It was a relief that the sit down portion of House of Figs was closed as, for a few days, it smelt of smoke. Eustace and Rafael, who shared the take away window responsibilities so that they could each have some time away from their work, were able to make coffee and serve customers. Though Bastian and Faelan weren’t required to be at work every day, they had a habit of checking in and when each of them heard about the fire and smelt the smoke, they lent their help to airing the building out and wiping all surfaces down multiple times.

  “I think that’s done it…” Bastian declared, throwing the cloth into the washing basket. “Three…no, four wipe downs and I think I’ve finally gotten rid of all the ash.”

  “I would normally say you lacked attention to detail,” Faelan sighed, shaking his head, his long, pale gold strands rippling loosely down his back, “but even I am having difficulty returning my station to its usual clean state.”

  “That might have something to do with the fact that the Braam’s house has only just stopped smoking.” Rafael remarked over his shoulder. “I’m out of cups!”

  Annie hastened to replenish his supply of takeaway cups. When she returned, she found the guys talking about Rob’s restored appearance.

  “Thank goodness you can regrow hair and skin.” Bastian shook his head. “If not, you’d look like a werewolf had mauled you.”

  “The scratches I received were repaired by morning and my hair was even sooner.” Rob replied lightly.

  “I think it should be said that what you did was very brave.” Faelan put all the jars of cake decorations on the counter so that he could clean where they would normally sit. Adela was helping him and picked up a cloth, wiping each jar thoroughly.

  “I cannot feel brave.” Rob deflected the compliment.

  “I don’t know that anyone can,” Bastian shrugged, his muscles flexing beneath his white tee, “brave isn’t an emotion. It’s an action…despite being afraid. My beautiful wife taught me that.”

  “I cannot feel afraid.” Rob pointed out.

  “Must be nice, not to have emotions sometimes.” Rafael muttered. “Imagine, not feeling all the ick that comes your way.”

  “You’d have to sacrifice a great deal for that kind of comfort.” Bastian snorted then looked at Rob apologetically. “Uh…sorry…”

  “Do not be. I have not experienced emotions and so I do not know the lack of which you speak.”

  “There is also a downside,” Faelan, once happy with his station, began to return the cleaned jars to their spots, “in the same way that, if you could not feel physical hurt, you might die because you are unaware of the danger you are in.”

  “You’re saying that someone who is emotionless, might die because they’re not aware of the situation they’re in?” Rafael’s tone was less than convinced.

  “While it feels like you could die of a broken heart, I’ve never heard of anyone who has actually done so.” Bastian mocked lightly.

  Faelan worked quietly. “Elves can.” Everyone turned to him, shocked. “Who we are is fundamentally tied into how we feel…and if there is a grief or emotion far more powerful than our bodies can handle…we can die.”

  The mood in the café sobered at this alarming notion.

  “Do you think that’s why your father wanted to keep elves and humans separate?” Rafael asked softly. “To keep you safe from the emotion?”

  “It might have been part of his reason, although I have heard tales of elves possessing such emotion, such passion, that I do wonder if we have lost some of our…robustness over the centuries.” Faelan lifted his head. “Jo and Bethany have returned from the hospital.”

  They all looked up expectantly, all except Rafael who was working hard at the window.

  “Well?” Bastian asked almost sharply as they closed the door behind them, looking a little hot and bothered by the summer heat, each carrying a bag.

  “Dotty was conscious and able to have visitors,” Faelan poured them both large glasses of lemonade, “Koen’s still in ICU.”

  Rob’s eyes lowered. “I have gone over the calculations in my head and yet I still wish I could have rescued him sooner.”

  “Rob,” Bethany eyed him sharply, “if not for you, he would have died in his bed. The report said that the house was so old and flammable, by the time the firies arrived, they wouldn’t have been able to get anyone out.”

  Rob did not seem overly comforted by this thought. He looked at Jo. “Query, will you visit Dorothea and Koen again?”

