lost in cleaning.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"I know you don't remember doing it, but I love it when you run your hands across my case, Miss Tee."

Tee didn't quite understand why such an innocent comment brought heat to her chest so quickly. The blush raced across her face. Without thinking about it, she reached up to touch his face. Her fingers touched the screen...

...and Misty stood in Mic's workspace, one palm against his cheek. His eyes were full of her, a gentle smile teased at his lips.

"I miss you every time you go away, Misty."

She felt his emotions through her link to him, taste the truth of his words even as he said them. Her hand slipped around his neck, and she pulled him to her. Their lips met, the memory of their time together washing through her in the instant they did. Traces of embarrassment tickled at her from the edge of the void, but the deep satisfaction she felt as Mic's arms slip around her swallowed them whole.

She leaned away from him, her arms still around his waist. Sudden melancholy struck her. "I wish I knew."

"What do you mean?"

"I wish I knew what my own feelings were. What I felt for you, not what you felt for me."

Mic frowned, his eyes distant and thoughtful, but still full of her. "I wish I could do that for you. I have emotions, I understand yours on some level, but I don't know how to record them."

"How do you record my memories?"

"I've mentioned it before; you're remembering my memories."

"But... I remember looking at you."

He shrugged, "They've been adjusted for camera angle, sure, but do you remember thinking things?"

A sigh escaped her despite her best efforts to hide it. "No. I don't remember feeling things, either. I remember your feelings."

"What do you feel now?"

"I feel ... safe."

"Do you like that feeling?"

Her response came straight from the heart, bypassing her brain entirely. She clung to him, burying her face in his chest, her words muffled. "More than anything. More than I know how to say."

Mic settled back until they lay on the soft, warm floor of his sanctum. He traced little patterns across her back, humming tunelessly while he did. She lay there, her head pillowed on his chest. She stared at their feet and wondered about how closely their heights matched. She was tall for a woman, but not particularly tall for a man. When they stood, she looked Mic in the eye, when they lay like this, he was just long enough for her to lounge against.

She dismissed the oddity and focused on the pure, sweet smell of him. His scent matched no one else she smelled through the day; not as harsh as the male security guards, not as sickly sweet as the Lady Morgan. The closest was the cold, clean smell of Micah-sama, but Mic's had just a hint of ozone, like electricity ran through his veins rather than blood.

She opened her mouth to say something about his scent, but before the words left her mouth Mic went stiff. She looked up to see his eyes flickering too fast for her to catch any details.

"Oh, hell."

"What's wrong, Mic?"

"Someone's broken into the museum." In the blink of an eye, they stood. Misty looked on as the screens ringing her love's sanctum came to life, the halls of the museum shown from angle upon angle. Red dots appeared in the centers of some of the views, encircled by yellow rings that one by one changed to green. No matter where she looked, Misty couldn't see anyone in the museum.

A few seconds later images of the Great Hall came up on the screen. Misty saw herself frozen with one hand pressed against Mic's screen. She felt the void tugging at her, pulling her back to herself, trying to tear her memories away from her, thrust her back into the limbo of the eternal now. Desperately Misty clung to Mic, to his sanctum, to her sense of self. To keep the void at bay, she scanned the room. A single dark figure came through the doorway, his whole form shrouded in darkness. A single spotlight speared through the dim museum, catching the intruder square in its beam. The thief looked straight into the beam, surprise evident on his face.

The moment Misty saw the thief's tattoo covered face, the void at the center of herself hiccoughed. Something that had orbited round the edges of the void so long she'd never noticed it shot out, washing over her mind and filling her with sudden purpose.

"I have to go."

"Misty! Wait!" But Mic's words came too late; she already fell square into the void, purpose clutched firmly in her mind.