Serafina and the Virtual Man by Marie Treanor

green glow that zapped into her and seemed to consume her. At least it finished its scan—or whatever it was doing—faster than before.
    Breathing deeply, she opened her eyes and saw him sitting by one of the computers watching her.
    He slouched in his chair, untidy, unshaven, every bit as carelessly attractive as she remembered. And terrifyingly real.
    Was this how Sera saw ghosts?
    His lips quirked into a rueful smile, and he stood, walking toward her. She followed every move with fascination, the faint swing of arms and hips, the play of sinew along his wrist and hand as he held it out to her. Solid. Real.
    “JK. I’m glad you came back.”
    He’d touched her before, without permission, the faintest brush of his fingertips against her skin, and she’d liked it. Or, at least, looking back on it defensively, she hadn’t minded . It had been so quick and unthreatening. But this, this hand held out to her, loomed huge in her mind because of what she’d learned since the first time, since the first visit, not just about what he was, but who he’d been.
    She stared at his hand. It was big enough, but hardly huge in this reality. The fingers were long, his nails cut short but not professionally manicured. A capable, efficient hand that she shouldn’t be able to touch.
    Slowly, she set down the laptop on the nearest desk and lifted her hand to touch his fingers. They curled around hers, warm and solid, and she gasped and clung to them for support.
    “You’d better not be taking the piss out of me,” she got out, and his eyes narrowed in sudden laughter, the skin crinkling around the corners. He had a good, silent laugh, an excellent match for the mere smile she’d glimpsed before.
    “It’s just technology,” he said, as if he knew exactly how to soothe her. “Virtual reality. No headset, no goggles, no gloves. When you touch the sensor just past that first computer, it sets off the machine over there”—he pointed toward the dental drill-shaped things above the two benches—”which scans your brain and the rest of you and plugs you in so that others in the game can see you, and you feel with your whole body.”
    “Fuck,” Jilly said in wonder, gazing from the machine back to him and their joined hands. “But it’s real. You feel real. You look real.”
    “So do you.” His finger moved on the skin between her thumb and forefinger, sending tiny thrills down her nerves. It was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her. She turned his hand, pushing her fingers against his to open them, which he did at once, and she could study the lines of his palm and trace them with one finger.
    His breath caught, and he curled his fingers back around hers. “You’re tickling.”
    “Sorry.” She pulled free, only half as embarrassed as she should have been. “This is just so incredible. This is your new system? No wonder Ewan’s keeping it under wraps. It’s not just revolutionary, it’s mind-blowing. How’d you do it? How can it get so far into your brain without even wires?”
    “A combination of very new techniques from both neurosurgery and VR.”
    Jilly wandered across to the benches, touching the unknown equipment with reverence. “You’re a neurosurgeon too? Somehow the papers missed that.”
    “Not me. We have a friend, a doctor, who helps with that side of things. Gives me what I need and even tests it for safety.”
    She glanced back over her shoulder. “And he passed it, right?”
    “Right.”
    She frowned. “It’s clever,” she allowed. “Fucking clever. But I don’t get this room. Why put such fabulous technology in such a shite virtual environment?”
    He grinned. “The environment’s still real. We haven’t programmed it to anything else yet. Where would you like to go?”
    She felt her eyes widen. “Where have you got?” she asked breathlessly.
    “Hmm, prohibition-era Chicago? We can go gangster shooting and take on the mob. Or 1940s occupied Paris. Or there’s a