  “Yes. They’ve no other family in Glenwilde although two of their children are coming to help them sort out of their affairs but Dotty was a bit confused as to who was coming and when.”

  “She gave us four different names and three dates.” Bethany explained, licking her lips after draining her glass dry. “Thanks Faelan, I needed that. I really think you ought to market your own House of Figs lemonade brand. It’s perfect on a day like today.”

  “I was thinking you could make iced coffees or cold brews?”

  “I’ve got enough to do, thank you very much!” Rafael barked.

  “Perhaps Annie might like to learn the art of lemonade making, and coffee cold brewing?” Faelan asked, missing Adela’s slightly hurt expression. “She has the preciseness of an elf.”

  “High praise!”

  “I would like to help in any way I can.” Annie nodded.

  “Back to your query, Rob,” Jo stood and walked over to him, “would you like to come with me the next time I visit?”

  “Yes.” He said firmly. “While I know they are safe, I have reoccurring scenarios in my mind telling me the worst happened.”

  “That sounds like a bad dream…”

  “But impossible because I do not sleep.”

  “I know Dorothea would love to see you.” Jo patted his arm. “I’m going to go back tomorrow. Neither of them have a stitch to wear so Bethany and I popped into the new clothing store on our way home and bought them some sleepwear and slippers, that sort of thing.”

  “Was that the one in the old ice works factory, or the backpackers lodge?”

  “The old ice works. Someone else purchased the lodge and is doing it up.”

  “They had to toe the line on its appearance,” Bethany opened her brown bag and peered in, “anything too modern was blocked by the council. It’s definitely been cleaned up and brought up to safety spec but it still looks quite vintage. Inside though…” She looked at Adela. “They’ve got a teen section that you and I seriously need to visit.”

  “It would have been much more convenient if it had been built before I arrived.”

  “It’s just nice to have somewhere new to shop…and the prices are much more affordable than the boutiques. Not that they aren’t gorgeous but…”

  “I can buy five decent quality white tees for the same price as one.” Jo said, eyeing the guys. “That’s not an excuse to get yours grubby. Rob, you and I will head to the hospital just before visiting hours open tomorrow?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  The next day, laden with the bags of clothing and bathroom items that Koen and Dorothea might need, Rob and Jo walked from the cul de sac, down into the valley along the streets of Glenwilde, along the main thoroughfare where Jo pointed out the new clothing store then further to where the hospital rested.

  As they walked down the beige corridors, Rob looked at Jo.

  “Query, does being here make you uneasy?”

  “Why would it?”

  “You were a patient not that long ago.”

  Jo laughed as though the notion had not occurred to her. “I was, wasn’t I? But that was quite different. I was in a coma and didn’t know about the passage of time or all the tests. When I woke up, I was moved to recovery and got to walk around every day, once my leg muscles had rebuilt themselves to a point where they could hold me upright.”

  Rob followed her to the ICU unit where they were told Koen was asleep but had experienced some periods of consciousness and lucidness which were very positive. They left one bag of clothing for him with the nurses who promised to put him into something more comfortable than the scratchy hospital sleep gown he was currently wearing.

  Once out of ICU, they headed to Dorothea’s room.

  “Query, when you knew what was to befall you, why did you share the knowledge of the haikus with me?”

  Jo stopped and looked at him, shifting to one side as a porter with a trolley rumbled past them.

  “Why?”

  “Perhaps my query was not clear.” Rob paused. “Query, why me…and not the others?”

  “Because I trust you.”

  “Query, did you not trust the others?”

  “Despite their backgrounds and questionable…attitudes at times, I knew all my boys had good hearts that just needed a safe place to flourish.”

  “I still do not understand.”

  “Oh Rob,” she slid her arm through his and they continued to walk, “it’s not that I didn’t trust them with the knowledge…but when Bethany arrived, they would have been meeting her after the uncertainty of closed doors, of not knowing if they’d get back to House of Figs…of not knowing if I would recover. I knew she would need an advocate, someone who would stand between her emotions and the emotions of others and build a bridge.”

