Traveler by Melanie Jackson

increasingly unwell, Io followed. A part of her wanted to take Jack’s hand and lean her throbbing head against his shoulder, but she didn’t do it. This wasn’t the time for magic pheromone sparks,or whatever it was that went on between her and Jack when they touched.
    It was a little late for second thoughts, but Io knew now that she had miscalculated, that the longer she and Jack were exposed to each other’s company, the more involved her heart became. She could fight her feelings for a while, but not if her body—and Jack—worked against her. She’d never survive two weeks.
    And if she started getting touchy-feely now, there wouldn’t be any reasonable argument for stopping him later—except the one she wasn’t willing to discuss. So, it was strictly hands-off. Clearly, she had to get this job done as soon as possible and put some distance between them.
    One small touch and Io had turned cagey on him again.
    Jack shook his head.
    He could see that she was suffering, beginning to get a pressure headache from the dank air and bad light, but since she didn’t want it, he didn’t try to touch her again. Under other circumstances, or with some other woman, he might have taken her in his arms and comforted her with a healing spell. But he knew it would only do more harm than good if he tried it with Io. For some reason, she was bent on resisting him.
    He had every intention of finding out why, too—but exploring the kinks in her psyche would have to wait for a more auspicious moment.
    Jack stopped at the end of the tunnel and looked about carefully before stepping into the large chamber beyond. He estimated its size at about twenty acres. This was one of the smaller fields.
    The ceiling was low and ragged, having been blasted out of solid rock and never finished. There was no reason to pretty the place up. The plants didn’t care what the cave looked like. They stuck their roots down into the stone and slurped up whatever the goblins brought them, and then gave birth to their addictive fruit.
    Io gasped softly as she stepped into the room. “Goddess, save us! It’s October, but look at the fruit! I’ve never seen a field this full.”
    Jack turned to look at her instead. She appeared horrified right to the backs of her big blue eyes. Her arms were folded across her chest. Her neck was hunched as though hiding from a cold wind. And maybe she was cold. The chamber’s ambient temperature had to be at least ninety-five degrees, but some kinds of chill had nothing to do with the body. If you were smart enough to consider the implications of this fruit, then your nerves were bound to take a chill. This farm at full production in the fall represented something worse for humans than all the opium fields or coca plantations combined. If that didn’t freeze the nerves, nothing would.
    Jack pulled out a knife and quickly sliced throughthe nearest vine. The severed stem bled red, drooling out sap that looked just like blood. He quickly wrapped the piece of nearly ripe fruit in his bandanna and dropped it into his coat pocket.
    “I never thought you could actually look bad,” he said unkindly, knowing the insult would be as bracing as a glass of cold water dashed in Io’s face. “But right now you are the color of cheese mold.”
    Io blinked once and then indignation dawned. Her arms unfolded and her spine shot up. “Well, you’re not looking like any sex god yourself, Mister Mildew.”
    Jack refrained from laughing at her return insult. He made a point of checking his watch again. “We have to go.”
    “What about Neveling?”
    “Tomorrow night,” he said.
    He hadn’t planned on bringing her back underground, really, but perhaps it was the lesser of two evils. H.U.G.’s mortality rate had gone way up since they’d started their policy of direct confrontation with goblins. Xanthe might have plans, but Io was one operative who wasn’t going to be used as goblin fodder. Jack’s job was dangerous, but Io was