“Athana …,” said Russ gently, leaning toward her, pity in his eyes, exactly as if she were a child to be taken home and rocked. Emily glared at the ground, arms still folded, then looked up at Athana sideways, her hazel eyes narrowed.
Athana dropped her hand under the table. After flipping a small bronze switch on the inside of her left boot near the heel, she stood quickly, grabbed Russ’s left upper arm and Emily’s right, at the same time drawing a picture in her head of where she wanted to go. Here, Antigone’s Café – but eleven hours into the future.
In that instant, the sun popped into nothingness, into a black hole. Nothing was but the blackness; it swirled all around them. Russ felt he’d lost consciousness, but not awareness, and wondered if he were losing his mind.