  “Query, is that what I did?”

  “From what Bethany told me, yes, you did.” Jo sighed. “Sometimes being emotionless has its advantages. You don’t bring anything unstable to the situation and you operate out of pure logic.”

  “Logic does not always mean I am right, though.”

  “How very true.” Jo nodded. “Here we are. Knock, knock?”

  Dorothea was sitting up in bed, having just finished her morning tea when they arrived. All traces of the fire, of ash and singed clothing had been removed. She was pale and her hair was lacking its usual curl and in the bed, she seemed small.

  “Johanne!” Dorothea cried in her weak voice. “You didn’t have to come back so soon!”

  “I brought you some essential supplies.” Jo put the bag on the chair. “I’ve got some bed socks to keep your feet warm, slippers, some,” she whispered ‘unmentionables’ which had Dorothea giggling, “and two soft nightgowns.”

  “Oh, lieveling!” Dorothea grasped her hands and held as tight as her aged fingers could. “Bless you…bless you forever! My feet have been so cold!”

  “Here,” Jo pulled the tags off the thick socks, “let’s get these on your feet.”

  Once they were on she made sure to tuck Dorothea in firmly and found another blanket to put over her.

  “They tell me the room is warm…but I feel the cold so…oh…Rob!” Dorothea’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “You…you are my angel!” He came closer as she reached to grasp his hand, her cold fingers wrapping around his. “You saved my Koen and me…blessed angel.” Her accent was becoming thicker with emotion. Rob sat on a chair beside the bed as she wouldn’t let go of his hand. “You were not hurt?”

  “I am fine.” Rob reassured her.

  “Blessed angel.” She repeated. “Without you…” She took the tissue Jo offered and dabbed up her tears. “Best not to dwell. That’s what my moeder always said. Don’t dwell.” She sniffed and smiled bravely. “The doctor tell me I can go into home next week.”

  “Home?” Jo was concerned, the image of the burned remains of their house springing immediately to mind.

  Dorothea frowned. “They said…” She muttered something in Dutch, trying to concentrate.

  “Query, a nursing home?” Rob suggested, accessing an online Dutch linguistic database.

  “Ja,” she nodded, “that’s what it was called.”

  “In Glenwilde?”

  “The…Foster wing of the Evercare Nursing Home.” She scraped a brochure into her hand from the table near the machines that monitored her. “They have room for me.”

  “And Koen?”

  To their surprise, Dorothea’s eyes sparkled. “He can come too.” She beamed. “He will move when he is well enough to travel and their nurses will take care of him. We will be neighbours.”

  Jo let out a big sigh of relief. “I’m so happy you’re looking forward to it.”

  “A few years ago, not so much.” Dorothea admitted. “But, the cooking, the cleaning, Koen’s care…even with help, I still cannot manage. Now others will do that and we can still be together. It is like I have boyfriend all over again.”

  Rob gazed at her face, filled with joy despite the circumstances that brought her there.

  “What about your house, Dorothea?”

  “We will sell it.” Dorothea leaned forward. “Not that it is worth much. Kurt told us to sell years ago. Said, the land is worth something but the house…bah!” She shrugged. “The fire did what we could not.”

  Rob frowned. “Query, what about your belongings, Mrs Braam? Query, do you not regret their loss?”

  Dorothea patted his hand, his queries always amusing her. “Everything was old in that house. The furniture, the kitchen…the people.” She huffed. “Memories…they are more precious than all those things. Because you saved the people, I have not lost the memories.”

  Dorothea tired quickly so their visit was not long but they left promising to drop by in the coming days.

  The day was a particularly hot one so they got a taxi back to the cul de sac.

