The Incrementalists by Steven Brust, Skyler White Page A

possessive of Phil, but I was glad to see that guy go. He reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t think who.
    “Yeah, sorry about that,” I said. “It’s valet parked. Ticket’s at the hostess stand.”
    “I got it.” Phil’s eyes touched mine for a moment and under the mustache, the dimple flickered. When he looked back to Irina, it was gone. “Will we have full Salt by tonight?” he asked her.
    “Well that’s a tricky question, isn’t it?” Irina seated herself by me, forcing me around the bench closer to Phil.
    “Is everyone coming in for Celeste’s funeral?” I guessed, and was surprised Irina’s bony neck didn’t splinter with how fast she turned her head to me.
    “Celeste’s been dead for two months. We’re gathering Salt to discuss her missing final memory. Phil should have told you.”
    “Irina,” Phil’s voice was low with warning. “Ren doesn’t remember Celeste. At all.”
    Irina’s keen eyes swiveled back to me. Her mouth opened and closed, and then she said, “Confirm that.”
    “I have no idea who Celeste is,” I said. “Is that what you want?”
    “Not especially.”
    Phil’s face looked so grim that I rubbed my temples.
    “Does your head hurt?” Irina asked.
    I nodded. “Didn’t you say you had something for that?”
    Her eyes narrowed, but she said, “Yes. I have to go up to my room; I’ll be right back.” She stood and the blond man who was absently feeding coins into a machine straightened as well. I was certain I knew him, I just couldn’t think how. “Phil,” Irina commanded, “for God’s sake, bring Ren up to speed on what we know.”
    She swept out of the café, stopping to say something to the waitress on her way. I watched the blond man keep the visual noise of slot machines and their propitiators between himself and Irina. Given the choice, I’d do the same.
    “Thanks,” Phil said.
    “It’s okay,” I said. I had wanted her gone as much as he had. I wished I knew how much overlap our reasons had.
    Phil took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It seemed to help. “Celeste was an Incrementalist,” he said, like reciting his sins. “She died two months ago. Her last memory, which would be of her death or just before it, is missing. That’s why our leadership is gathering.”
    “Irina said that was tricky, why?”
    “More coffee?” Kendra gave Phil a generous smile, but her eyes kept darting my direction until she overfilled his cup, and coffee spilled onto the table. “Oh, I’m sorry! I’ll get a rag. Be right back.”
    “Salt is the five longest-enduring personalities. Celeste was one. If her personality doesn’t reemerge, we’re only four until we put the next oldest in the Salt.”
    “And?”
    “And we have some worries about Oskar.”
    My feet went cold and my tea got heavy all at the same time. “Oskar,” I said. “I think I dreamed about him last night.”
    Kendra returned with the rag, and by the time she’d mopped up, still smiling at Phil and peeking at me, I was trying to decide whether I wanted to hear the Kendra story or the Celeste one more.
    “So you’re looking for Celeste?” I asked. It seemed the more immediate concern.
    Phil wouldn’t look up from his coffee. He nodded.
    “You’re looking for her missing memory in the Garden, and you’re looking for her reemerging personality. Where?”
    He met my eyes.
    “Oh,” I said. “In me.”
    He nodded.
    “More tea?” Kendra reached for my cup.
    “No,” I said. “Thank you. I think we’re good for a while.”
    Kendra frowned. “The lady said to make sure I kept checking on you.”
    “Tell you what,” I said. “When she comes back, you can come check again.”
    Kendra nodded and left.
    It was my turn to take deep breaths. They must work better for Phil. “But now you’re afraid that Celeste’s personality may not reemerge in me. Why?”
    “I was worried about that before she died. Personalities can burn out over the course of lifetimes. We start to get