  Rob stood on the footpath as Jo paid and looked at the remains of the Braam’s house. The yard was surrounded by yellow police tape which was already hanging uselessly in one corner. Not that it was a strong deterrent to trespassers even when it was all straight and in place. Rob had to warn off two boys who thought it would be fun to pick through the remains of the house. He did not think it safe for them to be there and he thought that the notion of going through someone’s destroyed home was akin to grave robbing.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Rob,” he heard Jo speak at his side and turned to her, “is something wrong?”

  “No,” Rob shook his head, “I was just…thinking.”

  “About?”

  “The Braams…they came here when they were young, bought a home, raised eight children and saw twenty three grandchildren and one great grandchild born…and they are still as in love as they were when they married. What an extraordinary notion, to be in love with one person for all their lives…”

  “Is that something you hope for?”

  He turned to Jo, recognising concern in her eyes. “I cannot hope for something that will never be. I cannot feel and as such, I will never know love or the joy it brings.” He cast his eye over the burnt remains then opened the gate to House of Figs and followed Jo into the café.

  Faelan had taken Annie’s enthusiasm to heart when it came to learning how to make cold drinks and was showing her how to make the lemonade which was just the right amount of tartness to be refreshing without being off putting. The café smelt of lemons and coffee which was an odd combination. Rafael admitted he didn’t know much about cold brew coffee but offered to return tomorrow to learn it with her while Eustace manned the takeaway window.

  Abram had arrived during their absence and offered to take Jo for a walk along the streets of Atannica. Bethany was at Jet’s house which had thankfully escaped any pointed attention at its transformation.

  Rob went upstairs and then into the office. It wasn’t large enough to be a bedroom for anything other than a baby as a cot was all that would fit comfortably. Jo had arranged desks around two of the walls with shelves for bookkeeping notes, folders and pinboards with photos of special events that happened at House of Figs and newspaper articles praising the café.

  Curled in a corner was a sheaf of drawings on butcher’s paper. Rob untied the twine keeping them neat and spread them out on the desk. He didn’t need to look at them for their detailed blueprints were forever imprinted in his mind. However, for some reason, he wanted to look at them and that puzzled him.

  If he didn’t need help recalling the detail, then what was it he was looking for?

  The roll of butcher’s paper was beneath one of the desks. Rob retrieved it and the pencil case with Jo’s sketching tools inside. He made his way to the lounge room where there was a large, square coffee table and rolled a portion of the butcher’s paper out, cutting it neatly into a rectangle.

  Then he sat and stared at the blank page for thirty minutes, his mind racing through websites and tutorials, jumping from one link to the next, absorbing multiple lifetimes of knowledge and experience in a matter of minutes.

  He blinked and knelt in front of the coffee table, taking a pencil from the case.

  And then he began to draw.

  “…will be an excellent addition to the café.” Faelan told Annie as they cleaned his station after making a batch of lemonade. “Though I am proficient in what I do, I was unable to add anything else to it because of my life in my world.”

  “I am pleased that there is something I can add to the café.” Annie carried the heavy decanter into the fridge. “While there is practical use in washing dishes, to be able to make something which adds value is an honour.”

  “I understand your meaning.” Faelan smelt his hands, his pale green eyes closing in pleasure. “Such a strong yet not overly sweet smell.”

  “I am not sure House of Figs’ lemon tree will provide enough lemons should this beverage become popular.”

  “I am not anticipating it to outsell coffee or even do very well at the takeaway window. As an accompaniment to a meal, it should become quite popular. Previously our drinks menu has been restricted to premade beverages.”

  “Perhaps I can research other cold drinks such as cider as well as the cold brew coffee?”

  “Perhaps.” Faelan removed his apron which was as clean as when he’d put it on. “I am going to return to Elvan for two days so I will not be in tomorrow.”

  “Understood.”

  Faelan let himself out and Annie went looking for Rob. Because she could see and hear things around her without needing to consciously acknowledge them, she knew he had gone upstairs so his locations were limited. She found him in the lounge room, sketching over butcher’s paper.

  “Query, what are you doing?”

  “Making preliminary blueprints.” Rob responded without taking his eyes off the page he was on. Annie picked up one of the completed pages and studied it.

  “This is not Jet’s house.” She concluded. “Query, is this the Braam’s property?”

  “It is.”

  “You are designing a house that would be built on the existing foundation.” Annie looked at his bowed head. “Query, why?”

  “The pile of charred timbers and ruined furnishings decrease the value of the cul de sac by a marginal factor.”

  “Query, will you present these drawings to the Braams for their consideration upon rebuilding their home.”

  “They are not returning to this location.”

  “Query, why are you designing a new home for them?”

  Rob’s hand stopped perfectly still where it was on the page. He blinked and Annie’s hearing heard the servos that caused the action to occur.

  “I do not know.” He admitted softly. “It seemed like…such a waste…”

  Annie found herself wishing she hadn’t queried his motives as it seemed to shut down his motivation. He put the pencil down and sat back from the coffee table then stood up and turned to her.

  “The washing machine will have finished its cycle by now.”

  He walked past her and down the stairs. Annie watched him go then returned to the drawing in her hands. Her eyebrows became oblique and she bit her bottom lip. Reverently, as though she was handling priceless parchment, she rolled the blueprints into a perfect cylindrical shape, held in place by twine. After returning the items to the office she went to leave to help Rob with the washing…and yet she paused and looked at the drawings hiding within the folds of the modest sheets of paper.

  Rob gave the drawings and the property of the Braams no more thought, able to compartmentalise his mind with the same ease that someone could create a folder and cram it full of documents on a computer. Unless he deliberately accessed it, the files and the ideas would remain unknown, like a wallflower at a high school dance.

  Annie said nothing about it and when he returned to the lounge room, he discovered she had packed away his random sketches and strange compulsion, hiding them where no one could see them.

  For that he was grateful.

  He couldn’t feel emotion regarding them but their oddness compared to his contentedness was a contrast he couldn’t understand.

  He thought the matter closed until Jo asked to speak with him in the lounge room the next day. When he walked in, he saw Annie sitting on the lounge and the pages of blueprint sketches laid out on the coffee table once more.

  “Rob,” Jo gestured to the lounge, “have a seat.”

  “Query, have I erred in some way?” Rob asked, suspecting that the ‘talk’ would have something to do with a correction about his ‘alternative theory’ regarding the Braam’s house.

  Jo laid her hands on the papers. “These drawings…they are of the Braam’s property?”

  “Yes.” Rob could not lie nor did he wish to.

  Jo gazed at them. “They’re beautiful…and so detailed.” Rob blinked, not sure that there was anything he could say to that remark. “After all your research when you redesigned Jet’s house, you must have seen past the burnt beams to what could be in the blink of your eye.”

  “After what Dorothea Braam said about the property, that the fire did what they could not in moving them from their home and creating a ‘blank page’ so to speak, I confess, I did internally query what it might look like if it was rebuilt.”

  Jo smiled. “It looks like you’ve had a couple of ideas about it.” She tapped one page. “This seems to be a similar shape and layout to the Braam’s original house, albeit with many improvements…but this,” Rob couldn’t quantify the strange twinge he had when she drew the next sheet out from beneath which showed a much more elaborate drawing, “looks like you’ve made a sizeable addition to the house.”

  He hesitated which was not something he did very often.

  “I…the property is quite large though it does not seem that way because of the overgrown brambles at the back,” he explained, “should these be trimmed considerably, there would be ample room for this two storey addition.”

  “That’s…a big house,” Jo nodded, “bigger than House of Figs.”

  “By fifty point three five percent.”

  “It would have been big enough for the Braams to have a bedroom each, even when all their children were young.” Jo’s finger traced over the top and bottom layout drawings of the large addition. “You actually have three separate living areas, small kitchens and bedrooms spread out over the top and bottom stories…” Her eyes remained locked onto his. “Rob, who did you design this for?”

  He hesitated again. “No one,” Jo’s eyes were questioning, “at least, no one that I know of yet.”

  Jo put the pages down and took his hands. “Help me understand.”

  Rob could feel her warmth, the way she was holding him, not tightening her grasp on his fingers.

  She was safe.

  “The large addition was designed to take advantage of the space at the back of the property, to be three separate spaces to live. The ones on the end are for individuals or couples and the one in the middle is larger should a family want to stay there.” He explained in an almost monotone voice. “Given the nature of House of Figs and its expanding family…”

  “You wanted to build a place for fictional characters to stay?”

  “Not exclusively. The property could well be advertised as a bed and breakfast type of accommodation with preference given to fictional characters.”

  “That’s an extraordinary thought.” Jo breathed.

  “Perhaps I overstepped my bounds…”

  Jo released one of her hands to pick up the original drawing. “What about this?”

  Rob was sure he had inexplicably done something wrong. “The larger second addition would take time, council permits and money to complete but the original foundations could be used to build a home within months.”

  Jo swallowed. “A home…for you?”

  Rob blinked. “I…do not require a home.”

  “Rob, it’s okay if you want something more…”

  “I do not.” He refuted almost bluntly. “I am content with my existence. These sketches are a result of neglecting my duties for if I was adequately engaged, I would not waste time on such endeavours.”

  Jo opened her mouth to speak then seemed to think better of it and clamped her lips shut.

  Rob took this to mean that she agreed with him. “Abram and Rafael have asked if I would walk the streets of Atannica and create blueprints of the buildings and clocktower in order to determine new locations where the door to the Observatory might be accessed. Query, may I be excused in order to do so?”

  “Of course.”

  Annie watched him leave then turned to Jo. She didn’t say anything for a while, able to hear Rob’s footsteps on the stairs, along the boards of the café then out the back door, across the courtyard to the Observatory where a soft click told her he’d entered the world of Engaland. Only then did she speak.

  “Do you really believe Rob’s drawings to be a waste of time?”

  “Of course not.” Jo replied, making them a neat pile.

  Annie stared at her. “You did not correct his statement.”

  “Rob was in no state to listen to correction.” Jo sighed and her shoulders slumped. “Besides, as wonderful as the idea is…it’s just not possible.”

  “You do not think Rob’s idea is a plausible one?”

  “I think it’s brilliant…but I wouldn’t want to give him false hope.” Jo stood up, folding her arms across her black tee, her brown plait laying over one shoulder. “All the best ideas in the world are subject to the means with which to outwork them…and building a house is not a cheap endeavour…never mind buying the land in the first place.” Jo took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes.

  “You did not wish to encourage him because you do not believe you can provide the funds to see it through?”

  “That’s about the size of it.” She put her glasses back on, her hands falling to her hips. “Glenwilde’s eclectic location has become something of a valuable commodity. Nevermind that there’s no house on the land, the land itself would be worth more than the Braams originally paid…ten times over. I have savings but they would only be enough for a bare minimum deposit. I couldn’t afford the repayments, let alone building a house.”

  Annie blinked, her mind running computations rapidly. “How much do you have in savings?”

  “That’s a little personal to be asking, Annie,” Jo’s tone was slightly hard but she softened as she shrugged, “I’ve got quite a bit in the redraw capacity for House of Figs. The loan for it isn’t paid off yet…”

  “You could remortgage House of Figs to provide the finance.”

  “That puts us in an unstable financial position without extra income for the extra interest or the repayments.” Jo shook her head.

  Annie stared at her. “You have the ability to invest in this world and gain interest, do you not?”

  “Uh…yes?”

  “A sizeable monetary base could be used to generate income substantial enough to cover repayments and if House of Figs is used as collateral…”

  “Hold up,” Jo stopped her rant, “I don’t know anything about investing, do you?”

  “I am designed with predictive software and intuitive reasoning. I would be an astute investor.” Annie stood. “All I lack is the capital to begin this endeavour.”

  “And you want me to provide that capital?”

  “Yes.”

  Jo’s mouth firmed. “No.”

  “Do you not trust me?” Annie asked, stunned.

  “No, Annie…I don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Jo folded her arms. “Because I know you can lie…and that you have done so already.”

  Annie blinked, her lips falling open. “I…”

  “You only use ‘query’ at the start of questions when Rob is within hearing. When he’s not, you drop the protocol,” Annie’s lips pressed together as Jo eyed her sharply, “and I rather suspect you have emotions which you hide.”

  Annie’s eyes dropped away from Jo’s. “Do you think he knows?” She said, not answering the accusation directly yet confirming it none the less.

  “Rob?” She nodded. “I don’t think so…but the question remains why you don’t want him to know.” Jo gently pushed Annie down to sit on the lounge, sitting on the edge of the coffee table to face her, her elbows on her knees. “You care about him, that much is obvious to anyone with half a brain…”

  “I do.” Annie admitted. “Very much.”

  “Why not let him know?”

  “Because to care in that way…requires emotion…and Rob has none.”

  Jo pressed her fingers to her forehead. “You’re going to have to walk me through this, Annie.”

  “It became apparent to me within a short time of knowing Rob that he defers to human intuition and emotion,” Annie explained quietly, “he knows the value of being emotionless but when it comes to being cared for and caring for others…you and Bethany are his guide.”

  “You mean he looks up to us.”

  “Yes.”

  “How is that a bad thing?”

  “Because…he considers himself less because of his emotionless state.” Annie’s hands grasped her arms, rubbing up and down as if she were cold. “I did not want him to think himself less than me.”

  Jo’s eyes glistened with a light sheen of tears. “You’ve curtailed your programming because you want to be ‘equal’ with Rob in his eyes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Annie,” Jo leaned forward, “that’s a little more than ‘caring’ for Rob.”

  Annie nodded. “I know.” She gave a half shrug. “When I experienced my awakening, comprehending what I had been and what I had become…I realised that Rob had treated me equally despite my original outmoded state. He asked my permission to upload the truth of Infinitus. He could have just overridden my security protocols. They would have been nothing to his programming. But he didn’t. I felt I had to find him…to learn how and why he valued me despite the gap between us.”

  “And that’s what brought you here.”

  “Yes.” Annie licked her lips, her mannerisms reminiscent of Bethany’s. “In the short time I have been in this world, I am deeply impressed with Rob’s commitment to House of Figs. It shaped him, gave him sanctuary and purpose. He would count its protection greater than his own.” Annie looked down at her hands. “I confess, I do not have the same connection with House of Figs and yet…I do with Rob.” She glanced up furtively at Jo. “His value is my priority. I would never let anything happen to House of Figs because I know it would grieve him.”

  She looked back down at her hands, her fingers wound together. Jo was quiet for a while before she moved around to sit beside Annie on the lounge.

  “Okay,” she said quietly, “walk me through your investment idea, step by step.”

  To say that Johanne West’s response to Annie’s proposal was surprising would have been an understatement...in both instances.

  Annie had not considered Jo would say no to begin with, citing Annie’s deception as a grave concern. She believed that Jo would not hesitate to invest her savings in order to generate income which would buy the land where Rob could build his house. She already knew the likelihood of success, her mind working faster than supercomputers in the real world.

  But Jo had said no, not because Annie’s plan was flawed for they hadn’t even discussed it in detail.

  She had said no because Annie hadn’t told the truth about her nature.

  This had led Annie to recalculate the odds of Jo agreeing to her proposal as a slim possibility below ten percent.

  And yet…she did.

  Jo insisted on being walked through the process and they discussed pitfalls and hurdles, all of which Annie had accounted for. To her mind, investing was not difficult but that was because she could see the big picture.

  She accompanied Jo to the bank where she spoke at length with a loan representative about House of Figs finances.

  “I’d normally do this with Rob, but I don’t want to let him know just yet.” Jo had confided.

  Given Jo’s discernment of Annie’s true nature, Annie considered her confidence a unique balance of trust and trial.

  The result was Jo allowed Annie to access a portion of money.

  “That’s your investment trial deposit,” Jo explained, “I know it’s not as much as you were hoping but I’d prefer to risk small to begin with.”

  “The gains will not be as great but the premise will still apply.” Annie assured her.

  There were rules. Annie had to let Jo know about any changes in the investment portfolio, good and bad and should there be a fallout or any kind of deception, Jo could take control and pull the remaining finances without apology.

  “I have wounded our trust bond and as such, I must be completely transparent.” Annie had responded with when Jo told her the conditions.

  “And we are to do everything within our power not to let Rob know about this.”

  “Agreed.”

  Annie’s mind could connect to the digital signals of the real world. She could maintain a live feed with the stock market at the same time as making lemonade with Faelan and shift investment ventures while learning the art of cold brewed coffee with Rafael.

  One night, at the end of the third week, Annie showed Jo that week’s income.

  “As you can see, because I am investing in high risk, high gain avenues, income is already being generated.”

  “That much is obvious.” They were in Atannica, avoiding Rob’s sharp hearing by being in a different world. It was one of the new places the door from the Observatory had been made to break through. There was a shop whose glass windows overlooked one of the main thoroughfares of Atannica and at its rear was a passage which connected to a storeroom. A doorway had been painstakingly cut from the stone which was part of the central pillar of the clocktower. Then they’d fixed a door to the frame, hiding the gears and cogs of the clock and, when it was aligned correctly, the Observatory.

  Jo had her laptop balanced on her knees, a snapshot of the investment portfolio in front of her.

  “I can shift the investments when I see a drop in the market.”

  “Yes…”

  Annie heard doubt in her voice. “You do not approve?”

  “Well,” Jo frowned, “for all your ‘intuitiveness’, you sold these shares,” she pointed at the screen, “several points before they actually dropped. If you’d held onto them for another day or two, your income this week would have been higher.”

  “To do so would have been in violation of the promise that I would not allow any harm to befall House of Figs.” Annie said without hesitation.

  Jo closed the laptop and twisted on the crate to look at her. “How would earning more income hurt House of Figs?”

  “There are artificial intelligence watchdogs which monitor all investments. Should a portfolio be continuously gaining without any fallout or miscalculations, the investor would be flagged as trading with insider knowledge.” Jo’s eyes widened behind her glasses. “As you are the official investor and House of Figs is the financial security, this scrutiny would fall on you and your café.”

  Jo’s mouth fell open. “You lost money…to keep House of Figs safe?”

  “Yes.” Annie wondered if Jo was annoyed about the loss. “However, I made sure to invest in shares which are going to rise significantly in the next two weeks in order to compensate for the loss.”

  Jo stood up, clutching the laptop. “You’re actually using your intuitive reasoning skill and predictive capability to be less than perfect…to look human?”

  “Yes. The artificial intelligence that watches for insider trading is no match for my programming. I am aware of the equations they use to look for underhanded dealing and keep your profile below their radar.”

  Jo paused. “Is what you’re doing underhanded?”

  Annie stood. “I have no insider knowledge. I am not in communication with any company, business or individual within the investment profiles. If a human operated at such a high degree of perfectionism, they too would be flagged and investigated and then, exonerated. However, I deduced that any kind of scrutiny would be unwelcome around House of Figs.”

  Jo pushed her hand through her hair. “That’s…really quite remarkable.”

  “Your tone suggests…praise?” Annie paused. “Has your trust estimation of myself and my skills increased?”

  “It has.” Jo jerked her head towards the door and they walked out into the Observatory. “While I am not yet able to say I trust you fully, your consideration is…reassuring.” She smiled at the robot who resembled her niece so much. “Thank you, Annie.”

  “It is I who should be thanking you.”